Isn’t it nice, in a world of constant uncertainty and flux, to return each year to a place where everything is joyous and never seems to change?
For at least two weeks in October, when the Quik Pro swings into town, Hossegor is that place.
Sure, the name on the trophy might alter once in a while- and this year featured an etching with particularly exciting ramifications- but almost everything else that makes it such a fantastically fun fortnight remains staunchly unwavering.
We gurgle the same cheap wine in the same square filled with the same beautiful girls, wearing expressions of contempt or arousal, depending on which member of the invading army of Aussies, Brits, Germans and Spaniards is trying their luck that evening.
And in the mornings, as the sun breaks over the same sand dunes and burns away the mist, an assortment of world-class surfers face off against the same thick-lipped shorebreak kegs (that are either the best in the world or glorified closeouts, depending on who you ask.)
By this point we know where to find them when the comp ain’t on; at Graviere for the dawny, or hucking huge airs at Cul Nus during an orange-tinged evening airshow, or down the beach on the other side of the river when north of the canyon turns to victoire en mer.
Here’s a selection of choice moments featuring the world’s best, sans-singlet, along the southernmost stretch of the Cote d’Argent from the two weeks that just was:
All photos @lugarts
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