Leave at dawn with your surfboard under your arm… And jump into the first metro, direction Barbès (Paris 18th century). Guillaume Rouan has made this journey hundreds of times from his apartment along the Saint-Martin canal (Xe). “It was our meeting point,” slips the thirty-year-old, taking a look through the large bay window of the Barbès brasserie.
This November morning, a shy winter sun is already flooding the boulevard. The bustling metro station pours out a continuous stream of travelers amidst undercover cigarette sellers. But you have to get up a little earlier to hope to see some silhouettes in jumpsuits. To spot them, don’t look for waves in the heart of the 18th arrondissement, but rather a car with a trunk loaded with planks on the roof, which is about to travel hundreds of kilometers to the ocean.
