FRANCE: Adrift on the Ruby Coast

After several rainy days in Toulouse last fall, I was ready for a sunnier part of France. The hotel desk clerk pointed a you-got-that-right finger at me when I mentioned heading for the Cote Vermeille, or Ruby Coast. Something about the last bit of Mediterranean France before the Spanish border had grabbed me, and there was only one way to get over it.

Not much frequented by Americans, the Cote Vermeille (pronounced coat ver-MAY-uh) is the kind of place that induces a satisfied indolence. It’s in an area hugely popular with middle-class French families in summer. The rest of the year it awaits discovery by anyone curious enough to drive all the way into the far south end of France. My trip was in part a reunion with two friends from college days. Johanna met me in Toulouse and we drove south, stopping in the medieval fortress city of Carcassonne for a couple of days before going on to Perpignan, the region’s main city, where we rendezvoused with another friend, Ruth.

Perpignan doesn’t rate very high with guidebook authors, but I was happy the moment I clapped eyes on its palm trees, the charming old quarter of town and the small Basse River slipping through the city center, its banks planted with flowers still blooming in mid-October. A relaxed city of 114,000 just seven miles from the Mediterranean, Perpignan earns its living marketing the fruits, vegetables and wine produced on the surrounding plain of Roussillon, an area of agricultural abundance.

The city is the capital of the Department of Pyrenees-Orientales, part of the Languedoc-Roussillon region, which stretches across much of southern France. It also is the historic capital of French Catalonia, an area that was scrimmaged over by Spain and France for several centuries until matters were settled in France’s favor in 1659. Three centuries later, the dual heritage is very much alive here. The local French accent is set to a Spanish melody, and the seafood-based cuisine spans the border. Perpignan flies the red-and-yellow Catalan flag alongside France’s tricolor and calls itself the second Catalan city, after Barcelona. The area also has France’s brightest weather, averaging 300 days of sun annually. During our stay it was cloudless and shirt-sleeve warm.

Perpignan’s rhythm is decidedly Mediterranean, which made strolling and lolling seem like cultural imperatives. And because it is not overrun by tourists, Perpinya, as the locals call it, is a fine place to observe the authentic street life of a smaller French city. We bought food at the open-air market, breakfasted on coffee and raspberry tarts in a cafe, and wandered around led only by whim, free of the traveler’s compulsion to follow an itinerary.

Although the city is not chockablock with tourist sights, Perpignan’s long history has left signposts. In the old town center is the Loge de Mer, a Gothic confection built in 1397. Originally the seat of a maritime tribunal, it may be the most distinguished building in France to house a fast-food franchise.

Fortunately the same fate has not befallen the city’s most impressive edifice, the Palace of the Kings of Majorca. Although they ruled only from 1276 to 1344, the Majorcans were industrious builders. Their citadel, on a rampart atop the highest hill in town, offers a view of the snowcapped Pyrenees and is the site of a summer theater festival. Wandering its courtyard and deserted stone chambers was a slightly haunting experience, and out on the street, we were happy to be surrounded by a noisy gaggle of little kids rushing out of school to meet their mothers.

Other sights include an art museum named for Hyacinthe Rigaud (1659-1743), a Perpignan native and one of the best-known portraitists of the Baroque period; the Cathedral of St. John, begun in 1324; the city hall dating from the same era; and a Catalan folk museum in the Castillet, a crenelated gatehouse that survived the demolition of the city walls to become Perpignan’s emblem.

We spent a couple of happy days just soaking up the ambience and sampling Franco-Catalan cuisine, which is liberal with fresh herbs. One night I had lamb chops crusted with herbs, and Johanna’s grilled fish came stuffed with them.

I was eager to move on to the Cote Vermeille, 15 highway miles from Perpignan, but first we wanted to stop in Elne.

Named for Helen, mother of the Emperor Constantine, Elne was the capital of Roussillon during the Roman period and was a bishopric for a millennium. Now it is a town of 6,000, a shadow of its ancient self. Its hilltop cathedral houses a pretty cloister, a peaceful place worth the stop.

The Cote Vermeille (whose name, akin to the English “vermilion,” comes from the ruby tint in the bedrock) rises from the flat coast just west of the resort town of Argeles-Plage. It’s indented by four small harbors and their fishing villages.

The first and best-known town is Collioure. It was here that Henri Matisse and Andre Derain spent the summer of 1905 capturing local scenes in paintings splashed with sun-saturated colors. That was during the brief flowering of the Fauvist school, a transitional phase in painting that used color boldly. Standing on a bluff, looking out at the royal blue Mediterranean and up at the green and brown hillside, I thought for a moment that I understood Matisse’s excitement when he encountered the intensity of the area’s color, which is attributed to the clarity of the air and light.

Art-minded visitors can follow the Fauvist Road (Chemin du Fauvisme), which leads to 20 scenes that became paintings. A brochure with a map is available in Collioure’s tourist office.

The town’s traditional business was and is anchovy processing. Although the fish are caught all along the coast, Collioure is where much of the catch is packed--soaked in brine, dried, then submerged in olive oil. The result is far tastier than the pathetic little things Americans pick out of Caesar salads. We sampled them pickled and in a seafood platter during a leisurely lunch accompanied by a bottle of Banyuls, the slightly sweet local red wine.

Not fit for much of anything afterward, we joined the herd of visitors meandering around the old section of town, called the Moure. We stopped in at the church of Notre Dame des Anges--built in the 13th century, converted to an army hospital chapel in the 19th and today a museum of Catalan arts--and spent a longer time in the Chateau Royal, an imposing medieval fort on the little harbor where the kings of Majorca summered during their brief reign seven centuries ago.

Collioure drew us back the next day to walk its hilly streets, which have survived mostly kitsch-free despite the summer influx, testimony to the town’s deep charm. By the time I learned that this was home to Patrick O’Brian, author of the 20-volume Aubrey-Maturin nautical novels, I was daydreaming about spending the summer here and poked my head into a real estate office to ask for a business card.

We finally pulled ourselves out of our trance and turned down the coast toward Spain. The winding, cliff-edge road made me uncomfortable, and I was happy not to be driving, preferring to concentrate on the shimmering Mediterranean. The road dipped into Port-Vendres, which looked like too much of a working port for our purposes, so we continued on to Cap Rederis, a scenic promontory a few miles short of Spain. Stretching our legs, we were appalled to see several boxy modern buildings down at the water’s edge. Happily, they were the only ones in evidence.

Looking at the Roussillon coast in full sunlight proved to be thirsty work. I could have used some refreshment, but the guy selling wine from a shack was sticking to his bottle-only policy, and we did not have a corkscrew--a ridiculous thing to be without in France.

Rather than continue on to Cerbere, the town closest to the border, we doubled back to Banyuls-sur-Mer, which had looked interesting. It, too, is on a small bay, along part of which is a park planted in palms and flowers. Nearby were the essential elements of a French town: a Beaux Arts municipal building, a war memorial and several cafes. There were few visitors and the parking meters were turned off, a good indication of a place that enjoys off-season peace.

Banyuls has its own entrant in the art history sweepstakes, sculptor Aristide Maillol (1861-1944). We went looking for his birthplace and followed a sign that pointed out of town by the back road. Minutes later we realized we had missed the metairie , or small farm, when the dirt track we were on petered out. Retracing a bit, we found the small, tree-shaded stone house off to the side, below the road. Now a museum, it was closed for lunch, still the custom in those parts of France not yet corrupted by the hurried habits of creeping globalization. We contented ourselves with loitering in the lush garden where Maillol reposes beneath one of his voluptuous and serene nudes. The little valley was sleepy and warm and, though only two miles from town, felt like deep countryside.

Back at the car, we noticed a profusion of wild prickly pears. Unlike the spiky Middle Eastern variety, the spines on these were soft and unmenacing. Taken by the moment and ignoring my wary companions, I picked a pear, cut it open and scooped out the flesh, which was deliciously sweet. Just as I was enjoying the fruits of travel, they bit back; the seemingly innocent spines hid minute thorns that had embedded themselves in my hands.

We drove into town for sandwiches and beer at a nearly deserted seaside cafe. My friends wrote postcards home while I continued to de-nettle myself. Finally pain free, I closed my eyes and turned my face to the Mediterranean sun.

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Guidebook:Exploring the Ruby Shores

* Getting there: Air France, American, United and Air Liberte fly nonstop from LAX to Paris, and US Airways flies direct (one stop, no plane change). Restricted round-trip fares begin at $988.

Air Liberte offers five nonstop flights a day from Paris’ Orly to Perpignan. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $134.

* Where to stay: In Perpignan, Hotel de la Loge is in a quiet 16th century building at 1 Rue des Fabriques d’en Nabot. Rooms are $40 to $50. Telephone 011-33-468-34-41-02, fax 011-33-468-34-25-13, Internet https://perso.wanadoo.fr/hotel.de.la.loge.

La Villa Duflot is set in lush grounds on the outskirts of the city, at Rond-point Albert Donnezan. Rooms are $90 to $120. Tel. 011-33-468-56-67-67, fax 011-33-468-56-54-05, https://www.little-france.com/villa.duflot/index.html.

In Banyuls-sur-Mer, Hotel les Elmes is on the beach. Rooms run $45 to $80. Tel. 011-33-468-88-03-12, fax 011-33-468-88-53-03, https://perso.wanadoo.fr/hotel.les.elmes.

* Where to eat: La Villa Duflot (see above) is Perpignan’s highest-rated restaurant. The three-course prix-fixe dinner runs about $50 per person.Le Chapon Fin is in the Park Hotel, 18 Boulevard J. Bourrat. Dinner comes to about $50 per person. Local tel. 0468-35-1414.

In Collioure, Restaurant la Balette is on Route Port-Vendres. Dinner is $40 to $60. Tel. 0468-82-05-07.

In Banyuls-sur-Mer, Restaurant La Plage is on the beach, serving casual food. The bill will run about $20 per person. Tel. 0468-88-34-90.

* For more information: Comite Departemental du Tourisme, 16 Ave. des Palmiers, BP540 -66005 Perpignan; tel. 011-33-468-51-52-53, fax 011-33-468-51-52-79, https://www.cg66.fr.

French Government Tourist Office, 9454 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 715, Beverly Hills, CA 90212; tel. (310) 271-6665, fax (310) 276-2835, https://www.francetourism.com.