Collioure

Grey-skied Collioure

I went to the Mediterranean on Wednesday, just to get my train ride and blue water "fix."  I wanted to go to the market in Collioure--it's colorful and the merchandise is a good mix of cheese stands, fresh vegetable stalls, pottery and fabric.  I was in the market for a bright straw basket with leather handles to take with me to market.  My "paper" one is getting a little worn and collapses on itself.  Sometimes it's too awkward to handle.

This tower is sort of the "logo" for Collioure

Deserted beach, shuttered buildings

I left Carcassonne before first light.  I love walking through the streets of the Bastide at that hour, even though I HATE getting up so early.  The pre-dawn is still and quiet; only the chittering of the starlings provides vibrations to the air.  A few city workers were out and about,  cleaning the streets.  The residents of the Bastide aren't up at such an early hour, or if they are, they don't turn on any lights.  The walk to the train station was a real pleasure.

Vineyards rise to the west on the hillsides

On to Narbonne and then to Collioure.  I had expected some clouds, but it was quite a bit cooler than predicted.  I guess I am spoiled by the mild winter we have enjoyed.  After all it is only the first week of February.  However, some of the flowering trees were in full bloom.  As we rode through the salt marshes, I saw only sea gulls.  I suspect the egrets and herons have gone elsewhere.  Vacances, perhaps?

Green saplings sprout from the sides of the Chateau

Art also sprouts from the sides of the edifices

I caused a big confab at the market when  I asked the green-grocer for raifort.  That's what my dictionary says is the word for horseradish.  Well, he'd never heard of it.  Then the cheese lady got into the conversation.  Raifort apparently is a kind of cheese,  and I couldn't make her believe otherwise.  The grocer tried to tell me I wanted celeri, (the root, not the stalks) or perhaps salsify ( I love them, but they are not horseradish)  Then the sausage and cured meats lady got in on the act, and told these other people that I was right: raifort is the French word for horseradish, but she'd never seen it before. These people had never even heard of such a thing.  Ever try explaining what it is to someone who's never experienced horseradish?  Finally, after much good-natured gesturing and laughing we all gave up.  No horesradish for me. 

Sculpture along the walkway

To commemorate the deportation of Jews

Then, heaven help me, I asked for dill.  Aneth.  (Pronounced like Annette--the French have no "th" sound in their speech, which makes hearing them try to pronounce my last name sweet payback for all my mistakes that give them such giggles)  The guy thought I wanted eggs--oeufs.  His partner corrected him; she knew what I wanted.  He followed up with a lesson for me.  Catalans do NOT use dill, nor basil.....I was stunned. Basil is a Provencal thing (or Italian).  So I learned something at the Collioure market.  No dill, no basil, don't ask for it, they don't use it. We had a spirited discussion with everyone chiming in and trying to help this stubborn old American woman who only wanted horseradish.  I  bet I have to go north to find it.  These southern French strongly identify with the Catalan region of Spain, even flying the Catalan flag with the French, EU and  Occitan flags. 

Reflections of the chateau in the Mediterranean

Collioure was shuttered and mostly deserted.  There were a few restaurants open, serving local clients.  There was plenty of activity; however it consisted of workmen renovating, restoring, repairing and getting new and old stores ready for the massive tourist onslaught that will start after Easter.  I was happy to have the place to myself, to beachcomb, to take photos, to write while having a cafe creme and gazing at the Mediterranean.  The sea started out grey, reflecting the sky, but after lunch the sun came out, turning the water that breathtaking blue.  The wind was too strong to permit walking along the ramparts; I found myself nearly blown off my feet at one point.  But in a sheltered spot, in the sun, with a coffee?  Delightful.  

And when the sum comes out?  Blue to take away my breath

The sun appeared but the wind got stronger, and I got tireder.  I decided after lunch to head home; the nice thing about these regional train tickets is that I can change them with no penalty.  On the ride home, I was rewarded with a flock of flamingos--delicate pink floating on the blue salt marsh water.  The train window wasn't clear enough to take a photo, but it's in my mind.

Strong wind makes for white caps beyond shelter

Once in Narbonne, I walked into a mess.  There had been a terrible accident involving a TGV over by near Montpellier and the trains were snarled.  The TGV that was supposed to arrive at 12:30 that afternoon was delayed for at least 4 hours.  Then there's the domino effect--other trains run late, connections are missed.  I was lucky--I was booked on a regional train, so we had only a 30 minute delay.

Gathered beach glass here

I wasn't in the least bit inconvenienced.  I accomplished my objective for the day--a terra cotta colored straw market bag, a handful of beautiful beach glass, pages of writing done by the seashore, a couple of not-bad photos, a long walk, a nice lunch out. I didn't have to drive anywhere and contend with traffic. And, since I bought the senior discount card for all train travel on SNCF, I got a large savings on the price of my tickets.  What more could anyone want?

Collioure's windmill