Longings – Sant Feliu de Guixols

It’s been raining for three days now. It looks as though someone has scribbled all over the sky with a pencil. Big heavy drips are rolling off the Roman tiled roofs. Birdsong has been replaced by the croaking of frogs. Everything feels damp and clammy. There are few pleasures at the moment. Wandering outside and feeling the sun on my face, looking up to a blue sky and watching the free birds fly feel like the greatest luxuries. This gloom is making me gloomy. I’m longing for some light, some brightness, some sunshine, to be somewhere else.

Sometimes, when the weather is bad at the weekend here, it is fine just the other side of the Pyrenees. Then, we look at each other and without saying a word we each start getting our things together. Walking boots, swimming costumes, toothbrushes, dog leads. I go and fetch the van. We load up and we drive, over the mountains, over the border, to where the sun is.

We have found a place we love on the coast not far from Girona in Spain. There’s a great place to park the van, just a short walk from the beach and the town centre. It’s a friendly place. There’s a town square where you can get a great cafe amb llet, they speak Catalan here. There’s a market in the morning groaning with fruit and vegetables, cheeses, cured meats, olives. Our mouths water as we choose what we fancy for lunch. There’s a hustle and bustle to the place. There’s always something to watch. Just up the street from the market is a little wine shop, they have a couple of tables and chairs outside and will pour you a glass of wine and bring you some olives. The wine is cold and sharp the olives salty and slightly bitter. Our taste buds have been awakened. Time for lunch. Then we wander back to the van put a table and chairs in the sun and unwrap the goodies we bought in the market, a crisp lettuce still muddy from the field, a snail nestling among its leaves, ripe tomatoes, radishes, hard salty cheese a local sausage. After lunch we put on our walking boots, put some water, a few nuts a little collapsible bowl for the dogs in the back pack and strike off for the coast.

Once at the beach, if you turn right you can take the coastal path and then climb up to the little chapel of Sant Elm, there’s a seat built into the side of the building. You can while away the rest of the afternoon there watching the sea. There are sailing boats and fishing boats windsurfers and far on the horizon ships heading into port in Barcelona or further afield. Marseille, Cadiz, Tangier.

If you turn left you can walk along the beach and climb up onto the cliffs. The Costa Brava coastal path winds through the woods along the rugged coast to the beach at Sant Pol. On the way you can climb down to little creeks and cool off in the sea. You can watch gulls launching themselves off the rocky outcrops and showing off their aerobatics in the deep blue sky. At St Pol, you can reward yourself with a cold beer and some salty anchovies before heading back past the beautiful modernista villas built with the proceeds of the cork industry.

Back in town, the streets are deserted, there are a few families on the beach, a dog racing across the sand after a ball, but now is the hour of the siesta and all is quiet and still. the market has gone, the shops and cafes are closed. We hear the clatter of cutlery on plates and peoples’ laughter through open windows as lunches linger on into the late afternoon. We wander back to the van and rest and read and soak up the sun.

There’s no point going back into town too early. Things don’t really start up again until eight o’clock. We take our time, showering and getting changed ready to wander back into town. People are out and about again, the shops are open, the bars are starting to serve the first drinks and tapas of the evening. We browse the shops and then head for a favourite spot for a gin and tonic and some tapas, croquetas, pernil (ham) iberico, pan con tomate, anchovies. The night is warm, everyone is out and about. Children are squealing and chasing each other round the legs of chairs and tables, dogs run around greeting each other, the elderly sit on the perfectly positioned seats chatting.

We stroll to a different bar, move onto wine and puzzle over the Catalan menu. We don’t seem to order what we thought, but it’s delicious anyway.

We stroll back along the seafront, pausing to listen to the waves lazily slapping against the sand. We take a little detour to see the remaining buildings of the monastery around which the town grew up. It was founded in the second half of the 10th century and dedicated to San Feliu. We sit out under the stars and check the weather at home.

I awake from my reverie. It’s still raining!