Royan in the Drizzle

I’m not quite sure why – perhaps I simply lack the right frame of reference. In my personal experience, many French coastal towns have a very utilitarian, sometimes even brutal concrete charm. This might be because the French Atlantic coast suffered heavy destruction during World War II. A striking example of this is the brutalist concrete church Église Notre-Dame de Royan – much like its counterpart in Le Havre.

The plan was simple: spend a cool evening in Royan and gently wind down the day. The little sidequest was to discover some picturesque beach huts and tents. As my wife had predicted, the tents had probably already been packed away for the night and the rain. The beach huts were few in number and, lacking interesting light, not really worth photographing.

After parking the car, we first tried to get our bearings. That’s when we stumbled upon the unconventional concrete church. At that moment, I found myself wishing I’d brought the longer lens for more compression.

We wandered aimlessly along the promenade, with the idea of eventually exploring the market hall – its roof spans like a giant concrete seashell. Unfortunately, the rain didn’t let up. In fact, it intensified. Another recurring phenomenon during our trips to France: it always feels like bars and restaurants are closed exactly when we need them most.

A little hideaway with a local beer or wine would have been perfect. In the end, it turned into a tactical retreat – back to the car. But Royan wasn’t entirely off the table just yet. We made a short detour through the villa district right by the beach. Plans were already forming for a revisit in the early morning light – architecture during the golden hour. As we followed the coastal road toward Phare du Port, we were finally rewarded with a glimpse of Royan’s more charming side.

Sometimes you just have to give things space and time – and not be misled by a first impression. Maybe one day, we’ll return to Royan bathed in the light of the rising sun.