During my morning walk in Port Joinville, I find a bakery that – finally – deserves the name. A little paradise! And next door, a charcuterie is already open, with delicacies so rich in fat that I simply have to strike: Breakfast and lunch in one, and as varied and flavourful as rarely, so fine!
Then onwards… I have prepared various routes and even imagined going straight from here across the Bay of Biscay to Bilbao in Spain… Around 400 km. I dare to do it, but at the same time I would be cutting off too much of France! – I decide to go out and, depending on the situation, I will take one route or the other and go ashore again somewhere between La Rochelle and Arcachon.
But once outside, the swell is completely different from what I had read in the forecasts (or I misinterpreted them). The wind comes straight from the east and the waves hit me with a vehemence that very soon forces me to change course – towards the coast, of all places. There is no other choice; it is really fierce. For the first time on this journey, I massively reduce my speed and soon feel like a fishing boat rocking along to the beat of the waves.
I assume that I can virtually hide behind the land mass and continue my journey at normal speed (i.e. less rocking) when the swell calms down. And indeed, the driving becomes more pleasant. So I try to shimmy along the coast, always with the urge to pull out again to save kilometres. But the more I turn south, the more the waves crash against me; the best thing is to drive a few kilometres from the coast, where the wave height has not yet developed much; but I don’t like to go too close to the coast either, because other forces are at work there again – interestingly, I have more respect for the coastline than for the open water (probably also because my reaction time in the event of an engine failure near the coast is very short, as I have already seen in the Baltic Sea – and here the waves crash against the shore more violently than back then in the Bay of Tallinn). Eventually it becomes clear that Royan will be my realistic destination for the day.
The entrance to the wide mouth of the Garonne is exciting again, because different currents collide, below me in the water, and on top of that I have to make the best of it. But by now I have the sense for that – and enough horsepower in my backside to give counter-steering if necessary…
The weather is wonderful; with me, various pleasure boats are heading back to their harbours, the men topless and also the women with their clothes off (this only changes in the harbour, but not with the men). I see a functioning petrol station – I can reload; everything will be possible, all is well.
At the Capitainerie they again very kindly help me plan for the next day: going straight to Santander is rather daring, I am told, but going south along the Atlantic coast is not recommended at all, because tomorrow the French army will hold firing exercises far out to sea near Arcachon. Even fishing will be completely stopped during this day… On the other hand, the wind will change again the day after tomorrow and the Bay of Biscay will show a different face than today, its vicious one. – So, less France than I had hoped for, but the best possible use of the time window and safe passage to Spain? I first go into the town and explore it; the best solution is already coming to me.
In Royan itself, the eternal summer seems to continue, at seven in the evening it is still 31 degrees. I visit the cathedral, which I noticed from afar (but not as a church, rather as a black silo, a monster bunker or a troublemaker in the townscape).
On the way there, the outside areas of the restaurants are well occupied, but I don’t even ask whether they serve here with or without vaccination control. I go up to the cathedral and am deeply disappointed by this impossible, dull and forbidding exterior. Then I go inside and am deeply amazed by this miracle that opens up to me! Hallelujah, it flows through me. An architect has dared to do something, has – after the Second World War – raised something out of the ruins of bombed Royan with concrete (and was obviously inspired by his work), which could not be more impressive. – This interior is simply awesome. I am blown away. I enjoy the silence, the breathing, the rapture.
No, it’s not beautiful inside either, but the feeling of space and the ‘grandeur’ that this church exudes is beguiling.
Completely delighted, I stroll on, looking for a grocery shop, but here in the centre everything is closed by now. So I eat what I have left on board and rest, still drunk from this visit to the cathedral. (This term is fully appropriate here).
Unfortunately, I also feel my aching Achilles tendon again, just walking around town (my daily programme is limited to push-ups and pull-ups). I’ll have to have my ankle ‘cleaned’ quite a bit after I get back…. Anyway, I’m sitting in the boat, I’ve eaten well, I’m getting warm in the evening – and I decide to venture the direct crossing to Spain tomorrow.