back again

Even if I've been away only nine or ten days, there is always an element of surprise when I return: things change.

First, farmette life:
The garden is fully autumnal.





Notice the two girls? Only two now. Scotch died when I was gone.

Scotch was the last of the original group of hens that came to us "on loan" more than four years ago. As Ed said -- she had a great life: she moved from being shy and put in her place by the other hens, to being leader of the pack, turning into quite the bad girl toward Java and Henny. But in the last months she mellowed.

I could see that she was fading. Before I left, she would spend long hours "sunbathing." I sang her lullabies. Java hovered protectively. Finally, age crept up on her and she just never woke up.

Ed talks of adding a hen, but it's not easy to do this just before winter. We're reviewing our options.


Other changes:

The grocery store re-did its bakery section.

I went shopping early. You know how it is on this leg of time adjustment: you get up before dawn for a few days. And so I shopped for food, going only on a shot of espresso with milk ("noisette")...






... so that I could have a full lovely breakfast with Ed later.






We walked in our local county park afterwards and here, too, autumn has taken hold.






(Oh! These cranes haven't left yet!)






It is a gorgeous day and Ed led me to the spot where, over the weekend, he'd found some turtles sunbathing on logs.






(The turtles and their pond.)







And finally (and by no means is this a small thing for me) there is Snowdrop.







Her vocabulary grew by leaps and bounds in these last days. It always shocks me when I see her after a small break.






You'll see she is without a sweater. It was cool, so I offered her one. No thanks, grandma.






(On the park beach...)






At the farmette, she is overjoyed with her special gift.





She doesn't have a toy baby bottle. She settles for welcoming the new baby with her very best ice cream cone.






One last picture: of Snowdrop's happy smile for the wreath from Castelnou.






Going away can be tough. But the coming back -- ah, the coming back! Sublime!

the colors of Paris

Abruptly, everything around me changes. The Pyrenees in early Fall are a world apart from Paris. Let me put us in a more urban mood: I alight at the Gare de Lyons (the station where the trains from the south come in) and I begin the walk to my hotel. I don't want to tug my suitcase the whole way, but if I cross the river and do a little stroll, I can get to a good metro stop.  I want that walk. I've been sitting too long.

So I cross the river...





... and keep on going, through the gates of the Jardins des Plantes -- these are the gardens to the east of Paris -- and now the going gets tough because suitcase wheels don't do well on dirt alleys. Still, I am glad I'm here.






The last time I'd been in this park was with Snowdrop, but I did not know then that there was a merry-go-round! Sorry, little one! You would have liked it -- it's animal themed...






These two little girls, barely older than Snowdrop are hurrying to where I did take my little one: to the Zoo.





You'll notice that it is considerably cooler here -- low 60sF (16C).

I keep on walking, thinking back to Sorede, to my trip thus far. So many people are anxious about air travel, about the dangers lurking in European capitals, but on this trip, my scariest moment came this morning, as I was speeding along to Montpellier. I had to change lanes to get to a gas station. Good thing I did, because right in the lane I had left, a bicycle had tumbled off a car rack. Cars swerved, barely avoiding collisions. Highway driving is far more dangerous than taking a flight to Europe, that's for sure.

I catch the metro to my usual neighborhood.

I'm not staying at my favorite hotel though, which is unfortunate, because that place feels like home, even though it isn't really home. But for this trip, I picked the lesser hotel -- the Design Sorbonne. I stay here when I'm really trying to save money. For one night, I can put up with the extraordinarily tiny rooms and the rather traditional (meaning old) styling of the interiors. It's immediately across the street from the University and there definitely is a youthful brainy vibe to the cafe life here.






But the room is what it is. If I open the window, I can pretend it's larger than a box with red walls.





And since it is just mid afternoon, I go for a walk.

(Students are so innovative in their choice of seating! These guys are on bike stands...)






I'm passing my favorite pastry shop  (Gerard Mulot) and I see that there is an event taking place in it: the Gerard Mulot is doing a meet and greet with customers. I am, as always, in awe of the talent and imagination of food giants. I want to go up to him and say something spectacular, but I cannot think what that may be...





... so I just gawk at the exquisite cakes and pastries. This one is a simple peach tart, but oh how beautifully it glistens!





I move on.

There is an art exhibition that I would like to see, but somehow my feet aren't moving me in that direction. In Paris, I go where my feet go.

My eyes are drawn to kids -- colorfully clad kids! Somehow Paris colors are always so appropriate! I have no better word for it.





See if you don't agree: I am at the department store and it is very crowded today. Lots of shoppers. Perhaps it's France's national shopping day. I mean, it's never crowded here! And again, all the colors are just right. Everyone seems to match.





Coincidence? Perhaps. But you just have to admire how people pay attention to this stuff here. Starting at a young age.





Toward evening I am at the Jardin Luxembourg. My favorite spot, to be sure, but I haven't much time for it as I note that it closes at 6:45  -- just a few minutes from when I enter.

No matter. I don't want to pause. I'm feeling the October nip in Paris. Walk briskly, wrap that scarf around your neck. Admire the trees...






... and the Fall colors.






Ponies! Snowdrop thoughts again... Could it be that I am anxious to get home?






One more photo from the gardens. This one. You've seen him before, I know that. But each season is different. Each moment is unique.






Cream toned buildings, narrow streets -- not the colors of Sorede, that's for sure. Sorede is Sorede, Paris is Paris.






A boy kicks around a soccer ball by the St Sulplice fountain. Saturday playfulness.





But I'm hungry. I had popped into the Breizh Cafe to see if I could get a place for dinner. You'll remember it perhaps -- it serves savory buckwheat crepes and I was thrilled to see it open in my neighborhood. I wouldn't necessarily expect to get a table on a Saturday evening, but the people who work there are immensely agreeable and they squeeze me in. I have a wonderful plate of Brittany oysters and langoustine crepes (langoustines are like crayfish only you'll find them in the salty waters of the North Atlantic), along with cider. Sorede, Paris, Brittany. If I had to list three things I especially like about France, those would be it.






By my hotel again. I spot a cat. So odd: that's more Sorede and Brittany than it is Paris. Hi cat!






And I do nothing more on this day but crawl into bed and fall asleep.


Morning. A bit of a drizzle outside, then not, then yes, more drizzle, finally not.

Sunday mornings streets here are always empty. The exception will be the guy who is sent out to pick up the baguette...







I am back at Les Editeurs cafe. Because I always like breakfast there. Croissant, cafe creme...






... and a selfie in one of their numerous mirrors.





A walk back to the hotel. It's all about the familiar on this trip, isn't it? I pass this shop: on Snowdrop's first visit here, I picked up just a couple of these espresso cups and she now asks for them: can I please have a Paris cup with milk?





A few more steps to the hotel... Auguste Comte and a waiter with a cigarette and cell phone...






And now I am out, dragging my case to the commuter rail station which (perhaps you'll remember?) is right by the Luxembourg Gardens.

One last glance...






It's Sunday... the park will surely grow more crowded...





But me -- I'm heading home.

leaving Sorede

It's just after seven in the morning when we leave Sorede. It's dark still and a nearly full moon is shining over the Canigou peak.





The air has been so clear that the contours of this mountain have been visible nearly every day -- a rarity, I think.

Canigue, Alberes, Corbierres -- mountain groups that are like a huge embrace around these Catalan villages. And of course, to the east -- the sea. Even if you never set foot in the Mediterranean while here (and of our small group, only some of us swam in its waters -- me most of all), the sea nevertheless defines this place as much as the venerable mountains. The sea speaks to the vastness of the world beyond Sorede. The mountains set the limits.

But on our last day in Sorede, I touch neither. I move on foot between the Alberes villages and take in the riches of these old hamlets.

But first, of course, there is breakfast.

We buy our breads and pains and croissants at the old village bakery and today both women are behind the counter. I think I am not wrong in believing them to be mother and daughter (and the younger woman has children as I recall, and I wonder if these kids, too, will be baking or selling bread when they get older).

I wouldn't have thought the younger woman would recognize me -- the two women always paid attention to Ed when we would walk in, because he would amuse them so much by asking in his most charming voice (Ed can be charming, really he can!) for the largest of the pain au chocolat. But she spots my camera and her eyes move to my face and big grin crosses her face. Yes, I am the one that always tried to catch the moment of purchase -- because it was so lovely and the breads were crusty and delicious and I could not help myself -- out came the camera.

On this day, they're are happy to pose for me.






Friday is market day -- not too relevant if you're leaving the next day, but still wonderful to walk through (at 9:30, we're early: the social aspect of marketing click in after 10).






But we take our breads to the preferred cafe up the hill. We're in search of sunny spots! October mornings can be cool.





And then we all scatter: the married couple takes in the hike that Diane and I did our first day here, Diane retreats to the back yard for a more restful, contemplative morning, and I set out to hike the villages to our west: Saint Genis des Fontaines and Laroque-des-Alberes.

It's an ambitious goal, given that I have two time constraints: a noon closing hour for a sight that I want to visit and a one o'clock lunch date with Diane.

At first, I am happy as a clam: I found the short cut on a little used rural road. I can do this! (And well may I have trepidations -- the wind is fierce! It's not the mistral here, but rather it is the Tramontane that howls over the Rousillon plane.

Still, I love my walk and I especially adore the views over my shoulder: olives, vines and the Alberes tumbling down to the sea...






But I make a wrong turn! Not my fault! The roads are not marked -- how was I to know! Yes, you are correct -- I can again feel the disorientation followed by relief that comes from walking without a GPS. But it's a costly wrong turn. For one thing, it puts me on a well trafficked road without a sidewalk. It's pretty -- when the cars aren't zooming straight at you.





And of course, I get to the village of Saint Genis des Fontaines on the late side -- indeed, just five minutes before the church and cloisters (dating to the 10 - 12th centuries) close.

Madame at the entrance lets me enter at a discount, but she warns me -- you have to hurry up! We have children at school waiting for us.

I smile at that: well I know the rush to be on time, so that your child or grandchild doesn't suffer the disappointment of not seeing your face when she comes out. I'll be quick -- I reassure her.






The village itself is pretty too, but so is every village here. I walk quickly through it: I have my own lunch meeting before me.






And now I am on the right set of roads and the walk back puts me back in my own village.

Oh, but I do love my Sorede!






My lunch with Diane is special for many reasons, but the most obvious one is that it is the only meal on this trip which puts us in a really superb French restaurant.

Our wonderful and ever helpful Sorede hosts directed me to it -- it's called L'Ancienne Ecole and it is just  a few kilometers to the north, in the village of Palau del Vidre.

Both Diane and I order a "dorade" (sea bream) and it is nothing short of exquisite!





The whole meal is superb! And one has to wonder -- how are these great restaurants supported in the off season? By the locals of course. The enduring restaurants have to be ready to love both the regulars and the visitors.

Satisfied after this fine meal, I resume my hike -- picking up my trail to the neighboring village of Laroque. This time Barbara keeps me company, while the others nap.

We climb to the tower and take in the views.





They are predictably stunning, but I have posted too many Roussillon plane, Corbieres Massif, and distant sea photos, so I'll just leave you with the tower and the Catalan flag.

I turn then toward the gardens that run to the west of the village. I do not know who gardens here, but I imagine they are community plots. I am not surprised that they provide another opportunity to run into your gardening neighbors for that extended conversation that no French man or woman can do without.






We're back in Laroque now and I'm thinking this truly is my last walk, my moment to look up and see the mountains hovering at the end of village lanes...






But it isn't my last walk at all. At home, I realize that we are low on cookies! Back I go to the bakery, this time with Diane and we pick up my sacks of cookies (the ones that Ed loved so much and the ones that still are the only cookie sold at that best Sorede bakery), and we sit down at the grand Sorede square and have a final noisette coffee together.





And so my last village view will be of Sorede after all -- as seen from the square. It is the best view and today it is framed by the gaura flower to the left and the linden tree to the right and it is all so extremely perfect!






At home, I set up the camera for a foursome photo.





Cookies and rose, final stories and last laughs over a video and now it is night and then it is morning, early morning and Diane and I have said our good byes and now I turn the car toward Montpellier, while the sun fires up a storm of color.






We do pause for a coffee and croissant (or pain des raisins-- take your pick) at the best bakery outside Sorede.





...and now I am truly speeding (who knew that a coffee pause would have us lingering for so long!) so that I can return the car and head to the train station. Diane will stay in Montpellier, but I am heading to Paris on the TGV (the high speed train).

(It is a challenge to take photos out a train window, when we're moving at a hellfire speed, but I can never resist trying. Just three shots, to illustrate the loveliness of the train ride north.)
















And a scant few hours later, I am in Paris. I have 24 hours in the city and they begin now. (It is tomorrow's story: I will post the Parisian epilogue on my return trip home.)

Sorede on hold

On my final day in the Catalan village of Sorede, I am giving myself over to the wind. It's gusting fiercely today and having blown away all clouds, it leaves us with brilliant sunshine.

It's a time for an excursion. Or two excursions. It is also a time for eating that last good meal. A time for packing. And for getting ready to leave early in the morning.

It is not a time for writing long Ocean posts. I'll put up one photo, this one, a picture of contemplation and serenity (taken during my visit to the Cloisters of Saint Genis des Fonatines):





I'll return to the Sorede story tomorrow, as I speed on a train north, to Paris.