The above was the view from my French house when I arrived here Monday ten days ago. The mountain that I see from my house is Mt. Canigou, 2784 metres high. It was long believed to be the highest summit of the Pyrenees, which in fact it is not, but because it could be spotted from all over and far away - as far away as Marseille on a clear day - this was a "fact" that stuck for ages. At any rate it's a mountain with a lot of myths, stories and folklore attached to it, not least is it the extremely strong symbol of Catalan tradition and unity, on both sides of the border. My husband and I have been up it, well, a third of it anyway, to the Abbey of St. Martin. Or maybe that's just a quarter up. All I can say is it was STEEP!
I can almost make Karen Blixen's words mine - "I have a house at the foot of a mountain." Okay then, she had a farm.
Walking in the Pyrenees is only a stone's throw away for us - situated here between "mer et montagne" - as the tourist brochures say. Here in Thuir we are by definition in the lower Pyrenees. Which means we are on the flat plain, just before the mountains rise and the terrain becomes diverse.
My house is down there somewhere - never can spot it - and the Mediterranean is visible, 23 kilometres away
We can either walk out from the house and wind our way up through residential areas interspersed with vineyards, or we can drive for five-six minutes to Ste Colombe de la Commanderie and enter straight into the numerous paths of the lower Pyrenees, with views to Mt Canigou on one side and the Mediterranean on the other side. Between mountain and sea for sure! Not just a tourist cliché!
I can think of nothing more exhilarating than to walk these red and yellow gravelled paths in early spring (or winter as we would call it further north), that is January and February. Mimosa and almond in bloom, the still snow-capped Canigou, the warmth of the sun already, caressing a pale Nordic face.
For me this is home, though I was born further north.
Vineyards at Ste Colombe de la Commanderie, near Thuir. The red earth of French Catalonia, la Côte Vermeille.
As usual it's exciting to start a blog post, because it hardly ever turns out the way I planned it. Not that I ever have specific plans or thoughts, but I usually have an idea. But my blog takes me in other directions! It has a life of its own! And this evening it took on its own will.
I am in France, yes, and if ever there's a place I'll hang on to until I get carried out, it's here.
But the fact remains - I'm here without my husband. I've always enjoyed taking a time-off here alone, and so did he, but the safe knowledge was that I'd go back home to him, or the next time we'd be here together. It was our project, our home, our nest. A home away from home, that we searched for together, finally bought and were so excited about - our mutual project. Our dream come true. When I lie alone in my bed here I feel both peace and unease, but most of all loneliness.
And that's what I was going to write about this evening - loneliness. Perhaps it's a good sign that instead I focused on the marvellous beauty of nature.
And tomorrow I'm going home. Yes, home - to my city by the sea - Oslo. My family is there. My friends.
My heart lies there too.
Indian summer all over Europe. Tonight is the first night I'm inside, listening to thunder, very close! The temperature suddenly dropped 15 degrees.
