by Wendy
During our road trip this past September, we drove across the Spanish border to spend a few days in St. Jean de Luz. We were looking forward to seeing this small coastal town in the French Basque Region. We listened to Euskadi radio as we drove through mountain tunnels and watched the scenery turn greener. I’d say expectations were high.

St. Jean de Luz has a rich history that includes the Church of Saint Jean Baptiste, where in 1660 King Louis the 14th married Maria Theresa, Infanta of Spain. You can walk down streets where the royals stayed, where prominent citizens of the 17th century built houses. It’s so close to Spain, but the historic part of town looked unmistakably French. We spent an afternoon wandering around – as the woman at the tourist center said, it takes about an hour to see key sites. We saw war memorials and learned about the fishing industry legacy. We enjoyed walking along the coast, looking at boats, watching a fisherman mending a net, admiring the reddish roofs against the slate blue slightly drizzly sky. We stopped for coffee and pastries and croque madame sandwiches (this is like a grilled ham and cheese with a fried egg on top- so delicious).

It was very pleasant. However, the best part of our stay was a neighborhood outside the historic town. We weren’t sure what to think of it at first. Actually, expectations took a bit of a tumble.

We did not find many online reviews for the Villa Acotz Resort, and ever fewer in English. The photos looked incredible, so we rolled the dice, hoping we had discovered an amazing off-the-radar place.

The property was beautiful, but the room itself had some issues. I don’t like complaining about stuff like this. And I want to note that we did not share our complaints with the management – primarily because we didn’t expect there was anything they could do. Maybe there was. We had booked on Expedia at a non-refundable rate, and it wasn’t anything we couldn’t cope with for two nights. I don’t expect every hotel or rental to be perfect – and lots of times it really comes down to individual preferences. And many times, like this one, there is a benefit to unmet expectations.

Again, the property is beautiful – like can-I-actually-be-complaining-about-this beautiful? The problem was that the room was in a square, concrete structure that reminded us of a converted garage. There was no air conditioning, so we quickly realized we could either 1) leave the windows open and probably add to the spiders and mosquitos already making themselves at home or 2) deal with the stuffy heat. The bed was comfortable, things seemed fairly clean, and the big sliding glass doors in front looked out onto the pool. But you could see and hear everything that went on by the pool. If you wanted privacy, you had to pull down the grates and curtains – sealing the place . . . like a garage. There was one tiny room with a toilet just a couple of steps from the bed, and another separate small room with shower and sink. There was a room freshener in the toilet room that was way, way too strong. I smelled it as soon as I walked in the front door and never got used to it. The L’Occitane shower gel and shampoo were appreciated, but the hot water wasn’t consistent.

There are campgrounds nearby and the neighborhood has g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s beach alcoves. There are tons of surfers, campers, families, locals. The energy is very low-key – just like a small beach town should be. I started wishing I was a camper, which makes Jack optimistic that I might actually go camping one day. I tried looking at the garage room through the eyes of someone who loves sleeping outside or with all windows open and doesn’t mind bugs, and never worries about electronics or money or passports getting stolen. As I contemplated this, we applied the best remedy we could think of to a slighlty disappointing rental – drinking a bottle of rose while sitting near the pool – leaving the windows and sliding door open in hopes the room aired out. It didn’t but we felt more relaxed. I remembered I was on vacation and had it very good. Who did I think I was, a princess visiting on account of a treaty to meet a french king and who needed special accommodations? Mais non.

The first night in Saint Jean de Luz we stumbled upon Bagus, a neighborhood restaurant. Loved this place. We tried the Pate Basque (interesting but not our thing) and Salade Ocean (good) and pizzas (awesome). Friendly staff and chill outdoor setting. Kool in the Gang through the speakers. We made friends with the giant dog sitting at a nearby table – Jack was smitten with this gentle canine who reminded him of a family pet. I texted my Mom and Grandmother. We always get a kick out of how fast we can communicate in countries across an ocean. You know the laid-back vibe you get when you go to a favorite beach – whether it is California or Florida or Cape Cod or Hilton Head or Outer Banks? We were feeling it – but in France. Pretty cool! Who cares if the rental wasn’t totally luxurious. During our visit, we took a few peaceful walks down to the beach coves, watching the surfing and the ocean. We preferred the views here over the historic part of town. Very steep hills leading to a spot that would feel secluded, if there weren’t multiple cliques of surfers waiting to take their turns with the waves and their girlfriends/boyfriends/dogs/buddies hanging out on the sand to watch that evening’s luck.

The second and final evening we were there, we stopped by a fancy seafood restaurant, but were turned away because we did not have reservations. Whatever! DIdn’t phase us. We went back to one of the casual wooden beachside shacks. I think the name is Ti Cabarron – if you’re in the neighborhood, I’m sure you can find it. It’s close to the camping ground, down the street from the other beachside cafe that has live music. And the view of the ocean is incredible. As the pale blue sky turned to night we joked that restaurants in the states would charge much higher prices for the privilege. We expected some decent beach bar food but BONUS: dinner happened to be delicious. We split a gigantic salad with fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, soft boiled egg, a whole avocado, sautéed onions. Jack had mussels and frites and I had a merlu fish with rice, zucchini and a Thai style sauce. “This is the best restaurant in the neighborhood,” a random patron remarked to me as I went up to the bar with our credit card to pay the bill. The waitress was great, tolerated our tipsy French and appreciated Jack’s spontaneous dancing to the faint music we could hear from the band playing down the road. She even joined in a few moves herself. We went back to Bagus and had a beer before turning in for the night.

Jack and I were talking about this place recently. He said, that was a really special spot, I want to learn to surf, I want to go back – obviously not stay in the same room. I agreed and said yes, we should rent a camper and stay on the campgrounds. My rugged prince was delighted with that suggestion. There’s nothing wrong with being a princess, or a surfer girl – but it seems to me you have the most fun if you’re a little of both and can adapt expectations accordingly, always finding ways to appreciate what you have.