From the rocky overhang at the base of Pointe du Hock (not to be confused with Pointe du Hoc in Normandy) at the foot of Rocher de Surcouf, the landscape transforms. The sea, immense and shifting, opens before me like an endless canvas, and at the heart of this setting stands Cancale, terraced, facing its harbor. From this high point, the town is fully revealed: the tightly packed houses seem to watch over the quays, turned toward the sea as if to pay homage to it.

In the distance, the Fenêtre jetty juts confidently into the waves. Its slender silhouette traces a clear line connecting the land to the ocean, like a gesture of confidence directed toward the horizon. At its end, the lighthouse stands, sober and solid, an unchanging witness to the comings and goings of the tides and of people. It is a reassuring presence, a landmark that guides the gaze of the walker as much as the navigation of sailors.

The air, charged with iodine and light, seems to vibrate from all sides. From this height, Cancale appears not only as a living port, but as a city intimately linked to the ocean, where each stone, each jetty, each bird's cry reminds us that the sea is not a backdrop but a faithful companion. Time seems suspended, and we understand, faced with this panorama, why so many men have chosen to drop anchor here, in the heart of the Emerald Coast.