Life is lush in this Mediterranean village. Located in the south of France mere miles from Spain, Catalan culture pervades Collioure. Tapas, espadrilles, sunshiny wine… People glide between French, Spanish, and Catalan. Vivacious and expressive, they draw me in.
I initially came to Collioure to spend a few days on the water. I discovered the light that moved Matisse, making way for Fauvism. I ate fresh, briny anchovies. I watched the sun rise over the medieval lighthouse-church sitting at the edge of the water. This bright village of 3,000 gave me both solitude and company. I made friends at every turn—at the hotel reception, walking along the jagged inlets, sipping Banyuls wine at a waterside café.
I also experienced the grace of stillness. In “Song of the Reed,” mystic poet Rumi counsels,
Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note
I practiced inhabiting that hollowness. Allowing my mind to settle beneath the buzz of the village, I connected to the minute elements of its landscape. From that still, internal space, my attention moved to the generous succulents that dot the village, to the smooth, flat stones that make up the beach, and to the laundry artfully hung outside the windows of pink, yellow, and blue homes. Inside my hollow note, the surrounding hills and massive château lost their grandeur. The vividness of Collioure made its way to me through the secrets hidden within the notes of overlapping voices and juxtaposed colors.
Inspiration
Rumi’s “Song of the Reed”
I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! —The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter
My little patio garden is bursting. Each year, I tinker with this square space off my kitchen. I’ve learned that it’s too sunny for impatiens and that begonias thrive in the morning sun. Potted herbs always take off, and so each summer I find myself swirling ribbons of basil into gazpacho, stirring mint into lemonade, and topping my green salads with chives.
I travel a little for work and a lot for pleasure. I set out on my own, my journeys bringing me to rainy Edinburgh streets, to the salty French seaside, and to my childhood home in Iowa. Each trip enriches me. I fill my soul with modern art, befriend fellow train passengers, and soak in the places that become part of me.
ge chopsticks for months… two sets lovingly displayed in narrow, silken boxes. I figured the local antique shop wouldn’t sell them right away, so I hemmed and hawed. They definitely weren’t ivory—maybe resin? The floral cloisonné was dainty and delicate. I liked the weight of them in my hands. I slid them back in their case.