How a Cat Search Turned Into a French Beach Odyssey (Jeans Optional)

By Your Favorite Sarcastic-But-Sincere Travel Hustler

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Let me set the scene.

It’s a regular day in Belgium. The plan? Drive almost to the edge of the country to check out a cat. Yep, a cat. A furball. A meow-machine. For our daughter, because apparently we’re now an Uber service for feline adoption. But we figured — hey, since we’re already halfway to Mordor, why not cross the border and make a proper day out of it?

Enter: Wissant & Cap Blanc Nez.

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🌾 The Drive: Wheatfield Dreamin’

The drive from the highway to Wissant was the kind of scenery that makes you forget your podcast’s playing and just go full Zen mode. Golden wheat fields on gently rolling hills. Winding roads. It looked like Windows XP and a Monet painting had a lovechild. If you ever wanted to know what French countryside smells like? Freedom. And baguettes.

Wissant itself? Think “Pinterest board titled Coastal French Vibes.” Tiny charming houses, a peaceful atmosphere, and not a chain coffee shop in sight. So of course, we walked around a bit to pretend we were locals who just “happened” to be stylish and relaxed (even though we were covered in car snacks).

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🌊 Then, The Beach Happened.

You ever have one of those beach experiences where you think, “This is peaceful,” and then suddenly realize the ocean has plans?

Yeah. Flood tide rolled in like it had something to prove, and just like that, the beach turned into a poorly designed exit route from a Coldplay concert. People panicking, running across makeshift dunes, tripping over old wooden stakes like extras in a Gladiator reboot.

And us? Oh, we tried the dunes. We did. But Mother Nature was like, “LOL, nope.” So we went full-committed mode: through the water. In jeans. JEANS.

Gary V voice: “Look, if you’re not willing to get your denim soaked to live life fully, you’re not hustling hard enough.”

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🍽️ Redemption Arc: Moules & Joy

After squishing our way back to the village center, we did what any sun-soaked, salt-drenched warriors would do: seek food. Found La Table d’Augustine. This place doesn’t mess around. If heaven has a menu, their moules are on it. Creamy, herby, perfectly steamed mussels with fries that didn’t taste like a sad freezer bag? YES PLEASE.

We ate like royalty who didn’t care about the sand stuck in awkward places.

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🏞️ Cap Blanc Nez: Cliff Notes (Literally)

To wrap it up, we drove to Cap Blanc Nez for that “we-walked-it-off-so-now-the-fries-don’t-count” feeling. The tower up there? Gorgeous. The view? Epic. And the vibe? Like standing at the edge of something grand — life, the continent, your daily Instagram story.

Took some photos, soaked in the sun, ignored our mildly sunburnt faces. And just stood there thinking:

“We came here for a cat. And ended up with a memory.”

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🧠 TL;DR (Too Long; Didn’t Roadtrip)
• Drive for a cat. End up in a French seaside village.
• Wheat fields? Gorgeous.
• Beach? Beautiful. And treacherous. Don’t wear jeans.
• Mussels at La Table d’Augustine = 10/10 would sell a kidney for more.
• Cap Blanc Nez is proof nature is better than whatever’s trending on Netflix.

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So yeah. Next time you’re heading somewhere for a “quick errand,” maybe just keep driving. Because life’s short. And sometimes it hands you golden fields, flooded beaches, and moules-frites that make you believe again.

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