la village de Collioure

The churchbell rang in Argeles sur Mer. The sun began to peek out from beneath the sea. I sat up in bed, and listened to the bustle of people walking around in the street below. Most were up early to make their way to the local farmer's market which is only open on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
When I was finally up and dressed my father met me in the kitcen and handed me some coffee. He asked if I was ready to go. I thought we were going to go to the local market but he had already gone and said that he hadn't liked the produce. "I'll bring you to Collioure!" he said. "The market there is better and you can meet Phillipe." So we drove with TinTin in the car to a grocery store for staples and then to downtown Collioure. Phillipe was not home but we found him near the market seated at a cafe, waiting for friends. He shook my left hand and my father translated that his right hand had been injured during some kind of recent mishap with a sea anemone. Despite the wound (he almost lost the hand) he seemed jolly and full of life. We walked to the market and looked at cases of local cheeses and sausages and of course the locally grown produce. Local pottery, paintings and other handicrafts were also for sale, but we didn't really browse. We bought our sausage de Taureau and walked into the beach/harbor/castle area. We took some pictures and I thought about how I'd like to ride my bike up the mountain above the village to take real pictures of the view. There aren't many places where you can capture a beach, a marina, an old fortress and meditteranean terra cotta homes set along a backdrop of water and mountains all in the same frame.
We walked back to the cafe and met Phillipe again seated with his friends from Brazil and Spain. We sipped coffee and laughed, struggling for ten minutes in a mixture of french, portugese, spanish and english. When the coffee was gone we bade them au revoir and headed home to prepare lunch for some guests my father was expecting.