Each year when R&R (former Geneva neighbours and owner of a place at the Port), we go along with my gal pal B on an adventure exploring some yet undiscovered spot in the area. Even after 22 years we still have not begun to tap all there is to see in the region. Our goal this time, the southern most village in France. Once an iron mining centre, the houses all are marked with red from the iron in the clay of the locally made bricks.
And walking near the village we were bonked by chestnuts. Those on the ground were gathered up for later roasing.
A stream bubbled and gurgled at the base of the village
There was the ritual lunch, this time at a restaurant rather than one of our many picnics. The calamar, duck, fish soup were all excellent.
Then onto the factory that makes the Catalan cloth. The machines were old and clattered and clanked. At the factory store I found a runner for my table for all of 3 Euros.
And the same town made the espradilles, half by hand as has been done for centuries. No self respecting Sardane dancer would be caught dead without his or her espadrilles. I suspect the metal one would be uncomfortable.
In the same village, there was an antique gas pump. The customer dialled the number of litres he wanted.
We dipped into Spain for a picturesque mountain drive home. And next year we'll go to..........
Each year when R&R (former Geneva neighbours and owner of a place at the Port), we go along with my gal pal B on an adventure exploring some yet undiscovered spot in the area. Even after 22 years we still have not begun to tap all there is to see in the region. Our goal this time, the southern most village in France. Once an iron mining centre, the houses all are marked with red from the iron in the clay of the locally made bricks.
And walking near the village we were bonked by chestnuts. Those on the ground were gathered up for later roasing.
A stream bubbled and gurgled at the base of the village
There was the ritual lunch, this time at a restaurant rather than one of our many picnics. The calamar, duck, fish soup were all excellent.
Then onto the factory that makes the Catalan cloth. The machines were old and clattered and clanked. At the factory store I found a runner for my table for all of 3 Euros.
And the same town made the espradilles, half by hand as has been done for centuries. No self respecting Sardane dancer would be caught dead without his or her espadrilles. I suspect the metal one would be uncomfortable.
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