LA PETITE SOULAN

To go to Contis, we like to take the road that goes through the marshes, before running at the top of the quaternary dunes from where dark forests go as far as the eye can see. We drive along the deep Courant that flows between reeds and sands, heading west where its cold waters mingle with the ocean. The road doesn’t go further; afterwards, it is the end of the earth. To reach the beach, we walk through a forest of twisted and stunted pine trees that the wind tortures permanently. Then comes the dune on which grow meager bunches of oyats and blue thistles. This specific beach has sculpted our lives. There is where we feel the sense of fidelity and happiness.

The beach goes ad infinitum and sinks into a light haze of impalpable heat. It is often deserted. The waves swell into long foamy rolls running from infinity.

Ride the waves as far as they form, sink knee-deep into the surf, dive and swim back to the swollen breakers. Oh, how intoxicating! The smell of salt water! The burning of the sun!

The Courant de Contis inflates and deflates according to the tides and floods; it is the link between the pond in Uza and the ocean. You see it when you take a kayak.

Attenuated, the sun descends on the Ocean where it spreads in myriads of pointillist flashes. We wait, lying on the warm sand, picnicking with our Indian boxes. And a last bath behind the baïne, in the waves, when the low tide discovers an almost pink sand by dint of purity.

Or La Cabane, a hut in Contis, just for the delicious feeling of the sand flowing between your toes, the taste of salt water on the edge of your lips and the sun accelerating its descending course.