The chapel that gives this beach its name has stood watch over the northern coast since the nineteenth century, its coral-stone walls bleached almost white by salt spray. You'll park near the fishermen's cottages and walk past the cemetery where headstones tilt toward the sea, then descend a footpath through scrub and agave to find the sand.
“The only Grande-Terre beach anchored by a historic chapel on its headland, creating an unforgettable silhouette against the Atlantic horizon.”
Tropical island lagoon from above
The water here shifts from pale jade near shore to cobalt where the reef drops off. You can wade out fifty meters and still touch bottom, the sand ridged under your feet, warm as skin. Seagrape trees cluster at the high-tide line, their round leaves rattling in the trade winds that blow steady and strong all morning. Local families arrive early, spreading blankets in the shade, while fishermen haul nets near the rocks at the southern end.
By afternoon the wind picks up and the Atlantic swells roll in, white-capped and insistent. The chapel casts a long shadow across the sand. You'll hear the waves drumming against the outer reef, a low constant thunder that reminds you this coast faces nothing but open ocean all the way to Africa.
