The beach curves in a neat arc between two chalk headlands, east and west, that the locals call the falaises. You walk across smooth galets—palm-sized flint pebbles—that clatter underfoot and shift with each retreating wave. Wooden cabines de plage line the upper shore, painted in faded blues and greens, their owners hauling folding chairs down at low tide to claim patches of drier stone.
“One of the few Norman beaches where working fishing boats still launch directly from the shore beside Belle Époque bathing huts.”
Credit: UnsplashCrashing wave at sunset on the shoreline
At the western end, the casino and its Art Deco façade anchor the promenade, while fishing boats rest on trailers near the slipway. The town keeps its maritime rhythm: trawlers unload before noon at the quay just behind the beach, and you can buy sole and turbot straight off the boats. The water stays bracing even in August—fifteen degrees Celsius is a warm day—but families wade in regardless, children shrieking at the shock.
Sunset here is a study in pastels. The chalk cliffs catch pink and apricot light, and the pebbles glow like old bone. You settle onto the stones with a bottle from the cave coopérative and watch the tide creep in, erasing footprints, smoothing the beach back to its original geometry. By dusk the fishing boats return, their lights blinking against the deepening blue of the Channel.
