I woke up in a daze and found myself in France again.
It was brisk and moody. The sky was grey and I observed the landscapes in black and white.
The pine covered rolling hills and collection of large farm estates were a scene out of a WWII movie. A German tank was bound to come bursting through the foliage at any moment.
Hossegor was a quintessential French town. Small cars circled round-a-bouts, corner cafes served beret clad old timers, baguettes protruded from women’s handbags and artfully crafted pastries adorned the displays of a slew of patisseries.
I inhaled a chocolate croissant for breakfast and walked over the massive sand dunes that line the coastline of Southern France. The morning light sparkled in the offshore spray of the incoming swell and perfect a-frames welcomed me to the quintessential France that brought me here in the first place.