Banyuls Is Worth a Revisit

Nobody around in the centre of Banyuls.

When the Howling Demon Wind Fades Away

Port Vendres:– Saturday, 7. February:–  If things are going bump in the night it is probably the local demon wind. It moans and there are short bursts of howling. The bumps come from rattling window shutters and loose doors. Everything else is probably bolted down. Outside the entry the building's patron palm is doing a wild dance, in time with the clinking violin strings of rigging of the boats in the Vieux Port.

My movers came last Tuesday on a day when the ceiling was low and rain was mixed with snow despite the forecast for sunny and 15 degrees. They had a bigger truck and my stuff was in the middle so they had to move other folks' stuff to get at mine. They weren't overjoyed with the two flights of stairs either but they got everything in by late afternoon. The cursed drawing cabinet was too wide for the future world headquarters of – what's this called now? Metropole Midi? – so it becomes the klotz of an elephant in the living room.

Flags of the Mairie in Banyuls.

The last three days have not been spent mindlessly unpacking. Instead I have been cleaning the furniture. A lot of this stuff I bought in 1986 and it's a bit used and filthy dirty. The apartment has new paint everywhere and it would be a shame to turn it into a cobwebbed second–hand barracks full of junk. The colors are good too, very well done, the best I've ever had.

I rub–a–dub–scrub for a while and then I go shopping. I got cleaning stuff, I got a broom, I got a drying rack and I got clothes pins for it. Every time I'm out shopping I get something useful. Like finding some Asian hot sauce and picking up the entire stock of four bottles. Up at the hardware market I got some nails, and pins for shelving. They are called tacquets. Not what I asked for but they'll do. It's a big place where you can get everything needed to build a house.

The shop downstairs where I got the oven, frigo and washing machine had cooking plaques too so I got an all–electric one. While there I grabbed a toaster on a whim. Installation was no hassle. The busy Joe came back a day later with an industrial plug for the cooking plaque. He wanted it to be kosher.

Only gulls enjoy bathing today.

At the end of the week the kitchen is functional, bookshelves are in the bedroom and hall. The furniture in the living room needs to switch room sides. The drawing cabinet has to find a place where it can be overlooked. A dining table for six will share the space with the widescreen TV and some serious amplification.

But today, first, I tested the weekly marché, right across the street. The wind made it a bit wild, with peas and tomatos flying around. Some gusts nearly tipped me over. Then I got bread, trying a new boulangerie, and a few other items, all within 150 metres, wind permitting.

Everything about the region.

I crossed my fingers for the bus running and hid in the lee of a phone box. There are some of these around, handy for phoning. It's an idea that might catch on. The bus arrived from Perpignan right on time and I paid the fare of one euro, to go towards Spain, to Banyuls.

The coast is wildly irregular, with bays and coves divided by foothill fingers from the Pyrenees. The bus climbed over and around, down and beyond, past orange dirt terraces studded with poles for vines to climb on. Up and down, terraces, little white houses with red roofs and stubby trees wind–bent. It'll be the kingdom of grape in its season.

Banyuls at two o'clock on Saturday in early February was deserted. Nobody on its wide beach, nobody shopping, nearly nobody in its many cafés with empty terraces. Banyuls is another locality where nobody is afraid of color. Ocher, pink, green, blue. A wine town, so add deep red. It looks like a place that likes to party, up against the Mediterranean, Catalan flag flying, palms whipping their fronds in the wind. A place that definitely goes in my date book.

A residential view, five minutes from the playa.

The bus back to Port Vendres was on time too. One other passenger got aboard and we spiraled up out of town, slipped through the narrow railway underpass and chugged up and down the well–paved snake–like road, but not for faint–hearted drivers from the city. There was a good aerial view of Port Vendres as we neared, cozy around its sheltered harbor. Small enough to do without traffic lights.

Seeing so much fresh air made me sleepy. Too much unpacking makes Jack a dull boy so I gave it a pass. Let those cranky unused muscles have a day off. There's plenty of time, to shift the drawing cabinet from one side to the other.

A bientôt en France