Sand in our shoes

Technology can let you down. Or rather, you can fail in your use of technology. Such were my thoughts at the top of Europe's biggest sand dune, when the battery on my phone (and therefore camera) died, after I hadn't charged it properly. Oh, what a photo op. The clean yellow sand rising like an iceberg from a sea of pine trees; the turquoise bay with a flock of white and red boats skimming over it, lemon-coloured sandbars rippling through it; and at the top of the dune, the sharp ridge of sand stretching away into the blue sky. Ah well, we saw it, and it was beautiful. Worth the steep climb, puffing, with our feet sinking up to our ankles. Jemima valiantly struggled up: "I want to do it myself"; and ran shrieking down what Kevin told her was a giant sandcastle. Then we all sat down to pour the sand out of our shoes. 

Further south, to find a beach to build our own sandcastles. We followed a promising 'Plage' sign. The sand couldn't be seen from the camping car parking - this should have raised warning signs. But we optimistically gathered the chairs, windbreak, bucket and spade, put Jemima in the sling, and set off. Some time later we were staggering down a deep sandy path, the beach finally in sight. And it was beautiful (but VERY WINDY). We made sandcastles, we snuggled on the chair under the picnic blanket singing songs, and then we staggered back up the hill to Beatrix, and shook more sand out of our shoes.

One final push south, Kevin on the lookout for somewhere we could barbecue. And we found a lake with a campsite on the edge, had burgers and salad, and turned in - after shaking yet more sand out of our shoes.

The Dune of Pyla:

Photos of the Dune taken by OTHER PEOPLE:

The beach:

The lake:

Our journey today, part 1:

Part 2: