Noah was a funny old thing, one moment lumpy and grumpy, the next still lumpy but all smiles bearing her belly for pats. The night before she had been quite bark and snappy from her bed and wed had scurried up the creaking stairs in the dark. She loved us this morning though, ah old dogs, it made us miss our gracie border collie, the temperamental girl.

Alexandre had prepared breakfast for us and we enjoyed chatting with her over croissants. Conversation is like food to a traveller, especially in a foreign country. “Oui”, to “parlez-vous anglais” music to our dumb English ears. She grew up in Paris, then moved to south-east Asia with her parents, as an adult she had lived many years in Barcelona. She had the broad mannerisms and the smokers throaty voice of the Spanish.

Following her advice we road back towards bayonne and took in the charm of the old canal city which we had missed. Then bike paths all along the beach and through biarritz, which was a stunning old city. There were paths carved into rock with elegant stone balustrades, flowers up and down the grassed cliffs and fun little bridges hopping across islands. It was a place I could return to explore further, the day had grown grey so we fled the ominous clouds.

Alexandre had set the standard high for other airbnb hosts when we arrived back in the evening. She had provided dîner et aperitif, a lovely spread including a vegan dish for the Dutch girl who was also staying, she was interested in permaculture and had quit her job in TV and film to pursue a more earth conscious path, she hadn’t found it yet, so we told her about Ben Law’s course. Alexandre poured generous glasses of Spanish champagne and delicious morsels, whilst telling us about her life and her funny encounters with strange housemates. She found her first housemate in her bed with a homeless man, she didn’t have a change of sheets.

We chatted into the night and then enjoyed sinking into our soft bed.

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.

Adog had wandered through my dreams that night, I awoke to first light but slumbered on an hour. We were undisturbed and soon were riding through the morning light. We reached the town while everyone slept through the weekend dawn.

Dylan spoke of being kept awake all night with the sounds of a lost dog running and barking through the forest, it came close but never found us. I wonder if it is a good thing I can just encorporate things into my dreams and sleep on or it is better to be alert?

It was a lovely day in the shade, Dylan and made a jolly game obtaining as many return ‘bonjour’s from fellow cyclists as we could. One old man in lycra gave the most enthusiastic response of the day waving one had vigorously with a huge grin.

We passed a happy morning on the bike and there was something pleasing about the houses we passed with their deep double height verandahs and timber shutters, but by the time we reached vieux bacau we felt a little melancholy. The golden beaches reminded Dylan of home and he wished he could be sharing the day with friends, for me the thought of another night staying up late waiting for the cover of darkness to camp was exhausting. I sat on the lawn watching other people’s lives as Dylan ran. A family was picnicking next to us and amusingly their little white fluff dog was having a shave, he wasn’t enjoying the indignity of the public grooming. Later he went for a ride with the family in a front bike basket while the mother slept.

When we rolled passed a campground in the afternoon we decided to pay the 17€ which seemed very reasonable and stay the night. The best decision we ever made! It had a pool and a little restaurant where we ate frites. We were relaxed and replenished for the next leg of our trip and tomorrow night we would be staying in a bed in bidart!

We woke with the sun, it was so early and the first night in the tent sleep is always fitful, I woke more than once to the pitterpatter of the river thinking it was footsteps. We quickly packed and left no trace.

A woman emerged from the trees, backpack and walkingpole, she was clearly a pilgrim. She asked us the way, but she spoke no English and we no french so hand gestures had to suffice. We vowed to learn french, I was strangely moved that Dylan was as eager as I. You can be with someone for a longtime and they can still surprise you. I had always known him as the schoolboy who had suffered through french classes, convinced he could never learn a language, I was impressed by his enthusiasm, I tried not to extinguish his with mine.

We rode on. Another unattractive village, but our first french pain au chocolat. As always I struggled with my shyness (that people don’t believe exists) and forced jarbled french at the nice shopkeeper. When you try french people generally seem to warm to you and try back.

Then we hit the velodysée trail and ditched the road for a while. It was already getting hot, forest turned into pine plantation. Later we were told nepolean had ordered the pine planted on this coast to keep the dunes together. It was a strange dry kind of forest, but it triggered such strong smell memories: Christmas trees on a hot summers day in australia, where it was being milled, the smell of a house underconstruction.

Then those dunes, they were mountains! We locked the bikes and climbed to the peak of the dune Du pilat. “we’re the only ones here!” I yelled to Dylan as i topped the stairs only to see two lesbians in an embrace lying in the sand. Well apart from our silent companions it was just us before the morning rush and dozens of yellowy white butterflies fluttering in the breeze.

It was spectacular, forests on one side, ocean on the other. We breathed deep, but the road called once again. I emptied a mini mountain out of my shoes and we e descended just as a bus load of tourists arrived, we escaped into the pine forest once more. It was cool and quiet in the pines and I grew fond of them.

Occasionally we whizzed by some fellow travellers, olderfolk with carts and french flags behind their bikes, Japanese tourists who snapped our photo, but mainly it was just us.

Between two lovely lakes there was a stretch of hideous nothing and blazing sun, loggers leaving us without any shade, but the promise of lunch by the water kept us going. Another cyclist had the same idea, his stuff spread all across the grass drying and him only in his underwear. Dylan shook his head at how.much stuff this guy was carrying. I had a nap in the grass, a bird of prey was circling and clouds of smaller birds sparkled white then grey as they wheeled as one.

Then with the bribe of icecream Dylan got me going until we reached Mimizan. The country between was sand pine forest once more but separated from the sea by a military base whose fence came to view every now and again “interdit!”

I earned my reward of an ice cream but stumbled over my pronunciation of “mangue”, the “framboise” was tastier anyway so I let the word melt away.

We reached the beach and a shower! We took turns to swim and after a long day in the saddle it was so refreshing. Then back into the forest where we found a large picnic spot for dinner. While Dylan ran, a mini cooper roared into the carpark music blaring, put of the corner of my eye a welldressed young man in a shirt and slacks got out and began rummaging through the garbage bin, he caught sight of me but kept on rummaging, then did a burn out leaving the picnic spot. It was weird and when Dylan returned I stopped him having a look, best to leave it be.

We considered pitching the tent here, but there were lots of “nuit interdit” signs around and cars suddenly started piling in so we fled. Rising through the plantation again, it was hilly or thorny so we kept going. Suddenly a single female roller blader wobbled passed us, we must be approaching a town for an unskilled rollerbladder to be passing, or else she was a ghost. The ground was mossy and the trees smaller so we left the path and nestled in for the night.