Eight Days in Cap d’Agde

Since September I have been suffering from one bout of bronchitis after another. It is simple: eight days at school, eight days at home. It is the end of May 1974, I am 17 years old. With the agreement of both my doctor and my school, I am going to play truant. I am leaving for Cap d’Agde with my godmother Michelle LE PETIT and her daughter Elisabeth MONTIER, who is six years older than me. It is not the first time I have taken the train alone to Paris, where my godmother and Babeth live. As usual, they are waiting for me on the platform. In a few hours we will be taking a night train. My suitcase joins theirs in the station luggage storage. I no longer remember exactly, but I think this time we went to Montmartre to stroll around this picturesque district. We ate in a little brasserie and returned to the station by metro. I remember the whispered conversations exchanged with my cousin beneath her mother’s disapproving gaze, and our arrival in Agde.

It is still early, the sun is still low on the horizon. I am struck by the softness of its rays and by the intense and even blue of the sky. Back home in the North, the wind is still cool and struggles to chase the clouds away. We leave the station and take a bus. It drops us a short distance from the Mediterranean Sea. I want to stop and admire this peaceful expanse, but we have to keep moving. The landlady is waiting to hand us the keys. We stop in front of a two-storey house, but we head towards what used to be a garage. A living room with a small kitchenette, a bedroom and an adjoining washroom. A glass roof in the ceiling lets light flood into this little alcove. My two relatives have been spending their holidays with this lady for several years. Breakfast was waiting for us, one must take good care of one’s customers. Coffee for the grown-ups, hot chocolate for me, though I would have preferred coffee. But I like no longer being the « grown-up one » and being fussed over. I enjoy that bowl of hot chocolate and the croissants. Breakfast finished, the table cleared, we unpack our suitcases. Quick, we are going out for a walk.

The sun begins to play tricks on me, my face, my neck and my hands become covered with freckles. I feel a gentle warmth spreading through me, I want to take off my jacket but a voice says, « Cathy, put your cardigan back on, you’ll catch cold. » I obey… until the next time. We are on this beach where sand and pebbles compete for space. The sea is almost motionless, a deep blue, tiny wavelets make an attempt and then give up. Even the sea breeze cannot make them break upon the shore. I only want to dip my feet in the water, but the answer is a firm no. Yes indeed, my little godmother is keeping a close eye on me. We head back towards the town. I am surprised by how close the sea and the countryside are to one another. Along the promenade, beyond the buildings, a forest seems to have its feet in the water. A cooler breeze rises and the whispering of the leaves accompanies us to the town centre. A few groceries bought at the supermarket, a few steps to listen to the splashing of the fountain, a few steps for this…, a few steps for that… « But Cathy, we are here for another seven days! » We returned home, I do not know whether I even finished my meal that evening. I remember waking up on the sofa that had not even been unfolded. I was discovering another shore; I had just rediscovered my childlike soul and its curiosity.