New oyster cult
Love ’em or hate ’em, oysters have a mystique and a reputation that make them hard to resist. And, in some parts of Europe they’re also hard to avoid, as MARTIN WELLS discovered
AH, FRANCE in June. Could there be a better time to explore the world’s favourite holiday destination? The roads have yet to be clogged up with natives making a beeline for the beaches and, as a result, the sand has that ‘just swept’ look, to the extent it seems a shame to ruin its purity with our footprints.
One email I received from a pal of mine, experiencing the Dordogne at the same time, put it in a nutshell when he asked plaintively: “What’s going on? We seem to be the only ones here!”
While he may be over-egging it a little, there’s no denying that the core of the country’s tourism industry only really comes alive at the start of July. Even then there’s a sense that, at the end of August, the French give a collective Gallic shrug, close up their quaint wooden shutters and return to their normal routine – cursing ‘les Anglais’.
Our June visit coincided with the Euros football tournament but away from the core host cities there was a real sense that ‘le foot’ was going on in another country and, unless France itself was involved, no-one was interested.
In Leucate Plage, where we spent the first part of our holiday over on the Mediterranean coast, about 50 miles north of the Spanish border, we couldn’t find a bar that was showing the England-Wales clash.
In fact, it was hard to find a bar that was open. In desperation, we cycled a few miles out of the village, caught a train to nearby Perpignan and spent the day exploring this fascinating city, a real mix of urban France and Spain.
Famous for its rugby team, Perpignan also has much to offer those of a more cultural persuasion and a tour of the city aboard a ‘petit train’, complete with bilingual guide, gives you plenty of clues where to explore once you’ve alighted. And of course, once we’d alighted, we headed straight for a bar showing the big game!
Back in Leucate – a laidback collection of hip surfer beaches, a gorgeous, unspoiled village and an upmarket marina complex, connected by a network of cycle paths – you’re spoiled for choice if adventure is your thing. It almost goes without saying that cyclists in France are treated like an endangered species, afforded every courtesy on the roads and given pristine tracks wherever possible.
But within walking distance of Leucate village square there’s also a pony trekking complex nestling in the sand dunes; the rugged countryside can satisfy gentle strollers and hardened ramblers alike; and a mile or so inland is one of Europe’s best windsurfing venues, where adrenalin lovers whip around azure saltwater lagoons, or étangs.
It’s here, in these natural marine ‘fields’, that Leucate’s main export, oysters, are cultivated and harvested by an industry that permeates almost every aspect of life in this little corner of France.
Roadsides in the area are punctuated by cabins and stalls selling them to passers-by for a fraction of what they cost in the UK while restaurants inland will always have them on the menu, at rather more inflated prices.
But if you really want to sample oysters like the natives, follow the dirt roads off the main drag down to the creeks that slice through the coast and seek out the shacks at lunchtime.
For less than €10 you can enjoy a dozen oysters, garnished with mussels and cockles, straight off the boat, washed down with a carafe of the local chilled rosé.
Not sure how to eat them? The stylish fishwives who run these quaint roadside cafés will explain that squeezing a lemon on to the oyster is all that’s required to ‘cook’ them, before you scrape them out of their shells and slide them down your throat.
Delicious? Well, put it this way – I suspect they’ve acquired a spurious reputation as an aphrodisiac because I’m not sure there’s any other reason to eat them!
Nevertheless, the success of oyster culture in France suggests I’m in the minority. And even if they’re not to your taste, the shacks will happily serve up mussels and cockles instead. Just don’t ask for fish and chips!
If you don’t fancy the hike to the Med from Santander, where our holiday began, there’s another centre of oyster culture that’s much more accessible to the UK traveller.
Roughly equidistant between Santander and one of Brittany Ferries’ other ports, Roscoff, you’ll find the Ile d’Oleron.
France’s second biggest island (after Corsica), this is just north of Bordeaux, near the gaping mouth of the Gironde, and is reached by a free bridge (unlike its haughtier and smaller neighbour, the Ile de Re).
The two are often compared, with Oleron often found wanting by some tourists who prefer the chic and upmarket cachet of its admittedly pristine rival. For us, though, it’s like comparing pineau with Cognac – for your money, would you rather have a bottle of pineau or a glass of Cognac?
We arrived in search of oysters and found the same plethora of shacks as we had in Leucate – the same prices, roughly, and the same enthusiasm of traders eager to promote their wares.
Here, though, in the little dining areas, there’s an earthiness about the place and it’s not unusual to find yourself knocking back a plate of oysters with the fisherman himself, taking a break from harvesting the beds.
Like Leucate, you’ll find much to see and do here, along with a similarly mature network of cycle paths that will guide you through the pine forests and away from the main roads (all but empty in June) to the fascinating series of coastal towns and villages that appear every few miles.
At St Trojan les Bains, in the shadow of the causeway, a daily market brings tourists and restaurateurs alike to marvel at the fresh fish on display, the bewildering variety of olives or, of course, the endless baskets of fresh oysters.
At Chateau d’Oleron, a little to the north, meanwhile, the old oyster shacks have been turned into bars and craft centres where artisans sell original artwork or leather goods to visitors drawn here by the imposing 18th century citadel which, in pristine condition, still dominates the town.
Take my tip, though, and head to Boyardville, less commercialised and all the more charming for it.
Sheltered in a blister at the north-east corner of the island, it’s the gateway to a pine forest that’s fringed by miles and miles of beautiful and often deserted beaches.
Lapped by the tidal Atlantic, they may not have the tranquillity of the Med but their gently sloping nature makes them perfect for families while their remoteness means you can always find a quiet spot.
When the sun is dipping below the yardarm, a good day in June will mean there’s still a few hours left to linger byb a bar in the warm evening aira and practise your classroom French on the long-suffering waiters.
Beyond the harbour, just when you think the bars have all dried up, you’ll find the most laidback ‘auberge’, where the scruffy settees are almost impossible to escape, once you’ve parked your behind on them.
It’s Le Bout (the bottom, or the end). For once, we’d found a place that didn’t appear to be selling oysters. Instead, proudly at the top of the menu was the speciality of the house ‘fish and chips’.
Well, we thought, as we knocked back another glass of pineau, it would be rude not to…