I lay cocooned in my sleeping bag, the morning sun making me sweat into my already sticky clothes. Days of the week don’t matter to me, but I could tell it was a Sunday morning from the sound of trainers pounding the promenade.

I walked to the boulangerie and bought a thick wedge of apricot flan. A man shot me a reproving glance as he bought his morning bread, perhaps secretly envious of my indulgence, or so I imagined.

My muscles felt stiff after yesterday’s exertions, but they always loosen up after the first hour. I fought a headwind for three hours before stopping for lunch at Plage de la Mine. The baking sand was highly soporific and it took some willpower to not doze off.

By 4 pm, a haze had lifted and I could see Île de Re on the horizon. I’d planned to paddle further along the shore but instead, I set off for the island. With wind and tide behind me, the crossing was quick. I came ashore near a lighthouse, the Phare des Baleines.

Just off the beach was a lifeboat station built in 1869. Back then, a cannon was used to signal a rescue. The lifeboat was rowed by 10 men and was supposedly unsinkable since it was self-righting and self-draining.