A short travel story on Collioure, in Southern France. Most of the coast down here is unfortunately either bland - or downright ugly. This village is neither, its picturesque little alleyways together with the beautiful bays of the 'Cote Vermillion'...
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In the early 20th century, Henri Matisse and his gang of fellow 'savage' painters (Les Fauves) chose Collioure as their base to splash out what their contemporaries considered to be shockingly inappropriate impressions of the Cote Vermillion in Southern France.
A good century later, things have changed, and their art is now held in much higher esteem. Collioure's old town, however, has not changed much and still is picture-perfect and remarkably unspoilt. Framed by the rocky outcrops of the Pyrenees that crumble into pebbly beaches; a massive fortress kindly bequeathed by the Knights Templar and the - sometimes - azure waters of the Golfe du Lion, Collioure's colourful alleyways rise in a bewildering maze above the tiny harbour. 'Rise' being the operative word - the town is hilly and not for the flat of feet and short of breath.
Enough of Colliure is centred around the harbour, making it possible to savour the view without having to climb anywhere. There, rows of cafés and brasseries send savoury smells into the briny air where they mingle with the soapy lavender scents coming from the boutiques. The eateries beckon not only to those tourists coming in from a sweaty hike along the coastal path, which links Collioure with the neighbouring towns of Argéles and Port Vendres.
In fact, if you wanted to, you could hike along the whole coastline, climbing up and down cliffs from one beach to another, passing wind-swept gorse bushes, scraggly pines and red-faced fellow hikers, most of which have enough breath to spare for the obligatory 'Bonjour'.
The good news is that in case you did not have the foresight to make Collioure your base, you can still return to your lodgings without having to scramble all the way back. Kind local tourist authorities in the form of the Conseil Général provide the 1 Euro bus, which belches diesel fumes as it rolls along the coastal road, picking up touristic flotsam en route. And it really only costs one Euro per person, which means you can spend all your cash in the restaurants or shops of Collioure.
If you are lucky, you arrive on a Wednesday or Sunday - those are the market days.
Bring lots of cash. Nobody takes credit cards and having all your senses assaulted by fish on ice sitting next to the strawberries, freshly made olive tapenade (olive paste), exotic spices, freshly baked baguette and - of course - lavender soap, all sitting under a - still! - very blue sky tends to be extremely dangerous for your holiday petty cash.
Assuming you manage to avoid the lure of those glossy dorades at the fish stand, you can stroll back to the harbour where gaudy Catalan boats are gently bobbing on azure seas, which mirror the colour of the heavens.
They would if it were not for the wind.
What started as a gentle breeze, most welcome on a strenuous hike, turned into a howling gale force whatever, whipping up the waters of the golfe - and making it impossible to have breakfast on the terrace and enjoy the glorious view of the vineyards in the hills rising behind Collioure.
Theoretically, it would still be possible to sit on that terrace, assuming one was wrapped up in a wind-proof blanket. But any attempt at taking food is thwarted by the buffeting meteorological phenomenon that even manages to blow slices of the local saucisse (a salami look/taste-alike) off the baguette.
Go figure.
'C'est le vent de la mer, madame,' says the friendly waiter in the restaurant as he is pouring the wine, 'it's the wind from the sea.' Fortunately, the restaurant is covered; the drink stays in the glass and we can still enjoy the view of the picturesque harbour and the little tourist glass-bottom boat chugging out into the troubled waters. We don't envy them and toast our rosé to their safe return.
The fiendish wind tends to be persistent in these quarters; Madame was displeased to hear, so an alternative to coastal hiking has to be found. The risk of getting blown of the cliff-face is real, even without an over-indulgence into the local produce having made you unsteady on your pins.
One possibility, of course, is the local museum of modern arts where the creations of Matisse and his fellow artists are on display. However, given that the skies are still of a blue that feels like it has come straight from an artist's palette, there is a distinct pull of the outdoors.
A hike into the windswept vines it is to be, then. At Collioure, the coastal path ventures inland for a short while, bypassing Fort St. Elme. The fort's origins go back over a millennium. Originally, there was a watchtower, built as a lookout for invasions either from the Normans or North African pirates who tended to hijack the populations of whole coastal towns. In 1344, the area around Collioure still belonged to Spain, and the King of Aragon built a fortification against the French, which then was extended by the French owners when the frontier shifted southward. The result is a pretty impressive castle sitting on top of an even more impressive hill.
It is particularly impressive when one climbs on foot, instead of taking the easy option offered by Le Petit Train Touristique ( tourist train) that rumbles up the mountainside. Hiking it, you at least tend to get applause and cheers from those lazy travellers squeezed into the narrow rows of this convenient contraption.
That is very reassuring indeed. Still, the view is more than worth it. As are the scents of crushed peppermint underfoot that are vying with the invasive smell of gorse bushes in full bloom, their twigs lashing petals from the English roses trying to cling on to dilapidated dry stone walls. Like the tourists, the roses stand no chance against the increasing gusts that send up mini-tornados of ochre-coloured earth into the turbulent air.
Strangely enough, an almost stationary slab of cloud in the skies above holds its position despite the storm, like an exclamation mark in the heavens. It is time to return to base, like the boat that is bobbing back into the harbour. Being besieged by vineyards has at least one positive aspect - a couple of glasses of the local vin later, the situation becomes a lot more amusing. And with a bit of luck, the wind will eventually die down, turning this savage part of the coastline back to a delightful beauty that carries nothing but scents of jasmine on the balmy night air.
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Image is "Collioure" by OlivierAccart from DeviantArt.
