Once the darkness has fallen, the monuments, the places empty of their visitors and calm down, returned to their silence and their mystery. Or… The Figaro journalists stayed on site for a night like no other. Follow the leader.
To the west, the sea, pierced by a horizontal setting sun, has the dazzling glow of burning metal.
The heat is still strong on the islet of Cordouan, between the Pas des Asnes and the Pas des Graves.
The silence is barely disturbed by the turners who come in the evening to peck on the foreshore uncovered at low tide, at the foot of the beautiful ornate stone tower.
Are they hallucinations, mirages?
Could the pineau tasted on the rampart be the cause?
Going to Cordouan by the Siren, an hour from Royan, we had in mind the image of the lighthouse in our teenage novels, or in the films: either a high stone column, white barrel and red head, an architecture as simple as a mast and like it strong enough to withstand the wind,
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