The journey to Biarritz began comfortably enough, but after the first few miles the heat became very oppressive, and though we had no repetition of our Montrejeau experience at starting, we felt nevertheless almost as warm as if we had.
Our arrival at Bayonne was a great relief, for the sun had partially retired, and as we crossed in turn the Adour and the Nive, a scent of the "briny" was borne into our omnibus with revivifying effect. Passing up one of the narrow old streets to execute a few commissions, we regained the "Place," crossed the drawbridge, and entered the lovely avenues, from which, beyond the "fosse," the twin towers of the beautiful cathedral come into view. On the right is the station of the "steam tram-line," and some hundred yards beyond it the road to Biarritz curves in the same direction.
This road cannot be called beautiful! The never-ending line of poplars along each side turn the landscape into that Noah's ark style which even the soul that could be "contented with a tulip or lily" would hardly admire. Approaching Biarritz, however, the handsome villas and their gardens fully deserve the epithet which cannot in justice be applied to the road. They are indeed beautiful; and to pass them even in winter, with the camellia trees laden with blossoms and the roses scenting the air, makes comparison with our London gardens very odious indeed!
Under the small-gauge railway-bridge, and past the new "English Club," we soon entered the town, [Footnote: The distance between Bayonne and Biarritz is 5 miles.] and driving down the Rue Mazagran into the Place Sainte Eugenie, drew up at the familiar Hôtel de Paris, in time for dinner.
Although Biarritz is in the department of the Basses-Pyrénées, it is so far away from the mountains that many might consider its introduction into this volume as questionable; we do not therefore intend to say as much as could be said about it. At the same time, it is so greatly recommended by doctors as a beneficial spot for a final "brace up" before returning to England, after a mountain trip, and is, besides, such a favourite winter residence, that we consider it would be more "questionable" to omit it.
Unlike Pau, its amusements are not of a very varied character. In winter, lawn-tennis and balls are the chief, and concerts occur generally weekly or bi-weekly. As spring asserts herself, bathing commences and picnics become the fashion; and in the early summer—as long as the English remain—tennis and bathing go almost hand-in-hand.
The tennis-ground—which is only a short distance from the English church of St. Andrew's—is well laid out and commodious, possessing an excellent reading room for members' use, as well. Of bathing establishments there are three; the large building in the Moorish style on the Plage, the less pretentious but more picturesque one in the Port Vieux, and the least pretentious and least protected one, under the "falaises" [Footnote: Blue chalk cliffs.] beyond.
The first and last are only used in the height of summer; that in the Port Vieux—from its sheltered position—opens its box-doors as soon as winter really gives place to spring. The scene, when the tide is high on a morning in June, is often an exceedingly pretty one, for to the pristine picturesqueness of the surroundings is added those touches of human nature enjoying itself, which, if it doesn't "make us kin," goes a long way towards it.
The "Port Vieux" is triangular in shape, with the apex inland, along the sides of which the boxes are erected, reaching to the water's edge at high tide. In the middle lies an expanse of deep sand, and the blue waters roll in between the rocks and gently break on a shingly beach, where the tiniest shells and pebbles mingle to make the one drop of bitterness in the bather's cup.
When the sandy expanse is crowded with merry children, the roads and seats above filled with spectators, and the water with members of both sexes in varied costumes and "headgears"—not forgetting the boatman in the tiny skiff who is here, there, and everywhere in case he is needed—the scene is a very pleasant one to look upon. Of course there are always some narrow-minded individuals to find fault, some "maiden" aunts "with spinster written on their brows," who will put up their gold-rimmed glasses with that peculiar sniff that invariably prefaces some extra sweet remarks, such as, "Dear me, how wicked! Men and women bathing together in that barefaced manner; and … I do believe there's that forward Miss Dimplechin actually taking hold of Captain Smith's hand, and he a married man too! Thank goodness, I never did such a thing—never!" [Footnote: Did she ever have the chance?]