Back and forth, hither and yon – whether on my habitual trajectory between Touraine and Paris or further afield… destinations, encounters, events and observations I can’t resist sharing.
Sensing a wince of regret. Certain places you hesitate sharing, like the stellar friend you’re reluctant to introduce around for fear of diluting your quota of their affection. So I’ve stalled, but failed to repress sparkling flashbacks of Tamariu’s low key charm and exceptional setting.
Sampler of its seductions:
Clearest European seawater I’ve experienced that isn’t icy cold.
Kaleidoscopic trove of softly rounded stones at water’s edge you can’t resist pocketing.
Family tableau featuring three generations of women reclining in scant bikinis or topless – looking more comfortable in their skin than modesty police could bear.
Vertiginous hike along the shoreline to a beach shack bistro one cove over, accessible only by foot or boat. Clambering over rocks, then up and down a narrow path along the pine shaded precipice. Unfortunately it was off-season and the kitchen closed just as we scrambled down the hot cliff side at 14h30. Settled for scrumptious potato chips, a cool San Migel and marveling at the craggy scenery, before confronting the half hour return trek.
Tamariu is fishing village resort gem – crescent moon beach ringed by a boardwalk with a couple of shops and a few more restaurants, all cradled within a backdrop of rocky coastline and a steeply rising pine-covered hillside.
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