Bamboo lines the campground's private path to the beach along the river Têt.
The river Têt meets the ocean at Canet Plage.
Sara attracts a crowd of curious "Euro Puddies" - stray cats - along the
breakwall.
A quiet photographer can catch the reclining cat-nappers..
The cats are suspicious, and flighty. |
EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNAL August
23, 1999
Canet-Plage, Languedoc-Roussilon
Au Natural
This corner of France, the western French Med, quieter and less developed than the Cote
d'Azur, is said to have the largest naturalist colony in Europe. We're at the Têt River
estuary, chartreuse on the surface, dotted with fishers casting off from the loose bank,
the river mouth breathing heavily at the sea. The beach is rocks and soft, pebbly sand,
and all around, in perfect brown naturalism sit the nudes - reading, sleeping, staring at
the horizon, studying with microscopic precision the moles on a lover's back. A group of
older, experienced naturalists gather together in varying stages of naked nonchalance. Her
bottom is worn from half a century, flat and smooth like a Portuguese bun. He's missing
his, as most men that age seem to be, and making up for it with a perfectly round stomach
of bratwurst and beer. It's peaceful here, good for swimming with a deep, jade shore, and
makes one wonder why we're all wandering around with clothes on in the first place.
Half-asleep, ultimately comfortable on sand like soft brown sugar, without wet suits,
sand-filled and salty.
The beach goes up and down the crescent of estuaries and basins, like a permanent
sandbar sticking out in a half-hoola hoop around the wetlands. In winter these places
flood when the rivers rise. Bamboo is everywhere. Further along, near the boat launch,
there's a breakwall of large rocks separating the beach and the marina. The place is
teaming with cats. They hang around the fishers casting from the breakwall or trolling
chest high in the darkening Med. There are dishes of food hidden in between the boulders,
and half-eaten sardines lying sun-baked around the natural cat-house. People are feeding
the colony. We walk, barefoot, zenlike choosing the smoothest boulders for a footpath, and
underneath us the dappled, marmalade, marble, amber and stony strays peer up at us.
They're suspicious, flighty, staring, skinny. They seem to choose the boulders that most
resemble the colour of their coats, and lie beneath, recline onto and nuzzle down. When
the last of the sun disappears and dusk is overcast, cooling everything, the nudists hop
into their shorts and make their way to the clothed world. The cats hide too, in their
breakwall fortress. |
The river Têt is dotted with fishers casting off from the loose bank as it enters the
ocean.
The chartreuse river surface moves with the mouths of fish feeding on the surface algae.
Green eyes peer from between the rocks.
Dishes of food are hidden between the boulders
Curious.
They seem to choose the boulders that most resemble the colour of their coats.
|
