VII
Stardust
Stardust
He wrote me of a man named
Charlie. His first memories of him are of the jovial old man with the long grey
beard, a look that prompted some of the youngsters on the beach to call him
Panoramix after the druid from Asterix.
Although he was slim, he had a
huge, round belly from drinking excessive amounts of wine, and the only clothes
he was ever seen wearing were his swimming trunks in which he came down to the
beach in. Charlie’s traditional method of getting into the sea was to walk a
few steps into the water and then belly-flop the rest of the way in.
He wrote me that Charlie liked
to talk, and that he spoke in mysterious ways. He loved the beach, and would
regularly choose a stone he would like and take it back up to his house with
him. He would say that these stones were made of poussière d’étoiles – stardust – like everything else on this
planet, like us, all created in a cosmic explosion.
He wrote me that Charlie grew
sadder as the years went on. He would grieve over what Collioure had become,
and long for what it once was – a humble fishing port with traditional fishing
boats lining the bay. Now it is lined
with shops selling tack for the tourists and but a few people continue to fish.
Yet you can still see traces of
the past here in the faces of those that lived it and in the way they operate
in complete disregard of the tourists around them, as if they were ghosts that
can be ignored.
But as much as one might dislike
the crowds that Collioure now attracts, and the disappearance of its history
and traditions, they are facts that one must come to terms with. Can we learn
to see them as part of the town’s charm?
