Hey, Where Did Everybody Go?
I’m not all ‘paranormal paranormal, ghostie ghostie’. Well, not all the time anyway, sometimes you do have to have a break from it all. Having spent a few days in the lovely seaside town of Le Touquet, France, I have come to the conclusion that all those years I spent learning French was a waste of time. I went over there and thought to myself, well, here we are in France, surrounded by French personages, I will speak French to them! But no:
“Je voudrais deux cappuchinos, s’il vous plait!” I announced proudly in one restaurant, hoping my hubby would be seriously impressed by the fluency of my French and ignoring the confused look my son was giving me.
“Two cappuchinos? Okay, anything else?” the waitress replied with a smile.
What? What’s this? Is my French so terrible, the waitress wants to spare my blushes by making me speak English? Perhaps it’s my accent? English with a hint of Australian (according to some people, although I’ve never been to Australia in my life. Well, not in this life anyway.)
“Uh… no, that’s everything, thanks a lot.” Pah. All those years of slaving over a hot French dictionary and they insist on speaking my own language to me. Well, at least they aren’t just looking at me blankly as they did with my poor pa when he once ordered ‘trois bieres‘ and held up four fingers.
Le Touquet is a beautiful place during the summer months, but when you visit out of season, as we did, it’s a ghost town. The seafront becomes a desolate place with a slightly menacing feel to it due to the lack of life. Of any kind. I’m sure we didn’t even see a seagull while we were there. The sky was grey, the wind was a bit overexcited and the place had the air of a deserted fairground: you knew some fun had been had there, but it was a long time ago and all that remained were the echoes. It was wonderfully eerie; I rather liked it. It set my imagination running off down all sorts of avenues. We drove around the tree-lined boulevards around the apartment where we were staying and stared at the huge houses that had been shuttered up for the winter. It appears that many of the homes there are owned by super rich people who only use them in the summer months and then shut them up for the winter. Cafes and shops seemed more closed than open and it wasn’t until we trundled off to Boulogne Sur Mer to see the Nausicaa aquarium and Amiens to see the lovely little zoo there that we found life again. But that deserted seafront at Le Touquet is haunting me – I think it needs a short story or something written about it.
Le Touquet may not be exactly rife with ghost stories, in fact, I’ve struggled to find reference to anything weird there, but driving down the deserted roads certainly gave me food for thought. All those shuttered up mansions and lifeless windows – who knows what could be lurking in there?
On a completely different subject, have a look at this:
Who says Pagans don’t have a sense of humour…
See you later.