Hi
Our apologies for the long delay in posting the most recent entry. Although all the entries were drafted before returning to the UK, our lives have been pretty hectic since then and we have struggled to make the time for editing.
The next entry will follow shortly and is the penultimate one - so almost there!
Thanks for your patience.
Steve and Julie
On more than one occasion, as we lazed on the beach and our gazes drifted to the south and the hills and mountains of the Albères Massif and the Pyrenees beyond, we could make out the small town of Collioure, which we had both read was worth a visit. We had also discovered on one of our bike rides into Argelès, that we could catch the train there – something we love to do when we can. So, equipped with a timetable, we just needed to decide whether we would cycle to the station (about 30 minutes) and leave the folders in one of the impressive and free cycle cages (hoping one might be empty), or maybe get a cab.
We decided to try the bikes, and on the morning of the day we had set aside for our adventure, Mr B checked the train times, having already shared with Mrs B that they were every hour in each direction. Somehow, upon closer reading however, they had changed to every two hours, and we had just missed the window for the next train – oops! After a quick exchange of views (!) we decided we would drive back to Port Vendres in Evie, and take the Tourist Train from there instead. We had been told about the train in the tourist office, and it sounded like a fun alternative!
This time, as we parked up in the Aire, ready for the long hot walk to the town, Mrs B proved yet again how much better she is with preparation for hot weather, leaving Mr B scrambling for his knotted handkerchief…
Perhaps not the luxury of an SNCF train, our Puffing Billy promised an intriguing 10 minute ride to Collioure, and a 30 minute return. Recognising that we may have lost something in translation, we anticipated a return journey ‘along the coast and vineyards’…
Depositing us right outside the market area of Collioure, we soon found ourselves drawn down towards the sea, glinting away in perfect picture postcard style, with the bell tower of the Notre-Dames-des-Anges church just asking for a visit…
The harbour wall we were walking along initially skirted the base of a very imposing old Vauban fort – Miradou, which turned out to be the training headquarters for the French Army commandos…
Mr B was particularly excited to learn that we might see some of their sea-borne training, but his luck was out…
...so he settled instead for one Mediterranean cliché after another, with views across the bay to Fort Saint Elme on a nearby hill…
...to the mountains in the distance…
… a very southern Med town…
...and another bay on the north side of the harbour with a small chapel Saint-Vincent…
...from where we could see back to the stretch of pine forest and woodland our site was in…
...and where we met two lovely Yorkshire women, both in their 80th year, busy travelling the world and currently exploring France by train, before we walked out to the end of one of the harbour arms for a different view…
...with crystal clear water all around…
With our return 30 minute adventure on Puffing Billy pre-booked, we had just enough time for Mrs B to explore a Cave that specialised in Banyuls wine, a naturally sweet dessert wine she had developed a taste for as an aperitif on one of our meals out, before we were heading off into the unknown. And as the train took a very sharp hairpin bend heading up into the steep hills behind the town, we realised that we were heading into the vineyards that clung to the hillsides all around…
...that gave us views back to the coastline, rather than us travelling along it…
...and seemed to be heading to the fort we could see from the port, perched atop that very steep hill…
...surely we couldn’t be heading up there we thought, until after more hairpin bends than we’d care to remember, we arrived at Fort Saint Elme, and were allowed out to steady our nerves (maximum quatre minuits we were told)…
...before heading back down the other side of the hills into Port Vendres! Thanking the driver for his skill in returning us alive, we were torn between finding a bar for a stiff Cognac, and having a little lie down. But then we remembered the artisan ice-cream vendor, and headed off there for a cold and creamy delight instead!
On the walk back to Evie, we were suddenly immersed in the sound of cicadas – a defining feature for us of travel in the south. But what we hadn’t realised until this trip and after Mrs B had undertaken a bit of research, was that they needed consistently hot temperatures of 30c+ over a period of time, before their wing membranes are dry enough to be able to make the sounds at that loud buzzing level – and we had clearly just reached those two criteria being met!
Returning to Evie to find, again, that we had been able to park for free, we had a little chuckle that although our initial train adventure had not quite gone to plan, we’d ended up with an altogether different and certainly exciting adventure by ‘train’ instead!
And, as we arrived back at the campsite later that day, we realised that our time in Argelès was coming to a close, even with our bonus canicule-avoiding days added on! Would we come back here? Oh yes! Maybe at a time with less wind would be good – but wind seems to follow us everywhere, all year it seems, these global warming days!
Our agenda for the next leg was straightforward: arrive at Chris and Sue’s in Salies-de-Béarn, with enough time to get up to the ferry at Dieppe without having to drive overly long days. Six nights and seven days to cover just over 800 miles should be plenty, or so we thought...
S&J 31.07.26
On our most recent trip to Scotland last autumn, we had the unplanned pleasure of visiting the home of the famous Scottish architect, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, in Helensburgh.
So imagine our surprise, when we ventured from the site in Evie to do some exploring in nearby Port Vendres, when we discovered that he was also famous for his art, much of which he undertook in the Roussillon area, including this port town when he lived there towards the end of his life.
We had sat and pondered, over a glass or two of the local rosé, how much exploring we could do further along the coast toward Spain, and one thing we had discovered was that exploring by campervan would be tricky because of the narrow roads and restrictions in place in some of the small towns and villages on the coastal route. So, we were mightily relieved to discover that there was an Aire in nearby Port Vendres, from which it was possible to walk into the town.
The Aire was perfect for our visit, as it was a scorchingly hot day and there was plenty of shade for Evie. But we couldn’t work out whether we needed to pay or not, until a bit of delving on Park4Night revealed in a review that the local Gendarmes might wander down around 2000 to collect a fee for sleeping overnight, but otherwise it appeared to be free – hurrah!
The walk along the port basin was hot, but interesting, as we moved away from the industrial/commercial area the Aire was near, into the original old port, now much gentrified and aimed at tourists and pleasure craft owners, but retaining an interesting air all the same. This photo looks back to Fort Béar on top of the hill in the background (an active military base, once a Vauban fort) – the Aire is at the bottom of the hill – it was a long walk and the shade was most welcomed!
As was the discovery of the local tourist office, which was where, upon Mr B’s trotting out of our travelling Scottish identities, we were greeted with warm smiles (usual) and even more excitement (not usual) upon discovering that not only did we know who Charles Rennie Mackintosh was, but that we had visited his house in Helensburgh!
Loaded up with information about our fellow countryman, and the key things to see in Port Vendres, we wandered off in the direction of the lighthouse/Redoute du Fanal and La Vierge et l’Enfant statue on the north side of the harbour. It’s a large port, with an interesting mix of vessels. We spotted this enormous converted tug that is now part of a small fleet of emergency response ships that support the French Navy and Coastguard…
...a visiting oligarch…
… and the local lifeboat responding to a shout (we figured it was real as the crew ran aboard in a mix of outfits)…
Hugging the shade as we ventured around the port basin, we passed a few information boards with paintings that CRM had done, cleverly positioned in the approximate place he may have painted them from, as well as the obligatory plaque in his memory…
...and the impressive war memorial…
As we walked further towards our destination, the local plant life gave a clue as to how far south we were…
We eventually reached the lighthouse/redoubt (unfortunately closed)…
… and the statue of Virgin and Infant …
...but it’s fair to say we were most impressed with the views across the harbour…
...and up the coast…
As we returned to the shade of the port, and after treating ourselves to a delicious local ice cream, Mrs B fitted in a couple of ‘artistic’ buoys that relayed sounds of the sea…
...before we walked back to Evie, to see whether the Gendarmes had fined, clamped, or otherwise gainsaid our assumptions about free parking!
S&J 14.07.26
One of the many things we love about travelling is the unexpected history of places we end up in. Sometimes it may be a new discovery to us, but expected in the circumstances, such as the D-Day landing beaches in Normandy. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected revelations in places we have visited for other reasons, such as the very moving Camp de Milles in Aix-en-Provence, on a previous trip.
To our complete surprise, as we discovered on one of our early exploratory bike rides, it turned out that Argelès has just such a hidden past. We chanced across a memorial/information board on our first ride into town…
...which explained that our super sunny and relaxing beach was, back in the late 30s and into the early part of WW2, a concentration camp for Spanish Republicans and International Brigadistas fleeing across the border into France, following the fall of Barcelona to Franco’s nationalist troops (the exodus was known as La Retirada). Mr B, who has read a fair bit over the years about the Spanish Civil War, was amazed to learn of the camps for the first time.
We discovered a memorial plaque further into town…
...and learned of the existence of a museum about the Retirada in Argelès old town.
We visited the museum on a bike trip and spent a sobering couple of hours there.
We learned that there had been many Spanish refugees heading to France since the start of the war in 1936, but when Barcelona fell in January 1939, over 500,000 civilians, Republican and International troops crossed into Spain in dreadful conditions, hoping to find a sympathetic response from the French. Instead, what they encountered was a series of concentration camps, including the one at Argelès. which they were forced to build themselves. Conditions were harsh, with many deaths.
For the 5,000+ Brigadistas, having already been let down by the Republican leadership in being disbanded in 1938 in a failed attempt to appease the Nazis, their internment was compounded when they, along with Jews and other ‘undesirables’ were sent on by Vichy officials to Nazi run camps and forced labour. Some did escape however, and played an important part in the French Resistance. We were reminded too, that both the UK and France had, in their policy of arms embargoes and non-intervention, acted against the legitimate Spanish Republic, with Franco receiving substantial support from the Nazis and Fascist Italy.
Having crossed the Pyrenees at places the refugees entered France, and were now spending time on the same beaches many were interred at, our visit to the museum had a particular resonance.
This picture of refugees at Bourg Madame held our attention, as we have crossed the border there a number of times…
...as did the information regarding the strong wind and floods that still affect the beaches, but which had a devastating effect on the refugees in their internment camp…
The museum also showed a film made by Catalans from Spain in collaboration with Catalan French, showing some of the brutalities of the camp life and making clear the Vichy collaboration with the Nazis…
The subject matter was haunting and included an impressive display of art created by people in the camp, featuring the work of Josep Franch Clapers in particular.
Not your average day out we reflected over lunch, but sobering, and a useful reminder in these turbulent times of the consequences of despots going unchallenged…
S&J 11.07.26
Hi readers!
Apologies for the delay with posting - we had a mechanical issue with the axle going over a couple of steep Cols in the mountains which has delayed writing - but all is resolved now.
This pic might give a clue...
Normal service should resume shortly...
S&J 04.07.26
