june in the dunes

This past weekend was a fun trip up to the northern coast to hang out at a seaside(ish) apartment in Merlimont (near Touquet).

Cue the always-fun (no) exercise of getting Monsieur out of the apartment and into the car, removing yet another parking ticket from under the windscreen wiper, getting onto the highway, getting lost, going through the invariable narrative of ‘did I pack this and that and the toothbrushes’, turning back because he’s forgotten something, getting lost again, we arrived several hours later (I wish I could say I was exaggerating for comic effect).

I spent a chunk of time exploring the neighbouring town of Touquet, a seaside resort town that was once particularly fashionable with the English upper crust (post WWI) and has the dubious honour of being the place where PG Wodehouse was arrested by ze Germans in WWII. Nowadays it’s an overpriced tourist resort whose highrise beachside apartments and garish nighttime flashing neon signs drown out the charm of the belle epoque buildings. But it’s worth a tour nevertheless.

Walks on the beach and dinner and drinks at an overpriced restaurant playing bad 80’s music, and serving bad Italian table wine (which we sent back after failing to find any alcohol content in it whatsoever – the waiter placated us by saying it was a hit with English tourists. Lesson 1 in how to placate French diners; insult the English). Standard tourist experience, complete with yet another parking ticket (!!) because contrary to pretty much everywhere else in the Western world, Touquet (who have decided they’re not quite rich enough yet), ONLY charge for parking on the weekends, and not on weekdays. And how many people – lured by ice-creams and carousel music – get caught out, do you think…?

Oh, and in exiting news (for me anyway), I drove back into Paris! As someone who go their license as soon as I was legally able, it’s been very weird to have not driven in so long (a year!) and doubly so being on the opposite side of the road. Driving though Paris’ outer districts was a little nerve-racking, I must admit. And hey, I only clipped the one wing mirror (not joking). Still, it’s another step towards integration – once I start using my hazard lights as a method to override any illegal double parking manoeuvre and honking my horn at anyone who dares execute a left hand turn into a side road in front of me – I might even pass for a local.