Have you ever thought that you were in love, everything seemed to fit just right, in the perfect place, and then you met another and you realized how very very wrong you were?  This new one was everything you couldn't describe that was missing with the first.  Maybe not fireworks and trumpets blaring, but just exactly what you could have ever hoped for.  

With love, there is always another.  One more handsome or tall, rich or successful, funny or generous.  There is always more out there.  But if you really know yourself, you should be able to determine when you've found the one that is really best for you.  The one with whom you are most comfortable, most yourself, most happy, and most in love.

I found this in Castelnou.  I will probably never live in this stone-covered village, I will never know it so well, but I will remember its beauty and the love that I felt there.

What I thought was love with Collioure, was only infatuation.  When I met Villeneuve de Conflent, I knew that my excitement for Collioure's seascape and beachy naiveté was fleeting compared to the security provided by Villeneuve's mountainous embrace.  Down wandering streets glimpses of towering, tree-covered peaks were eminent.  And with the train that passes by, I thought, surely, Villeneuve was the place for us.  Just a short ride from the city, no doubt we could pass many a year here.  Sipping Banyuls and sharing a crust of bread...

I fell hard and fast for Collioure.  What with its sexy blue waters, terra cotta roofs bronzing in the sun, and princess castle, I was enamored and prepared never to leave again.  This champion in rough stone and azure coast would certainly steal any maiden heart and with a bit of local fermented fruits, pure intoxication.  But how could a place so beautiful exist in this world when there are some truly hideous alternatives.  It hardly seems fair.  

Just a short drive from Perpignan, we made a short day of it.  We explored the town and then found a nice spot to take in the warm winter sun while enjoying a glass of something sweet.  We and so many others stopped and watched the seabirds soar past on such a fine winter day.

Why do so many people love to go to France for vacation?

French cities, and even small ones like Perpignan, just seem to have been built to promote quality human existence.  Now, I stress quality here because quantity was most certainly not the objective.  You, your ten children, your Escalade, and your two-pound bags of shredded cheddar are just not going to fit in a twenty square-meter apartment.  But, a cozy four-some sipping Banyuls and nibbling on Roquefort is not out of the question and rather, the gathering of folks to enjoy something really tasty is the norm and even expected.  

On the way home from work, you might stop by the marché and pick up some fresh goods from your favorite vendor.  You stop to chat about the new leeks that have just come in, but also you catch up a bit on each others' lives.  You make your purchase and say your goodbyes knowing that you will be back again tomorrow.  As you continue home, you pass half a dozen fromageries, boulangeries, and patiseries with warm lights aglow beaconing you to their wares.  And while all of this can also be had in any Walmart or supermarket the world-over, it is not the same, is it?  When was the last time you reveled in the plumpness of a fresh persimmon with your local Big-Box man?      

We, the French-enthusiast vacationers love to go to France purely for the pleasure of walking around.  Because unlike so much of the world, you can do that in French cities without being obstructed by mega-highways, parking-lot deserts, or mountains of human filth.  You can wander with helpless abandon to your heart's content, or your feet's pity.  You can explore the little one-of-a-kind shops and stop for a coffee in the square.  And we love this.  I don't know a human that doesn't.  So, all snobbery aside, why don't more cities act like the French?  

adventures in a cinquecento // barcelona to perpignan

El Prat is the closest international airport to Perpignan, so after landing in BCN following a short connection in Jordan, we headed over to rental car alley and signed up for an all inclusive three-day access to the great European Tiny Car Extravaganza.  Our trusty guide turned out to be not only cute, but also equipped with USB port, sunroof, and ample side mirrors perfect for photo ops.  While two-doored, this friend of ours could comfortably seat four, though overpacking is cautioned as claustrophobia hazards are imminent.  

Without skipping a beat, we zipped through Cataluña into Languedoc-Rousillon passing rows and rows of perfectly aligned trees and distant snow-topped Pyrénées mounts.  On the left we passed grape vines, strung out and waiting for spring, and on the right there was the lovely La Jonquera.  But when the signs switched from Catalan to French we new we were getting close, so we pressed our guide forward and soon found ourselves in the home of friends, enjoying delicious cheesy treats.  

Thanks Fiat friend, couldn't have done it without you.