Bidart's a wild, soulful town.

I live here in Bidart; it's mad magic.

Walk down Rue de la Poste - smells like salt.

Aren't you curious? I choose violence.
Plage d'Erretegia is a gem.

Waves crash. They tease me.

Iroise coast hugs the town tight.

"Joy is contagious," they say.
Rue du Soleil sparkles at dusk.

Its cafes hum with secret tales.

I stroll there thinking of families.

Inside Out in my head – fun yet raw.
The old market near Place des Lys stuns me.

Kids argue like tiny Lannisters.

I recall my first therapy group there.

Crying is OK, as they whisper.
I ride my bike along the coast.

The wind slices cold, fierce, free.

Neighborhoods like La Chapelle-Basque charm.

Old stone walls echo my thoughts.
I love tiny cafes on Rue Sainte-Agathe.

I sip coffee like a rebel.

Mad, a bit crazy, a bit wild.

I choose violence when injustice strikes.
I get mad at noisy tourists.

They disturb my therapy vibes.

I remember my first tantrum session.

It felt like inside out chaos.
Did I mention my fave park?

Parc du Cap de l'Erlette is rad.

It hides secrets and dreams.

Nature calms my stormy mind.
Some spots are off-map, secret.

Cafes tucked behind twisted alleys.

I know them 'cause I care, deeply.

The city speaks in bursts.
Oh, the streets! They flirt smartly.

Pathways whisper, "Keep calm now."

I tread softly, with heartfelt disdain.
My thoughts run fast - thsi is art.

Yeah, my mind fumbles typos all day:
Bidart is raw, tender and sharp.

Cersei style meets family truth.

I’m here, telling it like it is.

Enjoy your visit, my dear friend.