PLOPP.

At the start of our popular “Sport on the Beach” series, a few holiday impressions from the French Atlantic coast.

I would like to withhold the GPS data from you, you will understand that, it is already full enough here, despite Corona.

But it's also incredibly beautiful here, although I have to admit: There are some things that are disturbing in this wonderful landscape.

For example the plage naturiste.

To hurry through it on a beach hike, with a quick step and a look that doesn't know where to go, well, that's not for everyone.

The locals call this stretch of beach plage des culs nus, the beach of the bare asses, to put it a bit drastically, but it hits the scene quite precisely, even if not in every detail.

An international plague

Once you've left the culmination behind and lay down on the most beautiful stretch of beach for a well-deserved holiday, it doesn't take long before the next horror is announced.

It's disguised as a game.

You may know, it is this game that Germans play on French beaches, but not only them, it is an international nuisance.

Tourists pull two wooden clubs out of their bathing bag, plus a ball made of wood.

Made of wood because it causes the worst possible noise in a game.

As a natural law, the club owners always set themselves up with their equipment in front of my GPS position, directly in front of my carefully chosen berth.

Then they hit the wooden ball back and forth with their wooden frames.

You have never seen this kind of sporting activity away from the beach.

One can only be grateful for that.

PLOP!

PLOP !!

PLOP !!!

In a radius of 20 meters from the beach, you can no longer think about dozing, vacationing, pondering.

The inner voice that had just whispered to you how beautiful this beach is, this sky, this sea, this wave - this inner voice is now answered by the wooden club:

PLOP !!!!

It gets really bad when the wooden club back and forth is apparently intended for inclusion in the Guinness Book of Records.

Then it is counted: PLOP!

ONE, PLOP !!

TWO, ​​PLOP !!!

THREE .

.

.

At seventeen at the latest, the wooden ball lands in the sand.

Great regret.

New trial.

It is unbearable.

What to do?

All that remains is a move.

The beach is long.

Pack things.

Move on.

Finally a quiet spot.

Lie down again, doze off, take a vacation, ponder.

And then:

PLOP !!!