Redemption

I locked my apartment for the last time behind me and walked down the three flights of stairs that would take me into the refreshing morning air, blowing off the ocean. I made my way to the edge of the sand and whispered 'goodbye' under my breath.

As I made my way to the hill to the train station, I passed a large farmers market and almost walked around it. But I couldn't resist. This would be the place, if any. I wandered through the narrow booths, passing one after another until I saw it. A fucking croissant. Redemption time.

I eagerly walked up to the woman manning the booth. In my best accent: Pourrai je avoir un croissant? She slipped it into a to go bag and I could already see the butter stains seep through. A good sign. I gave her a euro twenty and continued on my way. I sat, restraining myself against this buttery croissant for the 20 minute train ride, knowing when I arrived in Perpignan's larger station for my connection to Spain, there would be coffee. As I type this, I have the half eaten croissant on one side of my laptop and my new favorite drink, cafe allonge (essentially just a short americano) on the other side. The croissant is...good. It is not life altering but maybe that is just the eternal romantic in me wanting it to be. It is buttery, somewhat flakey, a bit small for my gluttonous taste. But the taste of croissant redemption brings about another sensation. A gratitude. Like this was the finale in a series of send offs I feel Collioure gave to me, in the eleventh hour.

So as I sit here, nibbling away, trying to make this croissant last a lifetime, I've got two hours to kill before my next train. Let me share some lessons I've learned:

- Cesar dressing here is actually made with anchovies. EW.

- The desserts are very good. The rest of the food is mid.

- The main beach is nude! However, the french seem a bit modest and almost no one is naked. Luckily, I am not modest.

- I'm not sure the french eat breakfast. I have not seen a single restaurant open before 11am and if they are open earlier, they only serve drinks. My husband would possible die here because of this.

- Even though this is the Mediterranean, the seasons are the same as the northeast which means even in the height of the midday heat, it is the end of summer and the water is fucking cold.

- Pebble beaches far, far beat sand beaches. Reasoning: no sand on you!

- The water is very salty. I have had a visible layer of salt on me after each swim.

- It does seem like the french really would prefer to speak french (understandable) but some will crack and speak english after being sure to give a face that makes it evident they are only doing it out of pity and are very disappointed with you. I will say I really do try my best to speak the language wherever I go. I'm not trying to explain my life story but before every order I make and every restaurant experience, I spend several minutes looking up when I need to say, referencing "talk like a local" videos on youtube. I fully commit to the accent and I think people are assholes when they don't. I practice pronunciation, while I'm sure it is never perfect, and even when they answer me in english, I try to say what I can in the native language. In Spanish speaking countries, locals don't seem to mind, in Italy, all you need to do is attempt and they eat that shit up. In France, not so much. I really wish I could dissuade the rumor that the french are rude. After two experiences here...I cannot. And of course, these are all generalizations.

- On one more language note, I'm not sure why I've heard so many Americans say that french sounds gross. If you really hear it, outside of some stupid American movie most likely, it is an incredible language.

- This is a very, very beautiful country.