When I think of Arcachon, I usually think of very sunny days, algues smell, swims in the bay, dives from the peers, late family dinners, or long lunch in my granmother house back then, walks in the forest, and silly plays with my cousins. Going to Arcachon is going back to my chillhood and opening the magic memories box, unpack them and measure the distance made since then.
Arcachon change so much in 10 years, that seeing it made me think of beeing in another city but not the one I knew. The last picture that was close to my memories was the walk to the above Jetée d'Eyrac.
All the rest changed, the sea-front, the Jetée Thier, shops, people around. This place lift up from working-class type to Bobo crowd.
But even though people change, they still doing the same thing they used to do a long time ago in my memories.
Walking along the beach, reading books on the Jetées and kissing on benches.
And finally try to eat chocolat-chantilly gauffre at the near by shop.
Mine was big and doubled chantillied, thanks to my sister who ask behind my back to doubled it, (she was video taped making the deal with the chantilly girl). I loved my gauffre but could not finished it, maybe next time.