The seagulls are taking over the beach again. The bathing huts have been removed. With few people swimming or walking along the edge of the tide, there seems to be an increase in the number of anglers who stand in small groups, each man with two if not three rods planted in the sand, and only occasionally drawing in his line to re-bait or to land a struggling fish. The grass up at the path which runs along the top end of the beach is not only growing now, it is extending daily down towards the water. Flowers have reappeared among it, tiny, not easily distinguished. Shops are cutting down on stocks of everything, including newspapers, as September comes to an end.
You may read that the Mediterranean is comparatively tideless, but the waves are now brisk and have cut small cliffs along the sea edge here and there. Still, up above, in hotel and private house gardens, bodies lie stretched out as long as the sun shines. There is a nice, easy air about this part of the world, roughly the departments of Pyrenees Orientales, Aude and Ariege, well illustrated when you go back to the garage where you hired a car for a week. You are asked to sit and take your turn, for they also mend cars there and sell them; but to while away your time there are laid out for you freshly cut grapes, chips, a bowl of almonds and hazelnuts with the necessary nutcracker, a loaf of bread and a knife.
And speaking of the car, the roads, even quite far into the mountainous territory behind, are of a remarkably good quality. Also, they are well marked, with signs that are unlikely to be turned around to confound the tourists, as smart-alecs have been known to do here. On top of this, the stop-go lights are often bigger and clearer than ours, while their roundabouts - always telling you when you do not have priority on going into them - are works of horticultural art, sometimes of stonemasonry. The French have a fairly high accident and death rate on the roads. It is not the fault of the roadmakers. Were we told at school that Napoleon was responsible for the great routes nationales of nearly two centuries ago, and that he had planted the long lines of plain trees along the way? Whoever did it, it's good to see that while often one side of trees has had to for road-widening, you can still drive for miles between two gleaming rows of light-coloured bark. A lovely region of three languages: French, Catalan and Occitan. Of that another day.