France's vivid town of painters

Matisse adored it, Picasso lusted after it ... JENNIFER GRIMWADE falls in love with Collioure.

With a towel wrapped around my wet hair, I open "our" apartment shutters and look down onto the cobbled lane bordered by stuccoed houses painted in pretty pastels.

Purple bougainvillea tumbles down an apricot house, red geraniums decorate its canary yellow neighbour and white roses climb the pale pink villa opposite me.

Red, green and bright blue lateen-rigged fishing boats are moored beneath the 13th century Chateau Royal - so magnificent Picasso tried to buy it.

As there is only pedestrian traffic, I can hear the old ladies gossiping on the opposite balcony, church bells chiming and gulls squawking. French music rises softly from the ground-floor studio below the apartment where Joahanne Baudrie is painting in his atelier, his workshop.

Breathing in the sea air, I look at the French holidaymakers pointing their lenses directly at me. Hearing the shutter click, I am at first horrified. Then I feel quite delighted, even amused: as a tourist, I never expected to have my photo taken, let alone in my bath towel.

But for just a few days we are living like locals in a rented apartment at Collioure, a French seaside town 26km from the Spanish border.

Standing in the French window, I can almost hear Henri Matisse saying: "In the whole of France there is no sky as blue as the one above Collioure ... I just have to close the shutters of my room and I have all the colours of the Mediterranean before me."

It's not hard to see why Matisse fell in love with the town in 1904. Exotic palms and cacti thrive in the balmy climate. The sky is extraordinarily blue, the sea turquoise; olive trees complement emerald grapevines thriving in red dirt on hills that rise to ridges crowned with ruined forts and watchtowers overshadowed by the snow-capped Pyrenees.

This riot of colour so inspired both Matisse and Derain that they created a radical new art movement - "Fauvism" - in Collioure. Responding to the brilliant light and the strong colours of the Cote Vermeille, the Emerald Coast, they began painting in the bright hues and even dabbing vivid paint straight onto the canvas.

That was in 1905. Ever since, artists have congregated in the town of painters. Today Collioure has more than 30 galleries and, like our landlord, Johanne Baudrie, many resident painters rent out apartments or rooms to visitors.

Baudrie's apartment is in the heart of the old town, just behind the 17th century church of Notre Dames de Anges, which protrudes into the sea. From the apartment it's only a few minutes walk to any of the four beaches divided by a church, the cathedral and a tiny chapel.

Big brollies and leafy plane trees shade holidaymakers as they lounge in cane chairs, cooling down with citron presse (lemon squash) or gelati. Fresh sardines and mussels are on seaside restaurant menus.

There's not a car within cooee, and it's so quiet you can hear people chatting as they wallow in the vibrant blue sea, favoured by the French as the water is clean and crystal-clear. The church and the cathedral shelter bathers from the ubiquitous Mediterranean wind.

I soon understand why woven espadrilles are on sale at the Shoppi, the supermarket, for there is no sand in sight, just pebbles. Nevertheless, it is not crowded like so much of the Med, and nor do you have to pay to enjoy the beach.

What's more, there are always artists standing at their easels, capturing the pretty scene.

We're close to all the beaches and in the middle of the action, we're delighted with our apartment. Better still, it has a well-equipped kitchen with heavy-based French saucepans, an assortment of wooded spoons, sharp knives ... even bay leaves in the cupboard!

Twice a week, a large morning street market takes over the town. An organ grinder performs beneath a plane tree with a poster advertising a circus that's coming to town. Shopping with my traditional handwoven Provencal basket, I feel like a local.

Business is brisk at the pain stall selling bread in all shapes and sizes. I can't resist the chevre, delicious cheese made from the milk of goats which graze on wild herbs flourishing beneath cork trees.

Homemade saucisson (sausages) are tempting, as is the limited range of vegetables from nearby farms, including garlic, tomatoes and courgettes. Gigantic white peaches and nectarines - bigger than oranges - taste just like they did from your granny's tree.

In the long twilight we decide to picnic on our brie, bread and wine. Yet it is difficult to choose the best spot: will we watch the sun go down sitting on the end of the pier, next to the lighthouse, with the best vista of all, listening to a reborn Edith Piaf singing on the beach? Or will we promenade past the chateau to watch the townspeople playing petanque and the children squealing with delight, riding the old-fashioned, but beautifully maintained carousel overlooking Collioure.

When Johanne tells us we can buy fresh fish in nearby Port Vendres, we don't hesitate. We take the scenic tow train that runs along the craggy coast with its rose-tinted rocks.

In almost no time we arrive in the town, once famous for harbouring colonial ships from northern Africa. Today, it is a significant fishing port and we enjoy the hustle and bustle of the market. There's not a tourist in sight, but we have no trouble gesticulating and buying oysters, clams and fillet of loupe, a sweet, large fish.

It takes 40 minutes to walk home, but it is hot, and I am more than happy to join our "neighbours" for a drink in the cobbled lane. Before we know it, we are having a party, sampling French wines and sharing a huge pot of clams cooked in organic garlic and first-class olive oil. Who could ask for more?

Collioure

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