Le Languedoc Roussilon
The Languedoc Rousillon is a place of mystery and poetry subdued for the greater good of the greater France. It may come as a shock to most that France, the country that boasts the Academie Française whose “immortals” police the language, only forced the whole of the country to speak French in the 16th century. Before this the area had its own language – the Tongue of Oc. The word came from the Latin but the language itself is closer to Basque, it was also known as the language of troubadours. This area also gave rise to the Cathars, a religious sect who believed in the separation of good and bad, God reigning on a world of beauty, light and spiritual wellbeing. Though they denied the existence of Christ they did however set about emulating Him. As you can imagine this liberal but austere stance did little to enamour them to a Catholic Church that believed in grand statements and the use of Latin in church. The Cathars were declared heretics and violently repressed in the 13th century. Whether the countryside took its lead from history, or its people took inspiration from the countryside is a moot point, it remains, as I said before, a place of mystery and poetic beauty.
Carcassonne
Don’t be surprised at a real sense of déjà vu when you first set eyes on the city, it has been used on many occasion for filming for that perfect Medieval castle look. I, on the other hand, immediately think that vandalism is not a modern sin. This is a story of “art” imitating life. In the mid 1800 a gentlemen called Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, took to “restore” the city. Not for him the painstaking reconstruction of old buildings, this was more of a Disneyfication of ancient monuments, thus Carcassone was restored to mirror the great castle in children’s fairy tales. The most visible of these alterations are the towers he caped with perfect coned roofs, just waiting for a witch to entice a Sleeping Beauty or even a Rapunzel hair salon. It speaks volumes of lack of knowledge, that these alterations are accepted and indeed embellish the city. Despite my small rant this is still a remarkable place, and unlike many castles, where your imagination is required rather than a bonus, Carcassone will give you an insight into times past. This may not be the full experience; the smell has improved, but the light, the imposing claustrophobic feel of the small streets and ramparts. This is much more than a castle, it is a fortress, the largest in Europe, a central castle, two walls and some 38 towers (with newish loft extensions). Carcassone still defends itself against one thing, the car. You will need to leave it at the outside the walls at the car parks. I don’t propose to talk you through? the towers one by one, or give you a step by step instructions for the ramparts. To use a food analogy, think of this as a smorgasbord of a tour, graze to your heart’s content. With such small narrow streets, towers and the like suddenly appear, and should they please the eye, go and see. Be warned, the streets have a habit of hiding the thing they just delivered to you.
The central castle, le Château Comtal is worth the visit, though built as the last defence, it hints at a slightly better life for the Counts inhabiting it. The St Nazaire basilica, a Romanesque and Gothic church is well a must; though the two styles clash they do so quietly. The stained glass windows alone merit a detour.A last piece of advice, if you can arrange to be still around at night fall, the town is lit up. The effect is breathtaking, the erratic nature of the fortifications is highlighted in a wonderful patchwork of light and shadow, and maybe you’ll even spot your Rapunzel or your Prince Charming.
Le Canigou
Most of France has heard of Canigou, but be warned, not regrettably due to the outrageousbeauty of this spot, but rather because it is the name of a popular dog food; you have been warned. (Talking of dog food, French dogs are as fussy as their owners, whereas the average English dog eats Beef and Carrots; the exact same brand sold in France is described as Timbale de Boeuf aux Petits Legumes, pretentious nous?)
Apologies, back to the Canigou; though firmly planted in French soil this mountain has enormous importance to the Catalan people, most people think of Catalonia as being Spanish, but history tells us different and modern boundaries pay little heed to such matters. Though I have not had the pleasure of witnessing it, the festivities of St. John on the 22nd of June, very much involve the mountain and a very large bonfire that burns all night. The first real signs of Catalan influence will be in the name of places, from patently French Vernet Les Bains to the patently not Ras Del Prat Cabrera. There is even the incredibly odd use of the letter X.
The Canigou is worth a day at least, though you can of course get in the car and drive round its base and up over one of the cols. A good place to start is Prades where I would buy food for a picnic or at least a snack. Having sorted out the victuals, take the D24 and prepare for a natural roller coaster ride. Head for Villerach, where you can take a quick peek at the Lloseta dolmen, meaning small, never has a name been less descriptive. This is not the only prehistoric monument in the area; they abound in the region, reminding us that our forefathers (some 2 to 3 thousand years BC) settled here happily. If the road so far seems a bit curvy you are in for a shock, think of this bit as long slow part of the roller coaster that gets you to the top of the tower. From Villerach things start getting serious, the road will eventually get you to just under 2000 metres (you will need feet, equipment and skill to get to the top of Canigou at 2784). You are heading towards la Mouline and Mon, this road taking you through the heart of the Liech forest. Let your spirit guide you, if you find a safe place go for a brief walk, there are also small picnic benches around. After Mon, you will arrive the Ras del Prat Cabrera, STOP. Take a deep breath this is one of the best views in the world. Plains, gorges, mountains, the sea and of course the Canigou itself, this puts the pan in panorama. Not for the agoraphobics. At the height of summer, the place has another trick. Not satisfied with assaulting your visual sense, it adds a delicate aroma of pine from the forests to cap the whole experience. You’re not quite at the top, the road leads on to Ras dels Cortalets your highest points and more views. Now for the descent with curves galore and more, but slightly less glorious, views. Eventually, breathless even by car, you arrive at Vernet les Bains. This is a picturesque village and probably no more than your heart can take at this stage of the day, visit the St Saturnin church, have a coffee, look up and wonder at how you survived the mighty Canigou.
Albi
Why such a stunning town is not better known is beyond me. It is no mistake that the first thing you see as you approach the town is the Cathedral of St Cécile rising above the local red brick buildings and framed by its white cliffs. Your first impression will be that of a fortress. This building is a sign, a warning sign. We tend to think of crusades as something that happened in the Middle East, but a Crusade was launched against the Cathars. In Alby the victors set about erecting a reminder of God and Power. The result is St Cécile, a towering edifice more fortress than church it dwarfs the nearby delicate Bishops Palace. St Cécile is oyster like in its surprise; the austere and threatening exterior is only matched by the sheer luxury and opulence of the interior. This is very much a case of a velvet fist in an iron glove. The layout is somewhat unorthodox, surprising considering the intended message, the bell tower is at the opposite end to the “heart” of the cathedral. I am nearly loath (and somewhat daunted) to describe the interior. It is a combination of space and architectural prowess dressed in a coat of many colours. Not a single square centimetre is left unadorned. It leaves the mere mortal in no doubt as to where the power and glory rests.
Next to the Cathedral you will find Le Palais de la Berbie (Bishop in the local dialect) Strangely this building dwarfed in size and threat by St. Cécile, was actually built as a fortress, equipped with dungeons and rooms for various unsavoury habits. Time has been kind to this building; the internal courtyards have been transformed in to small gardens that would grace any Loire castle, no mean feat considering the extremes of weather. The building also plays home to an exhibition of Albi’s most famous son, Toulouse Lautrec or to give him his proper title; Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec-Monfa. Rather touchingly this museum is no long after the fact, cashing in on former residents fame, it was set up by his mother and art dealer just after his death. This is the greatest collection of Lautrecs in the world. Albi has not finished gifting; there is an extraordinary mixture of both medieval and Renaissance buildings. The resurgence of this city after the crusade was due to Isatis Tinctoria or woad or more simply the only available blue colour around. I am again loath to prescribe an itinerary as the experience, reading about what you are about to see tends to detract from the visual pleasure. As a tourist I am always perplexed by the maths of my fellow travellers in front of beauty; 10% map reading, 30 % picture taking, 40% guide reading leaving a mere 20% visual enjoyment. Surely this wrong, your memories will still be with you, long after you have forgotten where the photographs and guides are hidden. One last thing, a quick stroll down the old bridge will frame your visit to Albi.
As you leave Albi, you may think that the repeated mentions of the Cathars in this area has been somewhat laboured; look back at St. Cécile and know that, though much water has flown down the Tarn, some locals call it God’s Aircraft Carrier.
