The French Catalan town of Collioure sits just fifteen miles from the Spanish border. It has a history as colourful as its streets and both the Spanish and French alternately controlled the territory over the centuries. It is part of the Cote Vermeille (Vermilion Coast) overlooking the Mediterranean. Walking through the cobbled streets, browsing the craft shops, the mood is unhurried and welcoming and the locals appear to have a genuine warmth towards the visitor.
Colourful cobbled streets give Collioure its unique identity.
Although the buildings are colourful, the traditional Catalan architecture displays a prevailing mix of ocre, yellow and blue.
A young couple enjoying a quiet moment.
The unassuming charm of the backstreets.
Like all coastal towns, as you move to the seafront, the number of people increase. Understandable when you consider the visual offerings, from historic fortresses and churches to inspiring views of the Mediterranean.
Notre Dame des Anges (Our Lady of the Angels). The bell tower of this 17th century church was once a lighthouse.
The imposing medieval Chateau Royal de Collioure.
Notre Dame des Anges in the foreground with the Chateau Royal and the mountains behind.
The streets in and around the bay offer food, drink and shade to recharge your energy levels.
Relaxed conviviality is the order of the day.
Collioure is famous for its anchovies. In some of the specialist establishments, you may need to make a reservation, especially for groups.
French charm.
The Collioure seafront, rustic and elegant.
Taking in the views and cooling off in the breeze.
Collioure’s forgotten (or hidden) history.
Collioure is relaxed, inviting and aesthetically pleasing. It is perfect for a day’s sightseeing and the usual tourist activities. Yet you don’t have to look too far to uncover some of its painful past. The town’s proximity to the Spanish border made it a destination for hundreds of thousands of Republican soldiers, their families and those loyal to the republican cause, who fled Barcelona after the city fell to Franco’s forces on January 26 1939. In a matter of weeks, nearly half a million Spanish refugees crossed into France in what became known as ‘La Retirada’ (The Retreat).
During the Spanish Civil War, France, like Britain, had taken a non-intervention approach. This left the democratically elected republican government at the mercy of the fascist forces of Franco who were actively supported by Hitler and Mussolini. Some elements of French government were sympathetic and turned a blind eye when armaments were being brought across the border into Spain to arm the republicans. Yet when it came to receiving Spanish refugees, French authorities separated women, children and the elderly from the men and sent them to various locations throughout France, the men were sent to concentration camps that had been set up on the beaches. Conditions were harsh, with no drinking water or sanitation and as the death rates rose, many were forced to take up the offer of joining the French military or the Foreign Legion. Some returned to Spain were they lived in the mountains, others travelled to Latin America. In a cruel irony, after Germany invaded France in 1940, many Spaniards joined the French Resistance and fought for the liberation of a country that had abandoned them in their hour of need. The first French armoured vehicle that entered liberated Paris in 1944 was driven by a Spaniard.
A poet’s story
‘..Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar..’
‘..Traveller, there is no path, only the one you make..’
Antonio Machado
The street that is named in honour of, by consensus, one of the greatest Spanish poets of all time.
I had just finished a book about the Spanish Civil War by Javier Cercas (The Soldiers of Salamis) when my wife booked a trip to the Costa Brava. The trip included visits to several towns and cities including Collioure. In Cercas’s book, a brief reference was made to a Spanish poet named Antonio Machado who died in Collioure. In December 1938 he had left Barcelona with his brother, Jose and his elderly mother after Franco took the city. They travelled 90 miles in the dead of winter, mostly on foot and under cover of darkness with tens of thousands of their fellow citizens, until they reached Collioure. And so, I began to research Antonio Machado. The name that had begun as a brief reference, slowly revealed a captivating and tragic story of one individual who paid the ultimate price, simply for daring to wish for a better society in the Spain he loved.
Antonio Machado was born in Seville 1875. His family moved to Madrid in 1883. During his school years Antonio discovered his passion for literature. In 1899, he and his brother, Manuel, travelled to Paris to work as translators for a French publisher. During his time in Paris, he came into contact with and was inspired by, the great French Symbolist poets Jean Moréas, Paul Fort and Paul Verlaine, and also met other contemporary literary figures, including Oscar Wilde. Over the next few years he had several poems and collections of poems published.
In 1907 he was offered a teaching post in Soria in the Castile and Leon region of Northwestern Spain. Here he met Leonor Izquierdo. Antonio was staying in the guest house owned by her parents. In 1909 he and Leonor were married. He was 34 and she was 15! In early 1911 the couple went to live in Paris. A few months later Leonor was diagnosed with advanced TB. They returned to Soria in Spain where Leonor died on 1st August 1912. Machado was devastated by her death and left the city soon after, never to return. For several years afterwards he was consumed by the love and loss of Leonor and this was expressed in his poems from that time.
Machado spent the next seven years in Andalusia and then moved to Segovia to take up a post as Professor of French at the Instituto de Segovia. He moved there to be nearer to Madrid, where his brother Manuel lived but as the fascist coup of 1936 took hold, he moved north to Valencia and then to Barcelona. He would never see Manuel again.
People like Machado were the enemy of fascism. People who used the written word to advocate for democracy, equality and justice. And so, with every advance made by Franco’s army, came the brutal repression of anti-fascist views, popular culture, literature, theater and educated thinking. Not only did Franco target writers, poets, homosexuals (such as the gay poet Federico Garcia Lorca) and all political opponents. The fascists leveled entire towns and villages with the help of Hitler’s Luftwaffe. The most devastating example was the bombing of Guernica in the Basque Country when the German ‘Condor Legion’ obliterated the town in a matter of hours.
On his journey to Collioure, Machado wrote:
“For the strategists, for the politicians, for the historians, all this will be clear: we lost the war. But at a human level I am not so sure: perhaps we won.”
Machado, along with his mother and brother, reached Collioure and with the help of friends was able to get accommodation at the Hotel Bougnol-Quintana. It was in this hotel, on the 22nd February, two months after arriving, that Antonio Machado died. His mother died three days later. In the pocket of his overcoat, his brother Jose found some handwritten notes, including one which began, “Estos dias azules y este sol de la infancia” which translates to English as “These blue days and this sun of childhood”. It was the poet’s last poem.
When we arrived in Collioure, I made my way to the location of the Hotel Bougnol-Quintana. In the years after the end of Franco’s dictatorship (he died in 1975), the hotel had been transformed into a visitors center. Sadly, on this particular day, it was closed. A ‘For Sale’ sign in the window suggested that the closure may become permanent.
The former Hotel Bougnol-Quintana in Collioure.
‘And when the day of the final voyage arrives. When the ship that never returns departs. You will see me onboard and my meager luggage. Almost naked, like the children of the sea.’
The hotel as Machado probably saw it.
One hundred metres from the hotel is the cemetery of Collioure where Antonio Machado and his mother are buried. The grave is festooned with flags of the republic and provincial flags from Andalusia and Cordoba. More than 80 years after his death, followers and devotees still place flowers on his grave daily, along with tokens of affection, and the occasional poem.
Machado’s grave. A shrine to a man and an ideal.
Antonio and his mother died three days apart.
After our trip to Collioure, I found myself reflecting on the impact and causes of conflict. The impact is obvious. The human devastation, the heartbreak, suffering and the lasting legacy of loss. The causes can be less obvious. On the surface it can appear that wars are fought over race, religion or politics. But at the root of all wars is the lust for power and wealth.
Antonio Machado’s story is one of millions but it represents for me the struggle between good and evil. I believe that in this world there are many more people like Machado than there are like Franco, Mussolini, Hitler and Netanyahu. It is easy to believe, when confronted with the daily evidence, that the world is broken and doomed. But I agree with the poet when he said, “But at a human level I am not so sure: perhaps we won.”
As our bus slowly navigated the narrow roads out of the town at the end of the day, I caught a glimpse of a sign at the side of the road, informing visitors that the town of Collioure was twinned with Soria (Leonor’s resting place).
Summary
Collioure is definitely worth a visit. It is a compact town and a day is plenty of time to see everything it has to offer. Its aesthetic appeal and photo opportunities are reasons enough to visit but like towns and cities everywhere, it is the history that provides the depth to the experience. Behind every wall and under every roof, there are memories that deserve to be kept alive.
Regrets? I should have tried the anchovies!
Bleeding Dove 