Every four years, this place becomes the global centre of ocean racing, a hotspot for sailing enthusiasts. The toughest race in the world starts from here at 13:02 on Sunday afternoon, one-handed, non-stop and unassisted around the globe.
In the three weeks leading up to the event, which takes place every four years in November, around two million visitors usually flock to the Race Village - an extraordinary number even for France. Sponsors release budgets in the tens of millions for the spectacle, the 60-foot Imoca yachts are high-tech machines of the finest calibre and their skippers enjoy hero status. One superlative follows the next.
This year, however, everything is different. Due to the high number of people infected with the coronavirus across the country, the start will take place behind closed doors; spectators will not be allowed in. The prefect has even imposed a curfew for the citizens of Les Sables on Sunday, which means that the beaches and piers - usually densely lined with crowds - will probably remain empty.
Despite the coronavirus restrictions, we can be there, close to Boris Herrmann's team, the first German challenger in the history of this race, albeit under the strictest conditions. These apply not only to the skippers and their teams: the media must also adhere to the routes and restricted zones. Without a negative PCR test, no one is allowed anywhere near the harbour basin.
For Boris, the lockdown in Les Sables began a week ago. His technical team has been in strict quarantine since yesterday. It is important not to take any more risks in the last few days before the start. Because anyone who would test positive in the last corona test today would be excluded from the race. The years of preparation would have been in vain.
As with all teams, Team Malizia's players are kept far away from the action and strictly separated from each other. The organisation pays extreme attention to compliance with the hygiene rules. Meticulous work has been done to ensure a smooth start on Sunday.
Past the strict inspectors, an unusual, almost disturbing picture emerged. The tent city in the harbour of the legendary coastal town in the Vendée department on the French Bay of Biscay coast is beautifully decorated, but deserted. The entire traffic routing had already been adapted weeks ago, but there are no cars. Even from a distance, the starting harbour in the centre is reminiscent of a ghost town.
There are posters at every junction, barriers, marquees, snack and sponsor stalls, stages - everything as usual. But nothing is happening anywhere. Tarpaulins and flags rattle unnoticed in the wind. Somewhere, music is blaring from a stage, probably to brighten up the gloom. But for whom? Despite everything, a few stand builders are still tinkering with installations that nobody will ever enter. There will be no crowds queuing in front of the otherwise coveted souvenir stands. And dozens of brand new, heavily motorised inflatable boats are lined up in the water, plastered with banners, which will be in use on Sunday. But nobody needs them yet. It's like a place in a deep sleep.
The strangely tranquil scene takes place against the imposing backdrop of the 33-boat Vendée fleet, which - as if nothing were wrong - awaits its pilots in the centre of the large marina on the Vendée Globe quay. The large, yet delicate solo racers gleam in the sun with their monstrous wing masts. You can sense their tremendous speed potential even when they are stationary.
Individual team members put the finishing touches to the boats. The huge foils and rudder blades are striking. You have to take a closer look to recognise the many remote-controlled video camera installations that help the skippers to check the trim in the cockpit or below deck.
Most recently, the helpers loaded provisions, fresh fruit and vegetables on board. At least for the first week or two, this offers a welcome change from the pre-cooked or freeze-dried rations that will make up the bulk of the food intake for the next 70 or 80 days.
People greet each other, masks in front of their faces, with a knowing, depressed nod. Like seals, divers unexpectedly lift their heads out of the turquoise, murky harbour water here and there. They inspect and clean the hulls from below.
The mood is cautious - there is still too much at stake - but cautiously optimistic. The protagonists have not yet been released into the vastness of the ocean. Anyone who has seen the situation in recent months knows that almost anything can change on a daily basis.
Only one thing seems to be certain: Sunday 1:02 pm it starts!
