An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
TESSA HAD ENCOURAGED us to see a real estate agent to learn more about the rental market here before we made a commitment to Gerard. We were already enthralled with both of Gerard’s apartments, though neither fit us perfectly. Frankly, we didn’t want to mess with a real estate agent, so we were going to blow it off. But Tessa’s concern got the best of us. Finding a place for the summer was what we’d planned on arranging all along, but where? After living in the same house for 13 years and hating in some ways to give it up, we suddenly felt hesitant about making a commitment for a few months. Traveling all the time is hard, but one of the great points about it is seeing and experiencing new places constantly. There’s no time to get bored. Choosing a place to stay for several months loomed large in our minds.
Open Window, Collioure by Henri Matisse (Image via Wikipedia)
Les toits de Collioure by Henri Matisse, Oil on canvas. In the collection of the Hermitage Museum. (Image via Wikipedia.)
As I was explaining how some people were helping this valiant quest of ours by providing accommodations, she interrupted me. “Pardon me,” she said, “but you are a dreamer. This is business to these people.”
Jim rushed to my defense by jumping in and telling her that others had seen this as business. I caught my breath and added, “This is marketing.”
But the damage was done. My bubble was burst. Me? A dreamer? It was true, of course, but also a stake in my heart. This has been one of my strengths and weaknesses my entire life—being a dreamer. My glory and torture. My creativity and art, and gulp, the real world that I preferred not living in as compared to the one in my head. Oh, when I get the Hollywood Ending, I will show all the naysayers—including The Real Estate Agent. When I’ve persevered and stuck it out and I am the hero and all good things come to me, I will still be a dreamer, but this time with results. Collioure is known for its artists. Don’t I fit in here? We told her we’d call her later that afternoon (like that was ever going to happen) and fled for the Hotel Les Templiers, where we were staying, and its proprietor, Monsieur Jojo Pous.
The Dance by Henri Matisse (1910). In the collection of the Hermitage Museum. (Image via Wikipedia.)
M. Pous’s family had supported a dreamer or two who did quite well—Matisse, Picasso, Dufy, Derain, among many others. I only wish I’d thought of pointing that out. Part of what The Real Estate Agent should be marketing in Collioure is that it is a town of artists. Les Templiers proves it.
Les Templiers is a bastion of Pous family energy, with their and Collioure’s history covering the walls. The bar is the perfect saloon, and the hotel is charming and comfortable like you were a guest at a gigantic weekend party in a shabby chic house. M. Pous’s children are now in charge. His daughter, Mané, runs the excellent restaurant and son Jean-Michel runs the hotel. When M. Pous walked in the door, I realized I’d seen him around town. He’s now 74, with white hair and bright eyes and a personality to match. He speaks little English, so his fabulous employee Veronique interpreted for us.
His grandmother, Marie, started the business in the late 1800s with a bar called the Café des Sports. His parents built the place up, attracting all the passing artists. Eventually they came here just to spend time, drink and hang out, and feel at home and part of the Pous family. The Pouses and their bar (and later hotel) provided a haven of support and good spirit for any artists who walked in their door. In turn, the artists gave the Pous family some 2,000 paintings over the years—each one a part of his life, M. Pous said. Paintings and drawings covered every inch of the hotel and bar walls—so many they cannot all be hung—but the priceless art had to be taken down 25 years ago when three Picasso drawings were stolen. The Pouses and the dreamers were friends and compatriots in both art and commerce. M. Pous told us he owned a book of art that artists like those named above had filled with their work and signed. If we wanted, we could see it!
The next day, Mané Pous set the hallowed book down in front of us—and left us alone with it for an hour or two. At our fingertips were original works by Matisse, Picasso, Dufy, Maillol, and many more. We turned the pages: One after another, these pictures dazzled us—interesting, inspired, beautiful, provocative, complex, simple, wild, tame, bursting with color, elegantly black and white. (Picasso drawing in book below.) Whether drawing or painting, each was a unique expression of the masters and other artists who had wanted to honor the Pouses, their Café des Sports, and then Les Templiers. Inside the pages of this book are life and art and history—the visions, memories, and imaginations of the artists who were touched by the light of Collioure and their happy relationship with this Catalan family. The introduction, although we couldn’t read it all, contemplated the Joyous Spirit of all of the above.
More and more, we were dying to be in Collioure this summer, to spend time at Les Templiers, to be part of the Joyous Spirit that so many artists had experienced before us. After returning The Book to Mané, we stayed for a delicious lunch. We felt at home here. I knew I could actually learn French in the bar!
But we still hadn’t made the commitment, because our wishy-washiness was a nagging demon that tortured us with thoughts and images of all the places in the South of France that we hadn’t yet seen. Was there some better place? Would someone say he or she had a house that we could use? Maybe this crazy Iraq war would actually benefit us, because fewer Americans would be coming to France. More properties would be available, more chances for a lagniappe to fall in our laps. (I like my options open as long as possible.)
James Morgan, Mané Pous, and Jojo Pous at Les Templiers
That afternoon we found out Gerard had returned to his other house in Mirepoix, and we hadn’t given him our answer. Our hearts now told us it should be yes—definitely—without any of that devilish ambiguity. It would have to be the unfurnished flat—it was a good deal and space—even though the thought of equipping it gave me a feeling of dread. It was an energy-sapping job I really didn’t want—much less the expense. We looked at another apartment that was too small, and I bought a straw purse that matched my new chartreuse sandals. Now I was totally accessorized for Collioure. Was this a sign?
On our way back to the hotel, I stuck my hand in the Mediterranean, which was frigid. Jim went on to do laundry and I tried on beachy clothes. How horrible! I looked so bad I went right to a snack bar and bought some Catalan fondant treats called Rousquilles, ate four of them, and went to our room and climbed in bed.
(Illustration by Beth Arnold)
Jim returned from the laundromat with bad news. Gerard had called. He’d offered the flat to someone else—obviously someone with fewer issues than us. We had let our chance in Collioure slip through our fingers.
Beth Arnold
Collioure, France
April, 2003
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Unless otherwise indicated, photos by Beth Arnold. Not subject to use without permission.
Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris, where she produces her "Letter From Paris" new media project.
You can find the Chasing Matisse book by James Morgan here at Amazon--or you can find it in or order it from your favorite book store.
Jours of Our Lives illlustration by artist (and couturier) Elizabeth Cannon. To find out more about her, click here.
