FREIBURGER ZEITGEISTLITERATURE (Satis Shroff)

Atlantic coast, France: ILE D' OLERON  (Satis Shroff) It was a beautiful sight. The sun was going down after a hot and sultry day, a scarlet mass, and the sky was a bright orange with shades of yellow and azure above. There were some clouds languidly moving ahead. A flock of sea-gulls dived and swirled around in the distance. The only noise you heard was that of the waves that swept along the shores of France from the Atlantic. We were in the western island of Oleron. This island lies in the vicinity of the Charente river, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean. It has a population of 17,500 inhabitants. We'd driven from Freiburg in south-west Germany in two cars along the French country roads to the isle. Martin and Annette were in one Renault and Yvonne and I were in our tomato-red Peugeot. Dusk set in by the time we crossed the long bridge, Pont d' Oleron, to the island. It was a relatively small, flat island (175 sq km) with a network of roads, the

Atlantic coast, France: ILE D' OLERON  (Satis Shroff) It was a beautiful sight. The sun was going down after a hot and sultry day, a scarlet mass, and the sky was a bright orange with shades of yellow and azure above. There were some clouds languidly moving ahead. A flock of sea-gulls dived and swirled around in the distance. The only noise you heard was that of the waves that swept along the shores of France from the Atlantic. We were in the western island of Oleron. This island lies in the vicinity of the Charente river, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean. It has a population of 17,500 inhabitants. We'd driven from Freiburg in south-west Germany in two cars along the French country roads to the isle. Martin and Annette were in one Renault and Yvonne and I were in our tomato-red Peugeot. Dusk set in by the time we crossed the long bridge, Pont d' Oleron, to the island. It was a relatively small, flat island (175 sq km) with a network of roads, the main t

Atlantic coast, France: ILE D' OLERON  (Satis Shroff) It was a beautiful sight. The sun was going down after a hot and sultry day, a scarlet mass, and the sky was a bright orange with shades of yellow and azure above. There were some clouds languidly moving ahead. A flock of sea-gulls dived and swirled around in the distance. The only noise you heard was that of the waves that swept along the shores of France from the Atlantic. We were in the western island of Oleron. This island lies in the vicinity of the Charente river, which flows into the Atlantic Ocean. It has a population of 17,500 inhabitants. We'd driven from Freiburg in south-west Germany in two cars along the French country roads to the isle. Martin and Annette were in one Renault and Yvonne and I were in our tomato-red Peugeot. Dusk set in by the time we crossed the long bridge, Pont d' Oleron, to the island. It was a relatively small, flat island (175 sq km) with a network of roads, the main t