Three Candles

Downtown Port Vendres.

Short of Butts

Port Vendres:– Saturday, 24. January:–  Last night the TV news gave a red storm warning for the southwest of France, for the six or seven departments closest to the Pyrenees, halfway across the country. The rest, to the east, to the Mediterranean, was colored orange. I don't recall ever hearing about a red alert before. Winds up to 160 kph they said. Avalanches in the mountains. Batten the hatches.

For all that it was pretty calm this morning. I went over to the fishing inlet, to the place of the market, in the parking lot at the foot of the local obelisk. The marché was a half dozen small trucks, with meat, cheese, horsemeat, fowl, and some stands with fruit and vegetables, a stand for honey and another for oysters. There was a roast chicken smell in the air, a few puddles and some tough–looking trees with bare branches. After shopping most folks stood around passing their news. Unlike in the rue Daguerre

I wandered back towards the hotel and went into the combo boulangerie–restaurant. No hot kitchen on Saturday so I had the cold Catalan salad with its half–dozen fresh anchovies, followed by coffee. Every meal no matter what is 15 euros, I mean, without descending to crêpes or pizza. I had frites with tomatos farcie in the same place yesterday. On the boulangerie side they have a good number of baked items I've never seen before but there's time to get around to them. Would you believe Catalan donuts?

The gate to the sea.

Then I went to the magazine and Loto place over by the port building, got a ticket and bought a magazine. Good thing I did because when I tried to catch the bus for Collioure the driver said the service was suspended on account of the wind. Back at the hotel the owner offered to let me use his portable with the WiFi connection and I showed him MP. Of few words when I arrived, I have since learned a lot. Business was down last year and this year looks dicey. When I asked about a laundromat he offered the hotel's machines and drying room.

I didn't start washing immediately, but read the magazine until later when he knocked on my door and offered candles. The light in the hallway was out. I read some more and then went downstairs in the dark and got three candles and took them upstairs. The wind was blowing the palm fronds to hell and gusts swept, ripped, across the harbor.

About five I went out, back to the boulangerie–restaurant, to get something to eat in the room. Restaurants will not be serving any hot dinners without power. Then I went to the two tabacs for cigarettes but they were both closed. One snack–bar I hadn't tried before might have had cigarettes so I went there. The owner was coaxing warm water out of his coffee machine. A bunch of sailors or fishermen were playing cards, but a bunch more were waiting for coffee. Gypsy Kings were playing loud, to go with the bullfight wall–poster. Electricity was on. It still looked like a stormy night.

Coffee eventually came for the whole crowd. One euro, just like the café beside the restaurant. But no cigarettes. What the hell – I've got something to eat and drink, and the heat is on again, and I have three candles if it isn't. If the wind has died down by tomorrow I can even wash my duds.

Now, about this wind. This is not the famous Tramontana but a special delivery storm from the Atlantic, centered off the west coast of northern Spain. Folks here are saying this is the worst winter in many years. There was snow on the ground in Port Vendres. Today's wind is not cold though. Just high and noisy.

Another part of the harbor.

I am running out of books and this is the reason I wanted to go on the bus to Collioure. In nearly a week I have heard spoken English only once; except for the hotel owner – who spent many years in west Africa and Morocco. I don't know if there are any books to find in Collioure but it is rumored to be full of foreigners, high prices and some frippery. Port Vendres is decidedly Calvinist by comparison.

Except, the hotel guy told me, for three weeks in August when the whole world tries to insert itself into this little bit of interesting coast. Further north, after Collioure where it's flat, there are even more vacationers but they mostly stay on their wide, long and straight, flat beaches. When they get bored out of their minds they come sightseeing down here. At the end of August they are gone for another year. Who knows? It may even be true.

I've been reading the local paper. It is from Perpignan, and recounts items of interest. One small town – they are all small – has had an irruption by residents, against the local consulors, two days running. Another town's news was about a cow that somehow fell into a swimming pool. Had a lovely photo too. Many localities are rubbing their hands in anticipation of considerable public works over the next few years. This includes fixing beaches that got wrecked during a storm in December. Most of the other news was about coming events up and down the coast. Well, there's sports too, mainly about rugby and the upcoming season of corridas. The paper I saw today also listed events for the Costa Brava and Barcelona. There's a festival in Palafrugel, on the coast east of Gerona.

Since there's still power I'm going to turn on the TV and see what news the storm brings. Then I will have my monster sandwich and orange juice and find out whether I can stretch my few remaining cigarettes until morning.

Sunday's paper said the wind was hitting peaks of 184 kph at Perpignan. Several people were killed and a lot of power went out. I saw a tree lying on two cars at Collioure.

A bientôt en France