such a day!

If all the best of a stay in Sorede could be rolled into one day, in my opinion it would look a lot like today. To love this place is to love the colors, the sea, the backdrop of mountains. The villages, the people, the Catalan foods and wines. It was a day built on dreams and that's a risky proposition, but the day delivered.

It is Tuesday and the rains are a thing of the past. Yes, there are clouds over the mountains, but they look like morning clouds. We shall have lovely weather for sure!

My friends and I go down the hill to the lesser square for a breakfast of breads, fruits and coffee. (Is it really a lesser square? Well, it doesn't have the linden tree, the vast openness, the carefully arranged cafe tables. But it does host the twice a week market and the rather informal cafe bar has a handful of tables that offer a perfect view of market activity.)

As for breads -- I'm back at the boulanger (baker) that was and is the best in town. True, it cannot compete with the one just outside Sorede, but still, it's homey and solid and the woman who runs it has been handing over loafs of bread since I started coming here now many years ago.





So, breakfast at last:






(Diane takes a photo of Ocean author!)






But let's not forget the market photos: it is such a typical village market! Grocery crates, a cheese stall, olives, some seafoods, baskets, clothes, and a lot of people coming together to exchange a few thoughts about life. For example -- one vendor wants to know where I am from. I tell him. He whistles in surprise, then says -- you people are in a crisis! I walk away wondering which (so many to choose from!) crisis he is referring to.

(Fruits and veggies...)






(... and chestnuts)






(... and pumpkins. Cut to order.)






(... and olives, and Catalan flags, and local dogs, waiting to either bark at, or sniff with affection the other village dogs)






(The market, in the cloak of Fall...)






I should note that some shoppers come to the market in the sportif mode, baguettes packed into the front basket of the bike...






...But most dress up for it: hair neatly pinned, clothes pressed, lipstick expertly applied.






My friends and I had discussed different ways of attacking this day: the married couple likes ancient cities and I, of course, am dying, really dying to go back to my beloved Franqui beach. Can we split the day and visit the beautiful old city of Carcassonne and then end with some time on Franqui? We can and initially I am content with that, but at breakfast I begin to fret.

I rewrite the day for us: Carcassonne is nearly two hours away. Believe me, you wont want to spend just a couple of hours there and I wont want to rush you. Why don't we take separate cars?

And in the end we do just that: the married couple heads out to Carcassonne and Diane and I head out to Franqui beach.

How sweet of her to tag along with me, even as she herself is a Floridian, one who lives only 200 feet from sandy shores of the Gulf! Oh, but she knows all too well how much I love this most sacred place! She has read about Franqui here on Ocean, heard me talk about it, and has seen all the deep love I feel for it in my eyes.

It is a bit of a drive: some 45 minutes away by highway. But the roads are almost always empty and the sun is coming out to join us on this adventure and the Corbières Massif is to our right and to our left -- well, the sea.

(This corner is well known for the oyster beds and, too, for the Corbières vineyards...)








We are here and my eyes fill with tears.






Franqui: low key, vast, and if you know where to look -- with long tongues of shallow sands reaching out into the sea. It is October. Everything is calm. But of course, it's calm year round. Men undress, women skip the top part of the swimsuit. Not to show off. Just because it's more comfortable that way.










Ah, but the wind is kicking in today! The kite surfers are out!







And what's this?? The beach has rearranged itself: the etang (inlet) stream has been filled in at this end and so there is only the vast expanse of sand, stretching far into the horizon.

 



One of the nicest features of this place is that on one corner, you have a small hamlet of cottages, with a few beachside cafes...





... and then the hamlet ends and the vast etang and green shrub of the regional park take over. It's you, the water, the wide stretch of beach and beyond that -- the Corbières Massif. Right there, behind Diane.






We had walked until we came to one of those lovely sandy tongues and there we plopped down and pretty quickly, I am in the water. Shallow, as warm as I've ever known it to be, delicious!






If you cannot be happy here, on a day like this one, well then life has really given you too big of a punch in the gut!

I want to call Ed, I do. This was our discovery, our treasure until he stopped seeing it as a treasure. But, it's early there and my phone fails me anyway and so instead, I take a walk. I watch the sand surfers -- the wind makes them fly and behind them, the wind powers the turbines...





... and it makes my towel fly! (This is a selfie; just because Diane is an excellent photographer, doesn't mean that selfies are not in order. Remember -- the beach is a place of joy, of play... )






And then she and I pick up our towels and head back to the hamlet, where a caffes with noisette coffees await us.

It's the late afternoon. Time to turn around and start the trip back. (Though not before we say hello to the horses and ponies that are quite common to this corner of the  Languedoc...)






But on the way home, as I spin around one of those circles that tell you Argeles and Sorede are that way, and Ceret is this way, I'm thinking -- maybe we should pop over to Ceret? It's less than 10 kilometers from where I'm spinning round and round at the round-about.

(Pause in this mad circle to take this photo of the mountains to our west)






Ceret: a village that was (perhaps is) home to artists, painters and poets. Picasso. Matisse. Modigliani. Maillol (oh! have you forgotten his sculptures already??).

We're on it!

I remember well the first time I came to Ceret. I was with Ed then, but he was not (yet) traveling with me. It was late in the day. Everything was closing. I thought it was both beautiful and melancholy. The tall plane trees and the shuttered buildings cast long shadows early in the evening. I kept thinking that it's already dark and I still have to drive home (I was staying in Pierrerue then -- a good two hour drive north).

I came back to Ceret with Ed, always for the Saturday market, which is grand and expansive and crowded and colorful and a little bit over the top. Still, we came.

But today's visit was the best of the best. On an October Tuesday evening, you could not spot tourists if you tried. The sun is poking through the tall planes, not yet low, no longer high.







The light is fantastic!






The Museum of Modern Art is open. We go inside. Duffy, Picasso, Matisse, so many others less known, but expressing their love for this place through their art...





Diane and I take it all in. The town fountain! Who designed it? I don't know. Let me ask a shop clerk.

She doesn't know either. She asks another local. They all stand around chastising themselves for not remembering who built it.





Diane and I haven't eaten anything since the pain au chocolat (mine!) in the morning. It's nearly 6. We pause for lunch!






The bruschettas are nothing short of amazing! Fortified, we continue just a little more. For this view of Ceret.






Home to Sorede now, pausing only for this roadside view at the edge of the village.





Such beauty here, at the foot of the hills that touch the sea. Such incredible beauty!

of kings and oysters and the calm waters of the Mediterranean

I wake to rain. It's okay: it was expected and it wont last. Still, not hiking or beach weather. This is the day we should make the trip to the town of Perpignan.

But first breakfast. We eat it at the preferred bakery, where tables are set out for the people who just can't wait to dive into their bread product, helped along with a cup of coffee or an orange juice. And so much did I want to dive into my croissant that I did not even think about taking that morning photo!

The first picture comes from the wee train station at the seaside town of Argeles-sur-Mer, where we catch the train to Perpignan (it's a hefty fifteen minute ride!).





Perpignan feels like it's about four times the size of Madison, even though population wise, it's far smaller. It is the capital of the Pyrenees Orientales Department -- the administrative unit that contains all the towns and villages and beaches and mountains that I visit here.

Once the center of the Kingdom of Majorca, it surely has the influence of centuries of Spanish rule (ceded by Spain only in the 17th century).

But if the city had a noble past, it, too, had a more troubled modern face. Some people may say it suffered a period of being down and out. But this is not its current fate. It's on an upswing and it shows.

(As in most big towns, the road leading away from the train station is only mildly interesting. I think it's curious that palm trees line this street, at the same time that it seems somehow fitting for Perpignan: don't forget, we were once part of Spain! - it seems to be saying.)






When you cross the river, you are in the old town.






And the restoration work here is magnificent. (And the little girl, enjoying the shiny granite sidewalk reminds me of Snowdrop...)






The main square:






Mama cat plus little cat.






The narrow streets of old town.





We want to do something touristy. With good reason: the shops are mostly closed now. Such a south of France custom! Why end the weekend on Sunday when you can have Monday, or at least half of Monday off?! And the one museum we identified as possibly capturing the imaginations of all four of us was open on Mondays in the high season .... and then this Monday, it changed its schedule and closed its doors.

So where to? Well, at the edge of town, there is the magnificent Palace of the Kings of Majorca.

(In the courtyard, sculpture by Maillol, the guy from the seaside town of Banyuls who sculpted under the encouragement of Gaugin...)






(The palace chapel...)






(Perhaps equally breathtaking is the view from one of the palace towers. Here is that cascading tail end of the Pyrenees. After the last hill, it's the sea.)






Time for lunch. I'd asked where in town could we get some of the local oysters. Many of the inlets here (etangs) support oyster beds and I don't want to leave without a taste of both local oysters and local anchovies. I'm immediately directed here, to the (of all places) Cafe Vienne.






Lunch: both oysters and a salad with the anchovies and Spanish mountain ham. Catalan staples.






And now it is late afternoon -- time to catch the train back to Argeles-sur-Mer.






On the quick drive from the station back to Sorede I pause the car several times and my indulgent friends put up with my great desire to study these olive groves...






... And to gaze at one of my favorite vistas just outside Sorede. Vineyards and mountains. All that's missing in the frame is the sea.






Are the grape leaves turning? Just ever so slightly in this first week of October.






And now it is more like early evening than late afternoon. But I have this hankering: the skies are clearing here and there. The air isn't exactly toasty, but still comfortably warm-ish.

Would anyone like to go with me for a swim at Le Racou beach?

Some people may think that's one nutty idea. A long day. A cool day. Shouldn't we wait until the sun returns? Don't we just want to put up the old feet and exhale?

In the end, Barbara and Shmuel come along for the ride to Racou.

This beach, of all the numerous beaches Ed and I discovered, was our most frequent go to place for a late day swim. The water turns deep quickly and so you can swim close to shore and then slump down on a sloped beach of grainy sand.

I always loved this wee cove where the beach cottages are tiny and colorful and sail boats and sea kayaks rest on the sand. Tonight it is both quiet and magnificent!





But is the water warm???

Well, not exactly. It had been a cool day and it surely is getting cooler now by the minute and yet I cannot help myself. In I go. (My friends take the photo.)






(Barbara searches for sea shaped treasures...)






(A solitary boat sets sail and a row boat moves quietly across the sea...)






I don't swim for long. But I am bursting with the joy of having tasted the Mediterranean salt on my skin.

The three of us do set out then along a coastal path, just to look back at Racou beach and the setting sun...






And we end with a pizza at Racou's Coco Loco pizzeria which brings back so many memories!





It is very dark by the time we drive back home.


I am not just a catalogue of memories on this trip. We experience Sorede as friends now: it is ours, not just mine from some years back. Still, every once in a while, I roll back and then roll forward and it's all such an incredible ride, linking the best of the past with the sweetest moments of the present.

October in Sorede

Every trip I ever took to Sorede had been in June. I felt it was a perfect month here: the beaches were empty. (The French vacation extends over July and August. That's it.) The air moved from pleasantly cool to nicely warm, without ever being hot. There was the anticipation in the air of vacation, but without the madness of France on vacation. Perfect!

No, no -- the people who lived here said to me. It is more perfect in early Fall. Not hot, empty, and the sea waters are delicious!

But how does this region change in the autumn months? Is the lushness diminished? Are the Mediterranean forests dry and parched? Does anything bloom now?

I'm beginning to have some answers.

I wake up to a beautiful October day in the Languedoc region of southern France.

We are a foursome here. I surely want to give my friends a chance to discover this region on their own terms and so I offer several possibilities on how to approach this day. But let's deal with breakfast first: we decide to go to my preferred bakery for bread product (this one is worth the three mile drive; besides, you get to pass this wonderful view onto Pic Canigou - the mythical and magical summit that attracts the more ambitious climbers)...





The bakery itself (Fournil des Alberes) is without fault. It does everything perfectly. (I'm thinking that the giant eclairs are to be shared at the family Sunday lunch...)






(I'd eat the whole brioche easily, but I settle for a pain au chocolat...)






But of course, it's the bread (baguette for us) which is the standout. I haven't found any anywhere that I like as much. Ed shared my view on this so I am going needle him with this photo. Very chewy, Ed... Very chewy!!






Back in Sorede, I pick up some (local!) strawberries from the new green grocer -- run by a lovely woman who tells me that they now have local strawberries year round!






We eat our breakfast on Sorede's main square (meaning we take our breads and berries to Sorede's cafe and eat them there -- an acceptable custom).






Oh, and I ask Shmuel to take a picture of the awesome threesome:






That wonderful cafe, spilling out toward the huge linden tree could swallow me up for a long long while. Ed and I would often linger all the way until lunch service and only then did we guiltily clear ourselves out, so that they could set the tables for the big eaters. But today time is precious. One last photo...






Well, no -- I have to include this picture of the owner/cook and local friends...






And after, the married couple takes off on a long hike up the mountain just behind our house and Diane and I do our own hike -- one that I enjoy so much at the beginning of any stay here, one that is modest perhaps (just over two hours going up, a little less coming down), but so very beautiful. (Groves, pines, Mediterranean scrub)...











It's a hike that school children do here on a fairly regular basis and it shows off the great Roussillon plane (with the Corbières Massif to the north)...






... as well as the Pyrenee Mountains to the west (le Canigou again!)...






... and the sea to the east (note the fall colors here: they're not typical yet, but they sure are lovely!).






Oh, how happy I am to be looking out on this stretch of land! I just cannot believe my luck that I should be smelling that scent of a Mediterranean forest again (and no, it's not dry at all! Verdant and full, stubbornly clinging to its voluptuous bounty)!

At the end of the first trail, there is the small church - a pleasant endpoint, except I want to go just a bit further: climb up that rocky narrow path to get this view:






I left Diane behind for this, so my summit photo has to be a selfie...






I think to myself that I should call Ed from here, but there is no cell service and so I cannot activate my hotspot. Just as well -- it's only 5 a.m.  back home.

(Some fall color again... Dad and son picking chestnuts...)






We take the long but wide path back to Sorede. As Ed always says -- even on the same trail or road, the views are always different on the return. (It's Sunday time for men to express their inner and outer selves; we pass the occasional mountain biker or well muscled runner...)






It's all so familiar it hurts, but in a pleasant sort of way!


 



Back in Sorede, we walk dangerously close to where Ed and I used to stay. Memorable were the cats then, and they still draw my attention, if only to recall with a smile all times Ed would stop and pet each and every one of them...






And now Diane and I are so ready to sit down, this time at the lesser cafe on the lower square for a coffee break.






The owner -- the same one who mixes up a hell of a great paella on the Catalan June holiday of San Jean -- is hoisting a Catalan flag in solidarity with the (tumultuous) Catalan election in Spain.






In the late late afternoon, back home now, we put out bread, cheeses and a chestnut spread for a lunch. The rose bottle comes out, just because it's light, inexpensive and delightful in its label (Les Petites Desmoiselles -- the little damsels; I mean, charming, no?).






I had wanted to hit the beach today (do it all!), but as the evening temps come down and the clouds roll in for the night, I change my mind. Back we are for dinner on the square. But not at the Cafe Bar. I only pause before it because the kids are playing football and the parents are drinking un petit blanc (a small glass of white wine) and don't you want to be reminded of such nice moments, even if they are in the lives of families far removed from your everyday?






We eat instead at Ma Maison, a step up from the Bar, but still a bargain at 20 Euros for a three course meal, tax and service included. And the bream fish is excellent and the company superb and the evening has the rosy glow of a day well spent.






Ah Sorede, you are indeed all that I remember you to be!