colours of collioure

It took three train journeys and a long taxi ride to reach Collioure, our first destination in the south of France.

We took a 'media distance' train from Granada to Sevilla, a fast train from Sevilla to Barcelona via Madrid, and another 'media distance' train from Barcelona to Cerberes. We were advised that no trains stopped at Collioure, so took an expensive taxi from Cerberes, past crowded beaches and terraced, vine covered hillsides.

If you are planning to travel to Collioure from Spain by public transport, please be advised that there ARE local trains and buses which travel regularly from Cerberes to Collioure. However Spanish RENFE officials, Frommer's on line travel forum, and hotel receptionists in both countries will tell you that there are not.
It is more than mildly irritating to find that you have spent a night's accommodation costs on a taxi when there was a bus for one euro leaving at a convenient time.

I can recommend travelling by train in Spain. Fast, comfortable and precisely on time. I really enjoyed seeing Spain from the window of a train, particularly in Andalusia. However my observations contradicted Professor Higgin's assertion that ''the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.''

When our money runs out, I will not be seeking employment in the transportation logistics area as even Dave, who showed little interest in travel plans before we arrived, couldn't fail to notice that our routes resembled a crazy zig-zag, rather than any kind of sensible or vaguely linear progression. I attribute this to my reliance on Google-map when planning destinations, rather than a big, old fashioned atlas.

Dave and I had visited Collioure 16 years ago at the end of winter when it was sombre and grey and almost empty of people. Collioure in summer is so different. So vivid. So alive!

 Once a wealthy port, then a fishing village, it is now an unbelievably pretty and popular beach resort. I felt like Lewis Carroll's Alice: perhaps I had stepped through a looking glass into a picture postcard. It seemed so perfect. I had to blink, then re-open my eyes to check that the sea and the sky were really that blue, that the terracotta rooves were such a brilliant orange, that the vineyards on the hillsides were such an emerald green. Fishing boats painted in primary colours, blue or green shutters on pink or sienna houses, the red and yellow striped Catalan flag, the castle walls golden in the morning sun along one side of the bay, and all of these colours reflected in the water, reminded me of an impressionist painting.

It is easy to see why Collioure, all light and vibrant colour, attracts painters. Artists like Matisse and Derain drew attention to its beauty. Many others have followed trying to capture that elusive charm. Little art galleries abound. Painters set up their easels along the sea wall. We saw an exhibition of paintings by the Russian born Leopold Survage (1879-1968), who lived in Collioure from 1925 till 1932 and painted  the people of Collioure; fisher-women, men pursuing a rampaging bull and a boules player, which of course held Dave's attention. Interestingly, Survage painted in drab hues which seemed at odds with the brilliant summer colour of Collioure.

Some mornings we could be found having petit dejeuner at 'Les delices Catalans', a few metres from the front door of our hotel, 'Princes de Catalogne', right in the centre of the old town. The boulangerie was one minute from our front door, the post office 2 minutes, the supermarket 2 minutes, the shady piste where about 30 men played pétanque every afternoon was only a 3 minute walk, and the swimming beaches were about a 5 minute stroll. There were dozens of cafes, bars and restaurants within 10 minutes where we spent many a warm evening. Across the road in the pedestrianised back streets, there were dozens of little [expensive] shops selling anything from the wines of the region to clothes to ceramics and, of course, paintings.

One morning we emerged from the hotel to find ourselves in the midst of a market which stretched down the street towards the sea, occupied the piste and sprawled into the square which was shaded by plane trees with massive trunks. There was a trio busking in the style of the Hot Club de Jazz [double bass, excellent lead guitar and a singer who played rhythm guitar]. I bought the CD!

I don't usually like markets, but this one wasn't overcrowded, had some great products and a happy holiday ambience, like the prevailing mood of Collioure.

In the heat of the afternoon, with the sun on my back, a black dog on my tail, I clambered up the steep rocky path to the fort to the sound of cicadas. The views back over Collioure and along the Mediterranean coast were worth the effort. I lost the black dog on the way.
Dave and I walked along the coastal track, reaching the long, white sandy beach of Argeles sur Mer, where I paddled before a long lunch on a terrasse where old fig trees and bright umbrellas provided shade.

 My favourite moment in Collioure was unexpected. I found myself in a small square, one street back from the sea, to find two young pianists playing a grand piano, while a large group of local people of all ages, genders and attire, danced a traditional folk dance in two concentric circles. It had a hypnotic effect on me and the silent crowd which had gathered to watch. The music stopped and the people dispersed leaving me with  another moment to cherish.