Forays into Spain

When in Cerbère, it's only a brief nip over the border - about ten minutes by car, five by train and an interesting ramble of about half an hour up a hillside behind Cerbère - to cross into Spain.
Long gone are the days of border control although the vestiges are well apparent in the shape of the now-graffiti covered customs buildings. Here's an image of what it used to look like.

                          

We like Port-Bou. It's rather like a mirror of Cerbère with its huge railway sidings, although a little bigger in the way of shops and restaurants. On the port-side is a clutch of good and inexpensive eateries, our favourite being The Voramar - this for slightly more extravagant occasions as its a little more up-market than its neighbours - that said, it's still a lot cheaper than anything similar on the other side of the border. At time of writing, our beautifully prepared and rather Nouvelle Cuisine menu, including 'amuse bouche' and selection of olive oils to taste was still just under 20 euros a head.

                       
Port-Bou, for those who like, as we do, slightly 'Insolite' as the French say (a little odd, atypic, weird even) places, this is a must with its relaxed and slightly run-down air, sea views, and little interesting-to-explore back streets.

Port Bou Ramblas at night

                       
Moving along the coast a little, the towns become a little busier and more sought-after, the prices in the estate agents windows reflecting this.
Inland is well worth an exploration (in car, as I don't think buses are much of an option, or a good hike - excellent sign-posted footpaths everywhere.)
This time we did a tour around various villages and small towns, many of them featuring beautiful old stone buildings, little shady squares and . . . no humans, or virtually, although we were there on a Sunday afternoon so probably everyone was eating or sleeping off eating.
Peralada was particularly lovely and I think if it had been in France might have given a 'Plus beaux village de France' badge.

                                 

                     

I can't remember which village this was but I loved this communal hall and the strange but rather wonderful tea we were served

A different route to the border

Within half an hour you can be up in the wild landscape behind Cerbère (depending on your walking speed). Today we decided to walk over the border into Spain and find the fresh water lake or barrage that supplies Portbou.
It was a beautiful walk, a little windy as the Tramontane was blowing, but not enough to be a danger, (and it kept us cool).
The Cerbère valley is quite different to that of Portbou, the former being wider and sunnier with vines, olive, wild lavender etc; the latter, more pine trees and less imprint of man.
Before we arrived at the top, I was musing on how people would have decided where the border between the two countries should be; when you look at the terrain on each side and the vegetation difference, it suddenly appears quite obvious how the decision was arrived at.
No animals noted apart from bees, but still a fair amount of wild flowers blooming despite the heat and dryness, and amazingly several blackberry bushes with ripe fruit - I assume their roots must be well down into some underground source.
I saw a weather warning on France Meteo before setting out on the risk of forest fires in the South of France. Standing amongst brittle, bone-dry vegetation I could imagine the speed at which a fire would take hold.
I walked back to Cerbère, and the more intrepid Mark, into PortBou. Next time I will walk to Banyuls along the crest of the hills - not on a windy day . . .

                                          

View back to Cerbère, about half way along to the border point




The barrage above Portbou at its low summer level.

where to start . . .

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.