My body could not have experienced 2 more extreme opposites if it tried. This morning I awake on a beach near to the village of Copbreton. We parked up late last night and were able to catch the sunset – I cannot tell you how beautiful it was.
The sand was warm and comforting from the heat of the day, and we 3 nestled up on a towel next to the shore line gathering gem pebbles (there must be something to do with this side of the French coast line, because this is the second time I’ve been able to hoard beach gems !). Small of course raced for the sea and it didn’t take long before he was in and enjoying the coolness of the ocean. Just an hour later, we were sat in the same place, watching the sun descend into the sea, first bright yellow, then orange – until finally a crimson ball of heat touched the horizon and the sky turned pink.
Amongst the sand, couples leaned into each other, it was a true “giving in” to the ambiance of a perfect sunset across a perfect vista.
This morning was a race to the beach, a yearning to dive in and swim – I am always most at home in the water. She does not disappoint, this giant puddle. We arrive on the beach at 10am, our wake up and get ready time is slowing down as our body clocks set themselves to sabbatical hour, the temperature is already 30 and the sand is hot to walk on. Here we sit, right here – just at the edge, where the sea spray catches us each time a wave arrives. We form a rudimentary shade using two pieces of drift wood and one of our towels, suncream applied, costume straps hoisted, and I am in the ocean.
A child hood game immediately rushes back into my body - feet first on my back, I scuttle towards the waves, the thrill of “unknowing” what is behind each watery crest, up and over, up and over. I teach Small and we both enjoy the rollercoaster ride we are forming, holding hands makes it more fun. He is 16 – I miss these moments of us playing.
By 12noon it is simply too hot, and we need to set in pursuit of our next resting place. If we look to the left of us, we can make out faded purple silouettes against the Sun – “The Pyranees”.
A quick drive to “Pau” to grab some supplies and we begin our drive upwards. The roads are clear to begin with, and in surprisingly good condition – wide enough for easy passing. And yet of course, this is true at the start – we are on the driving route to the enormous ski resorts which line the beginnings of the mountains. Once past these, and the road narrows. Metal road railings give way to grass verges and purple thistles which burst in colour against the grey stone. We rise further – 1000 metres, 1300 metres, we are in the clouds and the temperature which had been unbearably hot just 2 hours ago next to the sea, plummets and requires me to grab a shawl to wrap around my shoulders. 1500 metres, the sharp drops which I will own had begun to scare me a little - are no longer there. Pure white fills the air, we are in the clouds.
1784 metres and we arrive at our rest point for this evening. I have been chatting with a fellow “Van traveller” and he lives near by – he assures me that you cannot start a travel across the Pyranees without starting at Col D’aubisque. The car park is a roughly gravelled, lumpy, bumpy make your own space area full of noise. And yet, not the noise you might imagine. There are relatively few vans when we arrive, the noise that is surrounding the space is that of bells. Gently faded into the cloud lands are the vague forms of cows – a herd of about 20 – they are all around us, each carrying a bell which clangs to a slightly different tone. It is like the windchime that I bought in a Buddhist temple on our first family camping trip to France. It is a most exquisite welcome song, made all the more awesome by the fact that its origin is not easy to see.
And so from the low down sweltering heat, to the uppermost tip of cool clouds. From the bustling of families and the peels of sea soaked laughter, to the gently chorus of cow bells. From the place where humans dominate, where houses become the vegetation planted into the soil, to the rock lands where no one build because nature determines it is not possible.
I shall paint the sound of cowbells this evening – I like the shape it is making in my mind.
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