CHAPTER ELEVEN: AND THEN THERE WAS MADELINE… AND FRIENDS

Approaching the town square, it felt as though I had stepped into a fairy tale book just past the opening line of… Once Upon a Time. Collioure was charming beyond imagination, and I think the most charming thing about it, was that there was no obvious attempt to create the charm. Everything was bathed in a natural aura that transcended time. There were flower shops exploding with color and wine shops offering free samples. There were sidewalk cafés oozing smiling tourists and aproned servers carrying trays of cheeses and olives. The trees were gnarled, twisted and permanent, the fuchsias vibrant, rich and plentiful, the green grass succulent, abundant and teasing you to come rest awhile. All this was surrounded by ancient stone townhouses hugging the cobbled streets while clean laundry fluttered from third story open windows. There were so many things to drink in that we became entangled in the sights and mesmerized by the sounds. Even a sightless person could recognize that this 500 year old village was selling a lifestyle, not a commodity.

“Rue de La Liberté!” I reminded Suze. “Remember that we are on a mission at the moment. We need to find our house.” We stopped to refocus and get the lay of the land. “Emily dead-ended us somewhere around here. Can you see the street name anywhere?”

She swiveled.. panning the rock buildings around her for a clue. “Not Yet, do you?”

“No,” I confirmed, “but wait.”Before us stood a lovely little shoppe which seemed the perfect place to ask directions. The awning that shaded the entrance was apple green with white letters scrolled on its face. It was like a mini Baskin Robbins, housing assorted bins of colorful creamy confections. The twenty-something ice cream clerk sported a clean white apron and a dimpled smile as he engaged a young girl in a conversation on the virtue of one flavor over another. Once she was satisfied and licking her prize, he turned his smile towards me. “Come on!” I said to Suze as we entered the doorway, “That guy behind the counter is about to become our knight in shining armor.” I approached him sheepishly. “Bonjour Monsieur!  Où est le Rue de La Liberté, si’l vous plâit?”

He smiled and obliged me with an answer. This answer however was delivered in rapid-fire French that sounded like someone speaking with a mouth full of marshmellows. I stood there and stared… then offered an apology  while pinching my thumb and forefinger together.“Pardon Monsieur, mais je parle un peu le français.”

“Ahhh,” he uttered while nodding his head in an understanding fashion…then he redelivered his earnest message more haltingly. I continued to stare. When he saw that my face still registered confusion, he took me by the hand and led me into the street. Then as if explaining to a three year old with a learning disability, he began again and paused between each word.“ À -la -Pharmacie,” he said while pointing to the building, “turnez -à -gauche. Rue -de -la -Liberté -est- sur -la -droite.”

“Merci!” I exclaimed, as if I had just translated the Magna Carta. “Merci Beaucoup!” I pumped his hand in appreciation, kissed him on both cheeks (because I’m French you know) and finally understood that our home was left of the drug store and up the hill on the right. “We’re so close,” I said with a grin smearing my face. “This way Suze!”

We followed his directions as we made our ascension up the uneven cobblestone roadway that was bordered by shop fronts and lodgings. A kaleidoscope of pastel shuttered windows stood open, housing flower pots or wandering vines. While en route, we passed an aging artist sitting at a weather worn easel, staring at the sea view before him. His palette  was splashed with colors and we watched as he occasionally stroked the canvas with distracted concentration.

Turning right onto Rue de la Liberté, we beheld a cozy alleyway with a pizzeria man in a tall white chef’s hat greeting his lighthearted patrons as they entered or departed his restaurant. “Bonjour!” I jovially offered as if this were our daily exchange.

“Bonjour Madame,” he politely returned as he dipped his head nearly losing his hat.
I simpered at Suzanna, aglow with everything I saw and heard as we marched on in pursuit of our home. Raising our eyes from the rocky walkway, we noticed a genteel woman up ahead casually watering her own collection of vibrant flowers. She was accomplishing this task with a watering can, not a sprinkler system. As she lifted the pitcher to nurture her thirsty plants, she was showcased by a brilliant blue portal. My mind leaped ahead. And although I had never before laid eyes on her, I knew.

“Madeline!” I yelled, with immediate recognition, “Madeline, that has to be you!     Bonjour Madeline!”

The woman paused in her task and beheld us in her gaze. She was an average-sized, middle-aged lady with snow white hair and glasses. Her dress was not fancy, but her air was aristocratic. The lines of concentration on her face, melted with her recognition of me and were superseded by a wide, warm, wonderful smile. “Jaime!” she announced as a statement, not a question, “It’s about time you made an appearance. You were due hours ago.”

And a synchronized rhythm between us began. It felt as though we had known each other for decades, not mere weeks through emails. As a trinity, we all embraced, grateful that the wait was over and that we were safely where we belonged. “So good to at last make your acquaintance!” she welcomed, “And this must be Suzanna!”

“Yes, it is!” I confirmed. “ She has been by my rock from the beginning. I’m not sure I would have made it this far without her!”

“Well, so delighted my dears that you have arrived. But wherever are your bags?” She asked. “I expected that you would be loaded down like donkeys.”

“We left them with the car in some god forsaken place,” I answered. “My GPS  failed to mention that the streets were pedestrian only, so we ended up driving for miles in search of a place to park. Consequently, I  have no idea where our bags are.”

“Oh I can thoroughly believe that parking was impossible,” she replied. “You’ve begun your journey in high season and on a weekend to boot. But not to worry dear, things will thin out as the season progresses. By late autumn, you’ll have the seaside to yourself”
Setting down the over sized watering can, Madeline turned to unhitch a latch on the front door. “Well, come along now,” she invited, “It’s getting a bit late. Let me show you your way.”

Just as the photos had promised, the blue shutters scaled all three stories of the home’s rocky veneer. Stepping aside to allow us entrance, she directed us lovingly into the home she was about to relinquish. We crossed the threshold and were greeted by the semi darkness of a less than attractive foyer. It was poorly lit and really nothing more than a storage room loaded down with hanging garments, boxes, a bicycle, kayak and even more boxes. Truthfully, it was very disappointing and I could sense that Suzanna felt the same. Madeline however, was effervescent and delighted in escorting us on a guided tour.

“This is the cave,” she announced with pleasure. “In the 1500’s, it would have housed sheep and cattle. Their body heat would have helped to warm the upper levels of the house although I’m sure the smell would not have been all that pleasant. There is a half bath here on the left and second refrigerator as well as a laundry center in the the back. The other bits and bobs belong to my son Ross who often visits from England.” Proceeding to the right, she continued, “Here we go. Up the stairs.”

Like two little girls in the care of their governess, Suzanna and I obediently followed. “This,” she announced once we arrived at the top, “is the living area.”

What lay before us was much more charismatic—although I was already more charmed by ‘the cave’ now that I could imagine sheep sheltering inside, warming the family within, when a cold breeze blew in off the ocean. The traditional colors of France are royal blue and cadmium yellow. The immaculate kitchen was tiled in these colors with matching dinnerware decorating the oak hutch. I spied the french-press coffee maker and smiled. The living room housed not only blue, cozy cushioned couches, but a stereo, library and desk. The dining area was highlighted by an oak table wearing a floral table cloth. Resting in the center was a vase of freshly-picked posies and a welcoming bottle of wine. This pristine still-life was suffused with the glow of the lingering sun casting shadows through the open-shuttered four foot window. I was speechless.

“Come along” she beckoned, “but be mindful of the stairs. They are very narrow and curvy.” Up we tramped, single file… first Madeline, then me, then Suze, to see what else there was to see.

“This is the main loo” she explained, pointing to the beautifully tiled master bath with huge soaking tub. “And this bedroom to the left is where I sleep when I live here. The armoire has hangers and there are more linens in the back cupboard. The window can remain open or closed, and is where, if you do it French style, you hang your freshly laundered apparel.” Oh yes, I orgasmically resolved… I shall indeed do it French style!

“Come then!” she signaled, “Let’s carry on, but once again, be mindful of the stairs!”
And up another flight we climbed, slowly and even more carefully, for like the roads I had just traveled, this last stairway tapered even further. What awaited me here was the bit of heaven on earth that I had been secretly seeking. The ‘loft’ was the entire top floor of this narrow French cottage. There was a sitting room adorned with twin windows that beheld breathtaking views of the Bell Tower and sea. The king sized bed was elbowed by two matching nightstands and centered beneath an airy skylight. The traditional French colors accented every corner of the room, creating an image fit for ‘House Beautiful’ magazine. I stood transfixed as I found myself standing in the mirror of my mind.

“It’s a bit inconvenient to be on this level,” Madeline confided, “as the bathroom is one floor down, or two if you use the one at the entryway, so you might want to think over sleeping in this room.”

“I’ll stay up here for now,” I said, “and give Suzanna the more convenient bedroom. Then if I decide that it’s troublesome, I’ll move down when she leaves.” But I knew as the words slipped from my mouth that it was a lie and that I wouldn’t be pried from this room with a crowbar. That feeling of ‘home’ was already washing over me even though my ass had yet to touch the sofa or bed.

We descended the stairway with Madeline chirping pleasantries all the way. As we arrived back on the living room level, we remembered that we were still in absentia of our car and luggage.“No, never mind,” Madeline cooed. “I’ll just give Lex and Aubrey a ring. It’s their home that I’ll be staying at while you’re here. They’ll be here in a quick shake and Lex will transport you back to your car and then show you to your spot in the car park.”

Within minutes, the door bell chimed and in walked a distinguished looking gentleman that could have passed for George Hamilton’s twin. At his side was a pixie of a woman who wore granny style glasses and had wisps of silver sprinkled in her short wiry hair. Susanna and I were introduced to Alexander and Aubrey Campbell who resided in Valmy, which was just a stone’s throw from Collioure. They were an open, friendly and very animated couple. Like Madeline, they exuded a warmth and vigor that was unquestionably genuine. Their demeanor was felicitous. Their heritage was Scottish. Their addition to this situation would prove priceless.

We exchanged mirthful conversation for several minutes before Aubrey piped up. “Well go on then ladies! Follow Alexander and he will take you to your car.” So Suzanna and I trailed after Lex through the backstreets of Collioure until we located his canary yellow Fiat. I scrambled to secure what there was of a back seat, forcing Suzanne to resume the role of navigator.

“Now just where might that car of yours be?” our chauffeur queried.

Well, now that was a good question was it not? I scrunched down a little deeper to avoid answering when Suzanna said without a moments hesitation, “By the soccer field.”

Once again, my mouth dropped open. How could she possibly know that? I had been so frazzled by driving and eager to ditch that damn thing, that I had paid no attention whatsoever as to where it was sitting. I’ve performed this same stunt on many shopping trips as well. I’ll be in such a hurry to make some purchase, that I’ll park the car and upon my return, spend thirty minutes or more, wandering up and down the aisles searching it out. So, for Suzanna without even blinking her eye, to recall the exact location of our rent-a-car convinced me, that had this situation been left in my hands, the car and all our belongings would have turned to rust and dust long before they were ever ferreted out.

“Very well then,” Lex asserted dignitarily, “Let’s be off, shall we?”

The first thing Lex did after backing out of the parking space was enter a one way street going the wrong way. My eyes doubled in size. “Oh, Lex?” I said, challenging his action.

“Not to worry” he responded with aplomb, “You are in France now. Going the wrong way is sometimes the only way. Don’t concern yourself… just be careful that you don’t run anyone down!”  My head wobbled and eyes rolled, as I  wondered if he knew how hard I had been trying to avoid that very thing!

Even with the crowd thinned, we still had to zigzag around a circus of pedestrians, cars, and bicycles. Before long we located the Peugeot sitting askew in the empty field. “Interesting way to park Jaime,” Lex said with a twinkle in his eye. “You best learn to do a wee bit better.” I ignored this statement as we exited his car and jumped into ours. We followed closely as we wound our way back, being careful to never lose sight of his taillights. When we arrived at the one way/wrong way street, I closed my eyes, followed prudently and prayed.   “Dear God…We’ve come this far!… Please lead us from the path of a head-on collision.” We sailed safely through and I continued to shadow him to my parking space. I waited as he placed his car in neutral and sallied up to my driver’s-side window. Leaning in with elbows resting on the edge, he said with his Scottish lilt, “Now Jaime, Do be careful here. It’s a wee bit tricky. My best advice would be for you to back up and then pull forward. Do try to get parallel to that metal object in the center of the space. You wouldn’t want to run over it!”

Big deal, I thought. What’s the catastrophe if I hit a little metal thingy?”

As if reading my mind, he gazed charmingly into my eyes and said… “You’ll blow out your tires!” and then to make sure I understood the importance of what he was saying, he added… “If you park here as you previously did, you will blow out all your tires.”

“Aaahh” I sighed, and steeled myself for the last automotive challenge of the day. I backed up and then using extreme care, maneuvered forward, centering the ‘metal thingy’ directly under the car’s carriage. I expelled a sigh of relief when I saw no smoke and heard no explosion.

Lex locked the little car in place and then handed me the key. “There you go my dear,” he said very kindly, “now do remember that the only way in or out of the car park, is to use the one way street… and always be very careful, as the right of way is NEVER yours.”

We trudged our way back, dragging Suzanna’s monstrous bags and schlepping our satchels like pack mules. Soon, we were back to our original point of departure where the blue door drew us in with loving arms.

“There you are!” Madeline cheerfully decreed as we lugged the cases to the top of the stairs, “We were about to give up on you!″ With no further dalliance, she continued.“Here’s the house key Jaime, we’re off now to let you settle in. I’ve left lots of little notes around the chalet to advise you of local services, restaurants, and market days. Do ring us with any questions or problems as we’re just around the bend.. It’s a lovely quiet neighborhood; I’m sure you’ll be quite content!”

She handed over an ordinary metal key that dangled from a worn, round, wooden globe. I’m sure she had preformed this ritual hundreds of times as she transacted this business arrangement with other tenants. But this time, it was magical…well at least to me.

And then they were gone. Poof! Like genies in a bottle, they were there and then they weren’t. Meeting them had been delightful, but I was glad to see them go. I dismissed them quite casually, having no idea just how treasured they would become.