Hello, world, from a tiny cove on the very edge of France as it slips (tumbles, perhaps) into Spain. I'm always fascinated by border points: how they were originally delineated; whose rock/tree/lavender bush was who's, etc. Spanish parasol pine or French parasol pine? Or a bit of both?
Cerbère is classed as a village, or possibly a very small town, and was once part of The 'Banyuls' commune - a real town sized town just along the vertiginous road from Cerbère, about ten km, or perhaps six if you could walk in a straight line.
It has a post office, bread shop, two grocery stores, pharmacy etc, and several good eateries for somewhere so minuscule. I was talking to the owner of The 'Dorade' restaurant recently about how I felt comfortable in Cerbère. He described it at 'cocooneuse', meaning protected and sheltered (thank you spell check for suggesting I meant cocaine use). And it's true, even when the 'Tramontane' wind is blowing at 130 km an hour it feels oddly . . . cosy. I'm sure folk who have their goat shacks blown away, boats sunk, or worse might not agree; but in the middle of January, when the sky in leaden, and everything except the bread shop is closed, it still feels comfortable . . . to me anyway.
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