From Tourist Trap to Adventure Journey: Arcachon to the Basque Country
Disappointment in Arcachon
Arcachon, a town on the southwestern coast of France, had beckoned to us as a much-needed stop in our journey. As sailors seeking unique and authentic experiences, we had high hopes for this coastal haven. However, the reality of Arcachon fell short of our expectations.
The city's harbor, while functional, was far from the charming town center that we had envisioned. Instead of the quaint, quintessentially French atmosphere we had hoped for, Arcachon appeared to be more of a tourist trap, catering to the masses rather than offering the authenticity we craved. It was a stark reminder that we, as travelers, often found ourselves drawn to smaller, off-the-beaten-path destinations, rather than the more commercialized ones that sat at the top of charter agencies' lists.
Military Encounter
With a tinge of disappointment, we set sail on an early Thursday morning from Arcachon's harbor. The tide was in our favor, and our vessel's speed steadily increased as we ventured into the outer waters of Arcachon Bay. However, we soon found ourselves facing an unexpected challenge.
The day before, we had invested a significant amount of time in meticulous planning, ensuring that we could navigate our way southward through a military exercise area. Despite our careful preparations, an uneasy feeling began to gnaw at our stomachs, and our apprehensions were soon confirmed.
Safe navigation
Betina navigating our way out from Arcachon to the atlantic waters of Biscay
As we ventured to within half a nautical mile of departing the bay, a helicopter suddenly materialized on the horizon. It circled around the local fishing boats, paying them no undue attention. But then, inexplicably, its focus shifted towards our vessel. It matched our speed, seemingly mirroring our every move, and relentlessly followed our course.
Undeterred, we continued our journey. Yet, as we approached the last entrance buoy and readied ourselves to turn south, our VHF radio crackled to life. A stern voice called out, "Melody, Melody, Melody - Come in."
The voice belonged to the crew of a military surveillance vessel, stationed farther out at sea. We were taken aback when we were informed that we were denied permission to proceed south. Instead, we were instructed to change our course, veering ten nautical miles to the north before we could head westward for another thirty-five nautical miles. Only then were we permitted to set our course southward.
This unexpected turn of events added an additional forty-five nautical miles to our journey. As we reluctantly weighed our options, we decided to return to Arcachon, a decision laden with disappointment.
A Turning Point in Biscay
Our return to Arcachon meant that we were back within the narrow entrance channel, but this time, there was a challenging twist. The tides were against us, with opposing currents of up to 3.5 knots. Our progress was agonizingly slow, and the disappointment still lingered in our hearts.
We spent an extra night in Arcachon, and our hopes were renewed as we inquired once more with Semaphore. This time, the news was in our favor; there were no military exercises scheduled for the next day, which was a Friday.
With the break of dawn, we set sail once again, emboldened by the outgoing tide. Fortune smiled upon us, and for the first time in Arcachon, our journey southward encountered no resistance. The conditions were mild, and a gentle, steady wind provided the perfect complement to our motorized progress.
As we covered the nautical miles beneath our keel, we glided down the final stretch of the French west coast at a leisurely pace. The scent of heather and the breeze from the sandy beaches wafted over the water, confirming that we were indeed heading further south.
Approximately 40 nautical miles from our destination, a cool front greeted us. On the horizon, we caught our first glimpse of mountains rising from the otherwise flat expanse. As we neared the corner of Biscay, a sense of profound transformation enveloped us. The French Biscay stretch had drawn to a close, and the looming mountains heralded our arrival at the northern Spanish coast, where new discoveries awaited.
As intrepid explorers, we experienced an exhilarating sense of anticipation. It was as if we could faintly grasp the emotions of past explorers who, from the vast expanse of the ocean, first laid eyes on uncharted shores. In that moment, we replaced the French "drapeau tricolore" with "La Rojigualda," marking the transition to a new chapter.
In the growing darkness, we silently slipped past the coastal cliffs and found shelter behind the breakwaters in Hondarribia. We had crossed the border into Spain, specifically in the Basque Country, initiating a fresh and exciting phase of our maritime journey.