last

So give a hefty yawn, or a smile of indulgence, or, maybe like me, savor every last bit of the last day:

Friday. Late in the morning, we walk to town. Have I emphasized here, on Ocean, how vibrant and lovely the flowers are along the way?

And I know I’ve talked plenty about cats, but the truth is that Sorede (and France in general) is really a dog’s place. The cats, skittish, mostly scampering off if you get too close, are ignored. Background noise. Whereas the dogs? Ah the dogs!

In the bakery:

At the café:

And speaking of bakeries, yes, we’re at our local one, but too late for pain au chocolat! This is what it is at our local one: come early or you miss out. Ed takes an apple tart and I take a croissant and up we go to the café bar on the main square.

Last breakfast here. Sniff...

Note we did not pick up a baguette. Here’s the plan: we’ll eat lunch at Le Fournil. I mean, we have to try this just once. We owe it to... someone, them, us, whatever! Oh and as long as we’re driving up for lunch (and with it, the delicious bread), may as well show off here (finally) the clunker. Parked beneath the (American like) billboard announcing the bakery. How appropriate.

At the bakery-café, we both order salads with warm goat cheese. And we linger. Strange that we should like it (sigh, we’ve changed...), but we do. It’s a modern, rather “could be anywhere” setting, but the people watching is still splendid.

For example, we note that the owner/baker extraordinaire, M. Castro, is out helping serve tables, sell breads, exchanging friendly greetings with this person and another. His wife, Mme. Castro works behind the counter and they’re both busy (best guess: the regular crew is on their own lunch break).

He puts out a salad and a rosé for himself, but it’s a long while before he actually sits down. She joins him. Proud owners eat lunch.

Hike: there must be a hike. Can’t be much of one, but we pick something new, from neighboring LaRocque. Drive to LaRocque, leave car, walk the old streets of that village, not our village, but a sister of sorts. Except I can’t help but think -- Sorede is nicer! Busier somehow. With a heart, a place where you know where to go if you want to be among people. Still, LaRocque is pretty. Quite charming actually.

The trail head is easy to find, but we miss the turn off very early on and well, you know the story: we do not know where we are. Not at all. Except it doesn’t really matter because we have no ambition, no goal today. Hike in a new place. Period. (Ah, the Roussillon plain, the Corbieres in the distance!)

We continue through a dense forest, hoping for some insight as to where we went wrong.


 


But in fact, it is a wonderful thing that we get lost because had we stayed on course, we would have missed the place where the beautiful damsels and dragonflies come to.

We’re by a gushing brook and we scale the boulders to get a better view of the small cascading falls...


 


... and you know the routine here as well: I get stuck on some slippery rock and can’t get down because I imagine myself sliding down into the boulder-filled waters below, but it all comes together in the end and there is no trip to the ER, Ocean continues, my dramatic imagined mishaps tabled for another time, another hike.

And then – you’ve guessed it, right? A last trip to the close Le Racou beach. It’s a beautiful, absolutely beautiful evening (it’s six, so it’s evening, no?).

The waters aren’t as warm as they were at La Franqui, but they are superb for swimming. There’s a little bounce in the sea, but not too large, not too large, near perfect!

Goodbye, sea. Maybe we’ll see you in the next couple of days, on the Spanish side, maybe not. We have two days of Catalonia rambling before giving up the car on Monday. Who knows, who knows...

As we drive back the scant handful of miles to Sorede, I think – Oh! I haven’t emphasized the olives that grow at the base of the Alberes mountains! We feast on Sorede olive oil the weeks we’re here!

And one last look at the vineyards – so dense now!  -- stretching toward the Corbieres hills. We hiked those last week! And chased down wines that are made there!

And speaking of hikes, did I mention that as you drive into Sorede (from the sea side), you get this splendid portrait – poignant for us because the front is the hill we climbed the first day here and the second mountain, seemingly behind it, shows off our great climb up to its peak – Pic du Neoulous.

We leave the car at home and walk down to town again. It’s after 9, but the little vineyard that we pass each day is still glowing in the last rays of sunlight.

Dinner’s on the square. Of course it is.

The waiter  warns us – it’ll be slow. He has a table of 18 French men, women and children to serve first. Fine, fine, we’re fine with waiting, but we do move our table this way and that because here’s a trait of French people that actually troubles us not a small bit: they smoke to high heaven. Finding a smoke free outdoor space often requires adjustments (smoking is, thankfully, illegal indoors).

Still, they’re all a genial lot, at least until the game on the big TV screen positioned for all to see the World Cup (tonight: Germany v. Greece) draws some cheers from the German guest at the café bar. The French take on the cheer for the (rare) Greek goals. I’m thinking we’re witnessing some larger issues here that go beyond soccer. There she is, on the screen, Angela Merkel cheering for Germany, there they are, Frenchmen around a table, cheering for troubled Greece. 

Our pizzas are here (vegetable, so that I can have those chunks of artichoke again), the sangria is poured, chunks of citrus fruits crowd the little glass, the evening is starlit, beautiful.

No fuss, no big goodbyes. We’re just small fry, passing through, remembered most likely for my dangling camera and Ed’s large frame. And his love of cats, squash-faced, stub tailed, black and white...

music

It is that moment just after the final touch of sunlight. On the lower square of Sorède, there's music playing. People clap, some do a few twirls and steps in the open spaces. Most sit, sip, talk. We're all waiting for our paella.





It is June 21st -- France's Fete de la Musique.


Tables at the Rugby Bar are, for once, packed. We are there, among the diners. Families, couples, the usual mix of everyone.





This is almost a preshow. In two days, the entire village -- hundreds of people will dance the traditional  Catalan Sardana (I wont see it -- we'll be gone). But today this smaller crowd tap tap taps and waits.

The musicians are a mixed band. Local, I have to think they didn't travel far to be here. They play mostly French stuff, though I hear a Beatles song and a Chubby Checker. Ancient stuff.





We're speeding toward our last days in Sorède. And we're not good at this "last" business. What should we do today rather than tomorrow? Where should we walk? Shop? Eat? Buy bread?

Okay, let's start with the givens: we must walk down to our bakery, purchase the pain au chocolat, take it to the cafe bar on the upper square. (Theme for the day: Ed deals with the lovely vendors of Sorède.)



vendor no.1, at our local bakery


At cafe bar, he reads, I write. And we talk about a legal issue out there that sort of interests us both.





We continue to chat as we take a short walk through town. Past the elementary school where the kids are at recess (it seems that all boys wear knee length pants and all girls, all of them, wear sundresses and sandals)...





...past the old village houses...









Past "La Ciboulette," where dogs seem to follow in the habits of their owners -- they come here to chat. We come here for the inexpensive (1.5 Euro per kilo) great peaches.





Inside, we notice more peaches. Slightly higher in price. I ask why? I'm told - they're local The cheap ones outside are from Spain. (Ed reminds me that where we are, Spain in "local.")



vendor no.2, at La Ciboulette






We're home. Now what? Cheese! We need more cheese! We have some, but not enough for two days. So a drive is necessary! To the supermarket. And so long as we're there, we might as well stop at Le Fournil for La Petrie, the best, truly the best baguette. And hey, let's just try, to compare you know, their Napoleon (mille feuille).



vendor no.3, at Le Fournil


Le dejeuner en plein air (lunch outside, on the terrace).






It's warmer today. There's a mugginess in the air that the evening wind will push away, but for now, it's sticky outside. Ed loses himself in some project or other, I nap.You could say I sleep away the possibility of a hike. But not the beach! There has to be time for an evening swim at Le Racou!





Bouncy waters. Ed swims far off into the sea, I tread closer to the shore. Yes, that's us alright: he pushes boundaries and I do too, even as my boundaries are drawn differently than his.

We shower at the beach. No time to return home before dinner. The wind is picking up now and the water from the outdoor faucets sprays in all directions. Push the handle, chase the water. A game, to be repeated many times until we're satisfied that enough salt has been washed off.


And finally the paella, the music, the mix of people...











Young and lovely, old and lovely and a great mix of in between.






With ice cream for all to finish the meal.





Tap tap tap, swirl, talk, always the talk.




(Tomorrow's post will come slightly later as we make our way back to Spain.)

longest

For me, this day is special. I love daylight, sunlight, brightness inside and out. And so of course, I’m going to be very fond of a day that has the greatest number of minutes when the sun is shining down on us. And here, in Sorède, it most certainly is shining down on us. June 20^th promises to be full of blue skies and light breezes.

A day for La Franqui beach.

La Franqui is the farthest of our favorites, but it is also the best (in my view) and this will be our second and last trip to it.

But first, the walk down for breakfast, past Ed’s best cat pal (one of only two that willingly indulges a long petting session)...

...past the usual groups, with dogs, with baguettes, with shopping bags – often all three...

...past cyclists, 'sportif' or otherwise...

 ...to the bakery. Hello once favorite and still beloved village bakery! We’ll have two pains au chocolat and the baguette. There, loyalty trumps! (Sort of.)

Ed has taken to drinking a small beer for breakfast. Many here do and I can see the attraction – it’s cheaper than water, more thirst quenching than a hot chocolate. I stick with café crème.

We walk back up, Ed pets cat, the usual routine (as the woman, who most every day, every hour it seems, watches the comings and goings -- including of this odd tall man who takes the time to scratch the cheeks of the old black and white cat)...

So we are home. But now we mess with the details a bit. We want to drive to some of the coastal towns and see if there are boats for rent. We’ll take lunch with us – to eat on the beach afterwards. And since we’re driving past Le Furneil bakery, we may as well pick up (what we actually reserved for today) one of their very interesting chocolate baguettes. It is La Petrie (our favorite) au chocolat (with this interesting twist.)

Okay, baguette’s in the car, along with packed cheeses, tomato, fruits, waters. Off we go.

It’s a winding (and therefore long-ish) drive and it doesn’t help that Ed, equipped with a detailed map, chooses the really back roads.  Indeed, I would, in some places, not even call these brittle ribbons of dirt and patches of something or other 'roads." The clunker is unhappy, but we forge on. Even when there aren't bridges over rivers and a set of (wild?) peacocks stands in our path.

Yes! Made it across the river. Ducks, startled, swim away from the red clunker.

I admit that it’s an interesting swing through the Roussillon landscape. Orchard after orchard of apricots, peaches, kiwi, nectarines...

With all forms of pickers now -- on elevated platforms...





... on ladders, reaching for the best of the ripened fruits.

And now finally we've reached the beach townships to the north. It quickly becomes apparent that the boat idea is a bust. In Brittany, every coastal town will have a sailing school with boat rentals. Here, if they have them, they’re well hidden.

Eh, no matter. The longest day had this long fruitless search, or fruit filled search, depending on your perspective, but in any case, I should also point out that there is almost no wind, so sailing would have been very theoretical, even had we located the boats.

Slight breeze, delightful sunshine – La Franqui, you’re next!

Ah, lovely little village beach, extending, if you cross the inlet, forever and ever, or at least further than we’ve ever walked. (Here's the inlet, looking back toward La Franqui. Sometimes knee deep, sometimes waist deep. Where the river meets the sea.)

We pick a spot, empty, beautiful. Ed wants shade, I say let’s buy an umbrella next time. He winces at the word 'buy.' I concentrate on the words ‘next time,’ because when you’re this close to leaving, you have to speak in terms of next times. It's too sad otherwise.

We sit at the edge of the water, our backs to the sun, our lunch before us, the melting in the warmth cheeses, the oozing bits of chocolate and extremely delicious baguette, a few particles of sand here and there – all correct, perfect, and perfectly wonderful.

Ed wants to read a little now, but me - I can’t wait.

I’m the first one in this time because to me, the sea doesn’t ever get any better than this – shallow for a long stretch (we’re at the sand lip – our favorite place), warm, gentle.

I can’t tell how long I (and eventually Ed and I) played in the water. One hour? Two? Forever?

And that’s it. Goodbye sweet Franqui sands, with a view toward the etang, and the Corbiere hills beyond. (Or, as in the photo below, with a view from the other side of the etang toward the sea.) You are and will be, for me, the best.

The longest swim puts us into early evening. We leave the car at home and walk down, and even though it's just after 9, the sun is still throwing light on the village below.





And there's, too, a second cat moment, if that second cat with the squashed face (as Ed calls him) is out and about...






And then up we go, toward the main square (and looking out from here, the light is pure gold!)...

... but there is an 'oh dear' moment as the café bar is having kitchen issues and so they cannot serve food. We go to the next cheapest place – the grill (Auberge de Margaux) that some seem to like and we each time have the same reaction – not bad, not bad at all, not great either, a filler place because we're not willing to drive elsewhere. 

A grilled sea bream, a simple crème catalan...










... no complaints, no thoughts really, not this way or that, just an evening out, but not any evening, one when only after after ten does the sun stop throwing light on the street before us. Tomorrow, the countdown towards winter begins.