Being a graceful young lady of poise and dignity, of course I tumbled off my bike a metre from the Spanish border. I attempted to mount the gutter over the bridge and misjudged the angle doing a slowmotion collapse sideways at someone’s feet. They stepped over me and continued their journey. A grazed elbow was much shallower than the wound to my pride as I wobbled into Irun.

We were sad to leave alexandra and bidart, despite the bathroom “not in very good state” which had a giant hole into the roof space. It all just added to the character, although we were itching to give the upstairs a good reno. Over breakfast she told us she didn’t mind living alone in that old place except that once she thought she had ghosts but it turned out to be skunks in the roof in heat and she only called the police once or twice a year because of strange noises in the night.

We had travelled through some lovely french towns and then hit the heat of midday and the Spanish pyrannees. It wasn’t spain as we imagined it, the signs were all in basque, a curious language with an abundance of X, K, Z and Us. Basque flags fluttered in every other window. Alexandre had told us the french basque’s weren’t as vindictive as the Spanish basque. Our Spanish host later told us that the area had a flush of tourism because that always happens when there is an Era terrorist ceasefire. Hmm…there was a history lesson for us.

As we settled in to our airbnb I heard some strange roaring coming from nearby. The circus was in town and set up in a small parking lot around the corner. Everyday the animals (not whatever was roaring) were let loose in the grass to feed. It was quite surreal to see a suburban area park covered in miniature horses, camels, llamas and ponies, Maite had seen a zebra. Of course the idea of a circus with trained animals doesn’t sit right, but I have to admit the sight of it was entertaining in a surreal out of place way. On our way passed a miniature foal even tried to follow us home and we had to loop back to lead him back to his mama. Spain was full of surprises.

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!