It was seasonably hot, then one evening, the wind picked up—not just your regular August breeze, mind you, we were being hit by the kind of relentless, strong wind gusts those living close to the coast are used to.
“Spring tides!” we shrugged, holding the apartment door tightly so that the wind wouldn’t slam it shut. The ocean influences the weather around here, especially the typically strong tides around August 15.
But gusts turned into squalls and then came dark clouds.
It started to rain. Not constantly but randomly for a minute or two.
The day after, the sky was even darker. It felt like fall. It rained like it does in fall too.
I’m stubbornly refusing to wear jeans because it’s still summer. I have goosebumps but so what? It’s too early for warmer clothes!
Half of France is complaining about the weather—the one who worked in July and decided to take August off—but it’s still business as usual when it rains in France. People go out, shop at the marché and enjoy bar and restaurant terraces.
On the plus side, the giant puddles are quite picturesque.