Having decided that it was imperative that we attend the Annual Cherry Festival before we left, we headed into town on the Saturday morning.
It was unfortunate though that we only had a couple of hours. There was stall after stall of cherries, apricots and other bits and pieces – people selling cherry tarts, cherry jams and jellies, cherry bowls, cherry linen, cherry art, and cherry printed underwear, cherry beer (yes, you read it first here!), cherry wine and any other thing that could be remotely incorporated with cherries.
Cherry banners hung from the wires across the street. Marching bands paraded and tooted through the main drag. Stall owners spruiked and touted their cherries and wares. It was all so festive! Stall owners were dressed in some sort of cherry colour, and the town was crammed with young and old, visitors and locals, all in festive spirit.
But there was a downside. Because we had to leave that morning, we were going to miss the Catalan dancing and, worse still – the Cherry Seed Spitting Competition! – and, no, I wasn’t intending to enter. The pictures can speak for themselves this time. (And no, we didn’t photograph everything!)
Alas, it was time to go – what a bummer. So armed with a kilo of cherries and apricots we trundled out of town, driving west to our new nest in the western Pyrenees, Pierrefitte-Nestalas.
Tina and Heather
PS The apricots were so good they didn’t even make it to Pierrefitte!! We’d bought more cherries so they lasted until the next day. Wow they were good!