It’s still hot in France.
I’m not complaining.
So, the 11:09 a.m. to La Baule or the 11:13 a.m. to Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie?
Both trains get you from Nantes to the coast in about an hour. The first heads slightly north; the other speeds south.
It’s worth taking a minute before boarding one of them, though, because the two towns couldn’t feel more different. They are a hundred kilometers apart and worlds apart.
It may not be obvious at first.
Let me translate it for you from a French perspective attuned to class war and all these social markers.
In both towns, the sky is just as blue, the sun shines just as brightly, the seemingly endless beaches are just as wide, and the water is just as chilly—a blessing during a heat wave. The main avenue in each—named after General de Gaulle, of course—leads day-trippers straight from the train station to the beach, and, yes, there are ice cream shops along the way.
Yet, it’s a tale of two cities.
On the one hand, there’s La Baule, where convertibles and other luxury cars wait outside the train station to collect passengers. Many of them have booked into one of the town’s upscale seaside hotels, where a butler is waiting to take care of Madame and Monsieur’s luggage. Others are met by their mothers, uncles or older brothers in Lamborghinis.
In Saint-Gilles, an old-fashioned carousel greets you, and there’s a good chance it’s market day too, with stalls selling cheap perfume, beach toys and cold cuts for your sandwiches.
Designer boutiques line La Baule’s main avenue. Saint-Gilles has plenty of shops too, but they tend to be outlet stores or fishing-tackle shops.
While La Baule dines on lobster and oysters, Saint-Gilles tucks into buckets of mussels and fries. While La Baule gambles at its swanky casino, Saint-Gilles shops for anything and everything sardine-related—tins of sardines, sardine magnets, sardine mugs. Yes, sardines are big business around here.
The La Baule crowd hits the beach as late as possible, when, with any luck, the day-trippers are already on their way home. The Saint-Gilles crowd stays on the beach as long as possible because, damn it, you have to get your money’s worth out of that train ticket.
La Baule’s motto should be “Come on over—as long as you’re one of us.”
Saint-Gilles, I’m pretty sure, lives by “Come as you are.”
Its beach is gloriously messy and fun, with plenty of empty stretches, an amazing lighthouse and picturesque deep-blue beach huts.
I don’t mind the occasional cultural expedition into the mysterious world of La Baule’s bourgeoisie, but damn it, we belong in Saint-Gilles.
Plus, I love sardines.
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