Look at a map and Bordeaux is near the sea. To get there though is a long haul through scruffy hinterland. Endless straight roads are bordered by sandy, scrubby tracks that veer off into the gloom between interminable rows of pine tree trunks. Tired hoardings advertise "PAINTBALL!" or the nearest collection of holiday "cabanes" that are many, many miles from a beach.
The road is only one lane in each direction and the French predilection for tail-gating means that we travel along in small packed convoys behind a battered Renault driven by an elderly man in a cap or an oil tanker heading for the nearest hypermarket.
But it's worth the journey. Mile after mile of surf-pounded sand to walk along - almost alone.
Vita agrees that sand is fun, but still thinks getting wet is very dangerous.