happy willy graffiti

Every time I visit our favourite seaside village of Cerbère I see more of this artwork - this one I reckon is the best, semi-hidden behind a municipally-trimmed bush, and seemingly ignored, (possibly revered?) by the the town's 'mairie' and the Cerbèrians (inhabitants of Cerbère).

Belvedere de Rayon Verte

Following on from last post - not really fair to show just the loo of this magnificent building . . .

We were in Cerbère this weekend for the art film festival and took a few minutes before the first film (an excellent study on the 'Flaneur') to wander about (flan, in effect) and admire the faded beauty of the rooms created for wealthy travellers of La Belle Epoque.



                                              Tables laid for the film festival lunch

The Belvedere de Rayon Verte was built during the early twenties as a stopover point when people had to wait, sometimes several days, before crossing into Spain from France.
Aimed at a moneyed clientele, the hotel had a large dining room with sea views, a cinema and tennis courts on the roof. During and after the war the building fell into neglect for many years but now, slowly, the hotel is being reinstated by the owner - the great grandson of the original propriétaire, to become a venue for concerts and theatre as well as a fascinating place to stay.


                           

                                                            detail of the dining room                  
   

                           

                                                    photograph by David Samblanet  


http://www.rencontrescerbere.org  - link to the excellent film festival in October.

Dear John No 2

Following on from my sub-blog some posts back, another memorable lav.

                                              

A truly David Lynchian small room - part of the divine, decaying, but slowly being-put-back-together-again, Belvedere de Rayon Verte; a very favourite building situated like a faded pleasure cruiser overlooking the little seaside town of Cerbère.
I particularly liked the nod to modern air-freshening - one of those splays of scented sticks in a bottle - quite incongruous against the flaking paint, naked light bulb and municipal tiling.

Big teeth of the sea

What a poetic name for a loaf of bread.
                                                                

                                 Gross dents de la mer                                                      
                                                           
Having just returned from Cerbère (Southern French coast - the wild bit) I can see why the village bakery has included such a name amongst its offerings.
Mark arrived on Monday and encountered the full force of Le Tramontane wind - gusting at 145 km hour, or so; some locals said more, possibly 160km. Anyway, mad person that he is, he decided to 'take a walk' to the border point - top of a very large hill - and nearly entered Spain in flight/crash mode.
The sea is something to behold in these weather conditions, and could indeed hold teeth within its washing waves.

                                         

               A moderately windy day - difficult to open the car door to take a photo . . . 

I arrived the day after when the wind had suddenly dropped to a friendly breeze, however it was back, flaying the town, hills, sheep and anything/anybody else clinging to anything, by the evening.
About eight years ago, the town completely lost its harbour walls to the sea - churned, eaten up and spat out.
Now, vast concrete lego miss-shapes embrace the cove, the waters seething behind them on a Tramontane day. The town feels safe, however I think the bread with big teeth still definitely still has a place on the bakeries shelves.

                                                              

                       Calm after a night of Tramontane

See link to the right to our flat if you feel like a few days really feeling the elements!

Catalonia wanderings and no internet

Needing a bit of think-time and excuse to do no house/garden work - strained groin thing, I went down to Cerbère, our favourite thinking/wandering spot, for a couple of days.
At first when I arrived in the flat I felt bereft - no internet, no checking emails, no glancing at the weather/Facebook/Ebay, no 'ooh, I wonder if', nothing. No procrastination.
After about an hour, I'd forgotten its (internet's) existence. I wrote, read, walked, looked, and thought - without the usual distractions.
The next day I went up into the hills behind the town and followed the tracks of shale through the vine fields. These are unlike most other vine fields in France - set into steep hillsides of rock and with very little soil. Everything: clipping, picking and maintaining has to be done by hand as tractors could not scale the hillsides.


  First rock rose 



On the hill terraces, plumes of smoke drifted from small vine clipping fires; the almost complete silence interrupted only by the clink of hand tools working the ground.
I watched a man digging around the base of an antiquated-looking vine, and risked a question. He came over and we chatted for some time about the wine industry of the region and the care of his own seven hectares.

                 New vines      Old vines - maybe fifty years

I decided against trying to find out, once again, what 'Las Ocas' is (black bull-shaped sign saying two kilometres) - next time, and headed of into Spain.
First stop was Castelló d'Empúries, a medieval town in the province of Girona. All was quiet, being Sunday but the attractive little central square's eateries were open.
I chose 'Les Altos' as it looked warm inside and was greeted by an incredibly friendly waitress/owner? who seemed un-perplexed by my odd choice of tapas and tea.
I waited, sketched the terrace and tried to ignore the babbling flat screen, which would have been babbling except the sound was turned down and salsa was playing - why not just have the music and no TV on? I am an old git about this - almost as much as about 'patio heaters.' Grr.
Anyway, the tapas arrived: fantastic local ham, bread and a mound of potatoes the size of a small cat. I tried but only managed about a third of them. Then I went to pay, and discovered I'd left my wallet in the car.
I approached the till expecting grumpiness and raised eyebrows, possibly hostage taking in the form of my driving licence. Nope. The owner waved his arms about in a general display of 'don't worry, life is too short' sort of thing. I said I would be five minutes. 'Really, it's not a problem.'
I returned. He looked at me, then at the potatoes, then back to me: 'I can really not charge you for this - you have hardly eaten any.' I said that surely that was my problem for being a glutton, or something to that effect. But he insisted I pay for just the ham.
Glowing from this benevolence I left and drove on to Figueres, via a terrifyingly depressing sort of car boot sale on the outskirts - I bought NOTHING! must be a first.

  

  Rather amazing painting on the side of Figueres church and fleet of planters heading down the high street 

Figeras was also very quiet but I enjoyed loping through the empty streets admiring the buildings until stumbling on the Dali gift shops. I wondered what he might of thought of his paintings transformed into makeup bags, watches, mugs, tools, ties, earrings . . . perhaps he would have enjoyed the irony.



Statue near the Dali museum

And so back the flat, and no internet. Tea, book, writing, late walk and bed. A little self de-connection from the internet every now and then . . . not a bad thing.

Cerbère cats on an evening walk (me, not the cats)

 

Building No 50

By way of a small personal celebration of reaching the 50th building I have chosen one of my favourite edifices: The Belvedere de Rayon Verte.
Started in around 1920 this incredible concrete structure follows the curve of the railway in Cerbère (small southern French coastal town that I have frequently gone on about on this blog). One of the first concrete buildings in France it was designed and used as a hotel in the 20s and 30s as at that time travelling from France to Spain (and probably vice-versa) involved several days of paper/passports checking etc.
Now, although rather crumbling, it is still a breathtaking structure on the Cerbèrian skyline, and is slowly being restored to its former brilliance, although I don't know if they will reinstate the tennis courts on the roof . . .
The most important highlight of the year for the Belvedere these days is the excellent art film festival held in early October for a week - link below. Visitors can watch films in the elegant 1920s cinema, eat in the pretty much untouched dining room and stay in one of the rooms on the top floor to be lulled to sleep by the rumbling trains and the singing railings of Cerbère.

http://www.rencontrescerbere.org

Building No 48

Those were the days: days when something as simple as an air vent could be celebrated in decorative concrete and metal curly finials - well I assume it's some sort of vent as the construction stands close to the major (HUGE) train station of Portbou in Spain.
I should have walked around the other side to see if there was a door, or window, or a sign stating what its purpose actually was or is, but we suddenly realised that it was approaching eight o'clock and that restaurant doors would be opening - at last. (Had forgotten that everyone eats at least an hour later than Cerbère just over the border in France.)
It would actually make a fine centre piece to a restaurant terrace, thinking about food, again. A small bar? or tapas serving area; DJ-box, dumb waiter, ham-smoking room, squid-drying room . . .

Cerbère wanderings

Following on from last post: a few photos from a windy walk (end of the Tramontane wind that had been madly blowing for three days -140kms per hour at some points).

Don't know what this is/was, but it appeared strangely beautiful in the late afternoon light

Lemon and clementine trees

The tenacity of plants

DIY plant holder/water meter reading cupboard/ electricity-reading cupboard and defunct letter box

Summer days departed

Building No 47

On a stroll through the hills behind Cerbère I was lucky enough to see this oversized tea chest, dropped presumably by an interstellar beverage delivery ship with a malfunctioning guidance system.

Summer holiday

or days - three, in fact.
Every year when our lovely cousins come and visit, Mark and I leave the Hothouse compound together and holiday somewhere for a few days. This year we went down to our favourite bit of coast - many times rambled on about on this blog - Cerbère.
The sun resolutely refused to shine apart from on a half day out in Gerona, but that was fine. This odd little sea-village is atmospheric in any weather conditions and we passed a lot of time wandering around in the echoing tunnels that run under the huge railway sidings, popping up like meerkats and exclaiming: 'Oh, so that's where that comes out,' etc. We even had the pleasure of listening to the Singing Railings that perform with certain wind directions.
Mark was due to play piano on the beach for the 'Fete de Village' on the first evening, but after a couple of hours of spotting rain it was decided that the event would be cancelled. The roadies packed everything away; our friend the organiser shrugged, said sanguin things like 'c'est comme ça', and invited everyone concerned up to his café to eat mussels and chips, after which I swam alone in the grey sea and marvelled at the village/landscape of yellow and pink buildings, vast arched brick walls that support the train sidings and towering craggy hills under glowering cloud.

      Cerbère

The terrace of the re-conditioned La Vigie hotel

The next day we took the slow train to Gerona and spent a few happy hours ambling through the ancient streets, eating ice cream and trying to find a coat for Mark that would have sleeves long enough (impossible) in the rather cool clothes shops that make up quite a large part of this smart city.

                                                                     Gerona river front

My sort of restaurant where we had tea, mainly so I could snap the interior, including the wonderful old loos

Incredible, ancient general store complete with ceiling fans, a million types of paella rice, and two severe-looking old men who pointed at the No Photography sign when I gestured to my camera after we had bought afore-mentioned rice and Touron - Spanish nougat stuff

 
         Outside of lovely bistro/café

Buildings enjoying the sun at Gerona station

We returned to Cerbère, ate in our favourite restaurant and talked to a party of English cyclists about their tour of the Pyrenees which had taken four and a half days - end to end - pretty impressive; I can just about make it to the bank and back, taking in the small rising hill as one approaches the Hothouse, and, some of the team members were . . . let's say, people who obviously had a happy relationship with cake.
The next day the sky threatened thundery rain, so after a muscle-building walk up into the hills we packed up the unused electric piano and headed homewards, craning our necks to take in a last view of the lighthouse, bay and small clutch of seafront buildings that make up the last coastal town in France before the Spanish border.

                                 Cerbère palm tree with its own: 'I was born in 1974' notice

five star graffiti

On a trip yesterday to our favourite seaside place (Cerbère), I spotted these skull studies, confirming my idea of this tiny town being quite an odd place . . .

Time out

Small break at the favourite sea area. Cerbère and Banyuls. Have urge to build small shack under this pine tree with panoramic view of border mountain chain, sea, brown vine clad slopes, and distant sounds of trains.