The pines deposited us in the pretty town of capebreton which offered shade along tree lined pathways by the water. The country turned to dunes which were very reminiscent of the grassy tussocks of home, the Otways.We picknicked, then road through another section marked “militaire, interdit” which spat us out in the middle of an industrial area, the bike path had ended at the port of bacau. There was a strange parking lot where thousands of cars were rowed with little white bonnets over ever top, it was almost beautiful, reading more as an abstract pattern than as a symbol of human pollution.

Then cars and highways and confusion until we arrived on the outskirts of biaritz. The instructions to our airbnb were in French and there was a pleasing sense of achievement when I solved the puzzle with my schoolgirl french and we arrived at the house. If cambridge was home of the rose, here the blue and pink of the hydrangea was king.

Our host, alexandre, was charming and she made us feel very at home. She had a friendly old dog, Noah, who was a perro espagnol, but we communicated just fine with pats . We moved into our little room in the roof and napped back the hours of sleep we had lost wild camping.

Following alexandre’s recommendation we found a restaurant, la Plancha, by the beach. It’s a place we would jot have considered had we not known the food was good because it was pricey and a poor expensive meal is far more disappointing than a cheap one. We were glad we tried it, it was perhaps the most delicious fish meal we had enjoyed on our trip, caramelised garlic, delicate and filling. The view was worth the price too and the staff were lovely despite our lack of a shared language.

From our perch we watched a family play with a trick kite, a jack Russell pup play and a bride having her wedding photos taken. The sunset and France finally lived up to all our high expectations. Perfect.