coops, waves and so many other things!

For all the grumbling I put forth about driving, I have to say, there are a very small handful of car trips that always make me very happy. Here's one: the trip to La Franqui.

I mean, the set up is so good! It's always in superb weather (why drive all that way if it's not brilliant outside), the drive isn't long (a tad over an hour each way), the music on the radio's the kind that I'll remember later on, and at the end of it all there's the beach that stretches a long long way from the tiny hamlet of La Franqui.

The weather has finally shaken off its vicissitudes. The skies are a tad hazy by the hills but ever so blue by the sea. Time for my best beach.

With a twist.

So long as we're putting ourselves in the clunker for that long, we may as well make a few detours and stops along the way. Gunter and Baerbel (our terrific landlords) gave us a gift of a delicious  rosé. Where did you find this? -- I ask. (Mind you, every grocery store here carries some fifty different rosés, but this one is really special.) All the way up in the Corbieres. A friend told us about the wine cooperative in Tuchan -- Les Caves du Mont Tauch.

Ah, the Massif des Corbières... an area of hills, valleys, of stone and Mediterranean shrub, of rosemary honey and of fantastic (if very humble) wines. The Corbières stretch from La Franqui by the sea due west, all the way to Carcassone. We've never taken the winding small roads that go up one hill and down the next. So today we have a plan: a visit to the wine coop, a hike in the Corbières and a swim at La Franqui.

I have too many photos (44: it happens on days that have great variety) and so I wont overload this post, too, with text. Instead, let the pictures, with captions describe our day!



 Yes, I know there are more in baskets behind us! No, I do not know how to say 'chewy' or 'gummy' in French! Just pick one! Any one!





The lesser  café is actually quite nice. We're not daily customers here, but they still remember our drinks. Good people.





There's a love of rugby here. And all things Catalan. 





The first 50 kilometers of our trip are on a big road. You can see the revered Canigou Mountain, hiding in a haze. Until the 18th century, it was thought to be the highest peak in the Pyrenees.





And now, after spinning off on an ever so narrow road, we're in the heart of the Corbières. Vines... everywhere you look, vines. Hazy mountains in the distance, rocky old hills in the forefront...





... fields of vines, jutting stone, Mediterranean forest





A sigh of relief! We arrive one minute before the Coop closes for lunch hours (the standard lunch break here is 3.5 hours)... (He has the look of Languedoc: rugged and handsome!)





I don't often visit the bigger wine producers, but this coop is special: it has energy!




  
...and with that energy comes tremendous success (they have achieved big sales in the UK) 







The walk after the visit is warm -- it's just past noon! The air is still, very fragrant...







We climb up Mont Tauch -- not all the way, but a good hour and a half up. Views all around are fantastic! And very different from what we see in Sorede.




You can get carried away with photo-taking. It's just so grand! 




The ever beautiful dancing ladies




Already showing their fruits




Did I mention the almond trees? 





After -- a brief stroll through the village of Touchan. Smaller than Sorède. Supporting the Coop. A working village.




As in so many other French towns and villages, there is a monument honoring soldiers who died in combat during the two World Wars. Each soldier from the village is listed at the base. 





Touchan is pretty in its own way. Quiet now, at the long lunch break, with a tranquil color palate...





So long as we're visiting wine co-ops, I suggest a tiny detour to the even smaller village of Embres et Castelmaure, perched in the hills, between Touchan and the sea. Here, on the bench, you see the colors that signify their wine coop: Cave d'Embres et Castelmause. Where, they say, everything is done by hand.




Lovely, well regarded (and inexpensive!) rosés here as well





Th village (Embres et Castelmaure) is a mouthful to say, but very simple, very old...





...and very pretty. 



 
 
And now we have to cross the Massif to get to the sea. The unexpected: a low cloud cover has settled over the jagged hills. The expected: narrow mountain roads are always an attractive biking opportunity here. We pass these guys all the time.





The villages are just so pretty! Even (or especially?) in this oddly cloud filled corner





As we descend to the sea, we notice that the clouds end at La Franqui. Or, at least they taper off toward the beach. Will it be sunny on the long stretch of sand?





Yes! Or at least if you look out toward the sea, the sky is tremendously blue. La Franqui is really two beaches: one by the village and a second longer one which you reach by crossing the stream that runs in and out of the etang (lake). You have to be careful! It alternates between being ankle deep and waist high!




The cove is known for being windy. There's a windsurfing school in the village and you can always have fun watching these guys.




Looking north, away from the village, there is this great expanse of beautiful sand. Ed and I have found that if you walk far enough, you'll come to sand bars. They extend heftily into the water, creating thin stretches of very shallow swimming fun





Waves form and crest along these shallow parts





You can stand in what seems to be knee high water and take photos, but you have to take heed! Steps away, the water turns suddenly deep and in any case, a nice wave can come and knock you down. Not a big deal, unless you're holding your favorite camera! (Luck is with me today! At least until this evening...)





It's sunny at la Franqui, but just barely so. Notice the clouds rolling around in the hills. Occasionally a wisp of one will come down, stay a while, then disappear again. We're just on the edge of the cloud cover!




The beach was empty, but now a group of school children comes for late afternoon of water jumping. Lovely to watch their joy.





...while Ed settles down to read (yes, we both went swimming! Of course!)





I'm walking back along the most shallow part of the sand lip...in a minute I'll be pulling up my skirts to avoid getting wet





At the cove side of the etang, another group of school kids. Looking for something... Don't know what...




One lovely tradition is to end the outing with a pistachio ice cream (and a noisette coffee for me)





The French love of biking starts early. Here, the dad hauls two kids on his velo, the mom rides kid free




Driving back to our village at the foot of the Pyrenees, we pass the larger etang, with the oyster beds...





Home at last. It's after 8 but still very light outside. We leave the clunker and walk down the hill, past the cork oak forest that abuts the now tiny stream...




...past Ed's friends...





...and here's where I have my little mishap: it's not unusual for me to be looking up with my camera instead of down at the sidewalk. This time, I stumble on the step. Down on my knee, banging my camera on the stone walk. Knee and camera are doing fine.





At our favorite café-bar on the main square, we split a salade de Collioure -- that will always be with the renowned anchovies from the port of Collioure




...and we each have a veggie pizza. The artichoke hearts on it are fresh and superb!





We walk home, as do others 

nothing short of...

In my mind, the morning that cannot be improved upon would go something like this:

Waking up, I see through the little bedroom windows that the skies are as they were predicted to be: blue. (The ads for this region have been recently updated: these days I read that there are 320 days of sunshine. I think they’ve probably changed the definition of “days of sunshine,” but no matter. If you’re here, you will see days of sunshine.)

I mumble to Ed that we should get up and hunt down those precious pains au chocolat. He mumbles even less coherently “in a minute” or words to that effect and we both go back to sleep.

A half hour later I am awake, more insistent, and within an hour we’re up.

In my best of good mornings, we walk down and it’s not hot, just pleasantly warm. I consider taking a light sweater.

We’ll pass people and they will greet us and we will greet them. We’ll pass cats. And people playfully flirting with aloof cats.

And inevitably, Ed will find a cat who will allow himself to be rubbed and scratched, being too young to know that people are not necessarily always well intentioned.

There will be pains, plenty of them.

We will spend some amount of time arguing which baguette (out of at least four options) is the preferred one.

Ask them which one is most chewy.

That’s an American word. There is no ‘chewy’ in the French language. (I have no idea if this is true, but it’s a good argument to put on the table.)

Really? There’s no word for chewy? (Oh, oh. He doesn’t believe me.)

I don’t even know what you’re looking for. I like denser. Do you mean denser?

I mean chewy. The French would understand. Uff! He’s hitting below the belt.

Eventually I let him pick one that he thinks might be ‘chewiest.’ We need to keep a tally which was what and eaten when. The simple act of buying a baguette is getting to be quite complicated.

On the upper square, the café bar will be nearly empty. At 10:30, the morning drinkers are gone and the noon drinkers and lunchers haven’t yet arrived. So we have the seat of our choice – at the edge, with just a dab of sun for me. We order café crème and on this day, a hot chocolate for Ed.

We read good stuff. I take a photo or two, because there is always something there, begging to be noticed.

And then I watch people slowly come in, filling the tables one by one.

And I am just so pleased to see a familiar pair from last year. They may be British. They look British. They came nearly every day at around 11. She orders a quarter carafe of white wine, he orders a beer, she does a crossword puzzle and then they both read. We don’t chat, but we recognize each other’s presence. She smiles as she looks up and notices we are here again.

It'll take us a long while to decide to leave.

We should get going. Maybe have lunch at home and then do a gentle hike?

I’m stuffed. I notice half the baguette has been chomped off. I’m not surprised.

So let’s hike, then eat lunch.

Maybe. A few more minutes here?
Oh, definitely.

We linger.
Eventually we pay the bill say our good byes, always the goodbyes – the wait staff never fails to wish you the best of good days as you leave. We walk up the hill to our ‘home,’ passing (and admiring, a little bit wistfully) small cars along the way.

And it’s noon and the morning is behind us.

That’s perfection. I’d change nothing at all. It’s all rhythmical, like a little spring song you might hum to yourself and actually – let me add an element – we should have in there a moment where we pass some local person, perhaps an older woman, who would be humming melodically to herself, pleased as can be that this indeed is such a fine morning.

Noon. Lunch time? Again, no. Once more there is a chance of a late afternoon rain shower. Two conclusions: postpone any big outing for another day. That hike up the highest peak? Forget it. Don’t want to be stuck on a mountain top in rain. Our best beach? Save it for a consistently warm spell. We have those ahead of us. Go easy on this day. But go easy quickly, before those mountain clouds roll in.

A hike. We'll do a hike. We’ve neglected the mountains too long. Something uncomplicated to glide us into the mode of walking uphill.

We are just a hill or two away from Spain. The bigger one is quite the little mountain. Scaling it is an all day affair. But the smaller one is just a lovely three hour hike, roundtrip. Every school kid in Sorède knows it. On the Catalan celebration of Sant Joan (St John’s), a parade of torch bearing young people comes down at night and you can watch their trail of fire from the village center. I’ll miss the great event this year – it happens on the day we leave Sorède. But we most certainly will be climbing this gentle mountain, probably more than once. Today is a good day for it.

Just about any hike up into the Pyrenees of this region gives you the same view – over the great Roussillon plain and the distant Corbiere hills that frame it to the north, toward the mountains that rise to the west, toward Spain if you’re high enough to the south, and always always toward the sea.

And so I can offer you no new, spectacular views. You’ve seen them before. I’ve seen them before.

But then, why are they always, for me at least, so breath catching?

The clouds are there, waiting to expand their reach, and yet it is a pleasant day with a light breeze carrying the scent of this Mediterranean forest. The rains of the past month have caused things to grow in ways I’ve not seen before. I’m used to dry. I see this year we have lush.

It's not unusual for us to see mountain bikers and sure enough, two of them are coming down this afternoon. It's not the most difficult route and they're chatting amicably as they barrel down the dirt road.

All along, there are bursts of bloom, dazzling in their simplicity.

The ferns, shrubs, so many different shrubs! All those plants I can’t begin to identify! A lovely maze of greens brushing us lightly on the path that leads up and up, past the simple sanctuary de Notre Dame, up, now requiring some hand support, up rocky slopes, until we reach a crest between two slabs of rock. This is our goal for today. This is where we can rest for a few minutes – Ed, toward the edge, me, as usual, feeling height sensitive, a little back from the cliff’s drop, jumping stones, then eventually settling down to admire what's before us.

It all looks so familiar by now. Villages below that have names and faces, costal twists, etangs (the small bodies of water running parallel to the sea) – a vast expanse of land and water.

And so now we're back and it’s a late lunch again. And yes, very familiar. And still very delicious. Every last bit of cheese...

Followed by a very long nap.

Once again I’m making supper at home. Rare for me to cook this frequently here, but I have the white asparagus and I have the Roussillon potatoes and if you throw in some eggs, you pretty much have yourself a great meal. With endive to keep to the theme of white and tomato to add a splash of color.