Saturday

Good days pass quickly. I’m really stunned that a week in Sorede has gone by, that I’m now counting how many more eggs we’ll need, how many tomatoes, how many dinners I’m likely to cook. In the first week here, if we go to one beach, it’ll be the first time. In the second week, if we go to any beach, it will likely be the last time for that one.

Our mountain hikes have been fewer, our times at the beach have been more numerous. Two wimpy hikes in the course of the first week, daily trips to the sea. And every day the weather grows more perfect for swimming and less perfect for mountain climbing. Sunshine warms you when you’re done chasing waves. Sunshine heats you to a sizzle when you’re climbing straight up for a handful of hours.

Today again I offer an excuse not to hike: it’s Saturday! Ceret market day!

If you’re new to this, or get your towns and villages mixed up, Ceret is an artsy little place about a half hour from where we are: if you crawl along the base of the Pyrenees due west, you’ll get to it. I say artsy because others have deemed it so. Many early twentieth century greats have passed through it. Now, many twenty-first century tourists pass through it, especially from England, Germany and the Scandinavian countries.

Ceret is very pretty. Think tall trees that tower over stately three story buildings.

But this isn’t why I want to go there. It’s the market. If you have to do one big market in the region of Languedoc, Ceret’s Saturday affair is your baby.

But first thing's first. We do not neglect our walk down to the bakery, where the very nice salesperson has put aside two Napoleons for us. And a good thing! They bake them only once a week and by 10 am they are all sold out! (Could it be that they should bake more?)

At the café on the upper square, the pace is slow. It’s Saturday! People are starting their bon weekend. (I always marvel how everyone wishes each other a good weekend at the start of one. As if they really intend to do fun things and have a grand set of days.)

We come to the café in time for the free mini croissants with the coffee (and for Ed the hot chocolate. Why? Because he's figured out it's cheaper than the soda water he'd been having).

I keep saying – we should hurry and then I, we don’t hurry. We're on extra slow mode. Enjoyably so. (Though Ed’s habit of petting every cat that’ll let him come near on the walk to and from the village square is perhaps too protracted. I tell him he’ll get bubonic plague from the cats, but he just laughs.)

Okay, Ceret. Market photos. I’m going to go easy on those. I post a lot of market photos and so I know they tend to run into one  another. One fruit vendor here is not much different than fruit vendors elsewhere, at other markets. I'll post things that we bought:

Olives.

Honey. After the hike in the Corbieres, I was hoping to find the second (after wine) treasure of the hills there – rosemary honey. I did. Plenty of it at this market.

Basics. We pick up some basics, because I did not like them at our own local market: carrots (we love to munch on good carrots), strawberries (we finished them on the spot).

And Ed got hungry for an extraordinarily simple and wonderfully delicious tart. With raspberry jam. Making me think that when I return home, I really should go back to baking more often.

And finally girolles. That would be chantrelles in English, no? These guys with scrambled eggs are such a superb supper that we certainly should have them before we leave. (Childhood memories: I used to pick them after every rainfall in the forest by my grandparents village home in Poland.)

I also purchase a few table napkins (pretty, easy to carry, cheap) and pick up something that is abundant and free at the markets here – a wooden packing crate. I have a little collection of them in the mudroom back at the farmhouse and if I can fit in the suitcase, one of these would be a welcome addition.

At one stall, we buy a bottle of something that I love – wine grape juice. You can find exquisite blends of wine grapes (it’s the juice of the grape before fermentation, so it’s nonalcoholic) in France and Ed says I should go into business selling it in the States and this is a key difference between us – he has the largest dose of entrepreneurial spirit I’ve ever encountered in anyone and I have none of it. Business ideas excite him and they scare me. He sketches out three different business plans by the time we are done with the market and at the end of it all, I just want to drink the juice and not think anymore about failure. Blame it on my Communist Poland upbringing (an easy target, don’t you think?).

A few photos of the pretty houses of Ceret...

...and of the extremely abundant café life here. Please agree with me that people watching at these places is over the top wonderful. Look at the woman in the pics. She waves her baguette in animated conversation. Then she keeps up the conversation as she lovingly caresses the back of the guy she's with. Eventually, her hand goes under his shirt, below the belt line. Such talent!

As we leave Ceret, I pause for one last view of the skyline...

...and, at the periphery, I get out to take a photo from the bridge. Ed says – you’ve done this already in previous years. I say – but the skies are clear and the view onto the Canigou mountain is unusually good!

Here’s me (Ed takes this from inside the car, hence the slight fuzziness):

Here’s the view of the mountain. (Note announcements of the bull run: Ceret has a love affair with bulls and on Bastille Day - July 14 - men chase bulls down the streets, attempting, so far as I can figure out, to hold on to their tails... Hey, I can't love everything about the region!):

And now we’re home for lunch on the terrace, where the featured items are gong to have to be the Napoleon (or mille feuilles, as they’re called here) and the wine grape juice.

Late in the afternoon, it is beach time at little and sweet Le Racou. The weekends here can get busy, but not packed. If you arrive after five, you'll be able to watch people trickling home...

And in any case, very few people swim. Which puzzles me, because the water, though still a tad choppy, is absolutely refreshing and superb.

Talk. Watching people talk. Always there is the chatter.

A beach outing is never boring.

Our evening meal tonight is special. In the course of our two weeks in France, we don’t really eat at the sprinkling of fine places in Sorede, or nearby villages. But we make an exception at least once and the place of choice for us is, hands down, La Salamandre.

It’s a tiny restaurant just off the square. He cooks (and does the dishes afterwards!), she serves. And the food is exquisite! I start with pate with figs and Banyuls (the intense local fortified sweet wine, made from grapes of these southern Pyrenees) and then both of us have the mixed fish dish.

The room is crowded with French people (expats prefer the larger menu of the grill place across the street) and it is wonderful just to listen to the snippets of conversations around us (Ed had the kitchen view – a good lesson for anyone who hasn’t worked a restaurant kitchen at how hard that job actually is). Our hosts are still spinning dreams of selling this lovely little place and moving to Canada or the States. My husband wants to try opening a place in Texas! Imagine, he doesn’t even speak English! I assure her his talents will take him far. Entrepreneurs and Texas seems a fine combination, no?

The walk back home is as 'delicious' as the meal. The range of temperatures between day (a pleasant 75) and night (a warm 68) is small. I dangle a sweater on my arm thinking how nice it is that I never have to use it.

As usual, the black and white cat waits, halfway up, and Ed spends a long while rubbing him behind the ears.

French love and conversations

I'm always surprised how quiet the village is, given that people here do love to engage each other in conversation. The voices are more subdued than those of neighbors south of the border, but they surely are numerous and evident. At every juncture.

Stories told, retold. Long stories. Not just hurried exchanges. A day unfolds through the telling of one thing or another. It's hard to replicate if you're not used to it.

(A reminder: if it's in purple, it's me talking.)

Do you have peaches yet?

No, still green. Sorry.

We'll take the apricots then.

Ed says -- a great peach is better than a great apricot.

Yes, but a great apricot is the only apricot I'll eat with pleasure and here, the apricots are always great.

La Ciboulette has peaches.





They're very very good! Better than great apricots!
I can't agree. I'm loyal to our apricot farmer.

At the bakery, a sigh of relief. We're in time! Not sold out yet!
Do you suppose we should try something else? Like the apple pouches?





Another decision! Only a few apple chaussons left. Fine. Time for a change. But just today!



At the Friday market the produce vendor changes.
I prefer the Tuesday vendor. I don't know why. Better tomatoes maybe, better displays, I can't really place it...
This one seems popular too.
They have an advantage: it's Friday. before the weekend meals. Did you notice how some shoppers dress so well to come to market?






Conversations. Two women talk.






A third one comes, kisses, joins in.






Four guys and a guy dog. More talking.






Elsewhere, two women talk.





Etc.






Of course, some express themselves, their love, without words.






It's all so colorful!  
Paella for dinner, okay? The vendor's here again...







Lunchtime. Gunter and Baerbel knock. May we come in? We have something for you! (Berries, cream, crushed meringue.) For dinner tonight! We're having company, we made extras for you!







I have never had such nice landlords. Ever! (Ed doesn't count.)

New cheeses for lunch.
I know you don't eat sausage, but just try this one, from today's market. It's with figs.






It's sunny, pleasantly warm. Beach weather.

Should we swim by the small etang?

Where??

You know, where we saw the waves yesterday. Just north of Argeles sur Mer. The long strip that runs parallel to the road.  Only you can't see the road because of the small dunes. It's not more than 25 minutes from here. It is quite remarkable how many beach choices we have...

We emerge on a stretch that's completely empty.

 

To the south and further to the north, windsurfers jump crazily over the choppy waters.

Not for me... You swim. Way too choppy for me! And the wind! I'll be cold! And be careful! I don't want to lose you today to the waves!

Yes gorgeous. (Eye roll) Let's walk up a bit. See that sand lip? Shallow waters. Let's try that.

We pass French love.

...and throw our towels down by the curve of sand. Ed plunges, I watch.


 



Not for long.
I'm coming in! (What's with me this year?! I can't resist the sea!)


 



Ed, if you stand on the lip, you get knocked by waves from both sides! 
Yep. Watch your camera. There's a fine spray everywhere.
It's wonderful! The water is warmer than the air!





Superb water play.



Late. Maybe nine, maybe even later.
Could you reheat the paella? (Ed's the microwave hot shot.) I've made a salad of green beans, tomato and endive.





So what do you think of his noodle version of paella? (Chicken, squid, mussels, prawns in a Catalan sauce with noodles. I asked the paella guy if always made it with noodles. No, yesterday it was with rice.)
Good. 

Dessert!

Delicious!

Ed and I are often quiet. Interspersed with discussion (inequality is a common theme), or one of us (usually Ed) explaining something (how things work) to the other (usually me). We rarely talk about the past and almost never about the future. And still, our days are built around these small and sometimes not so small exchanges.

What'you reading?
Same book. (Innovator's Dilemma.)

Are you asleep? 

No. Yes. No...

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