Sometimes a palette of greys can be comforting, stately and sophisticated. Over my three days in Carcassonne there were times when the stone structures rose up to meet an overcast sky, and other times when they were dappled in shade. At other times still, the sun lit up the settlement an all-encompassing glow, reaching even the deepest crevices in the walls. But with or without clouds, the place emanated charm.
The scale of the fortified city is small. Some people just blow in for a day trip, and leave after a few hours of admiring the combination of well-preserved, medieval architecture, pausing to sample the local produce (often in a glamorous setting with vibrant colours), and navigating the abundant shops (some explicitly catering to tourists and others simply offering elegant accessories). I was staying three days, hoping for a multilayered experience.
It was in this way that I ventured into Carcassonne at various times of the day, able to savour it in those tranquil morning hours, before the majority of the travellers descended, and brought the hubbub with them. Being a traveller myself, I’m not complaining, but we sure outnumbered the locals, crowding the streets till sunset. (During post-travel research I realised that the city was illuminated beautifully at night, but even if I'd known this prior to my stay, I would still have returned to my accommodation before the final rays of light.)
I noted a lone kebab shop in Carcassonne, adjoined by a crêpe stand which was seemingly owned by the same proprietors. Counting at least three places serving crêpes apart from this (they're complete with visual representations of the famous street food), I considered that some might see this as an authentic French experience, one that does the medieval heritage justice, but others still might see it as a story of gastronomic hegemony. The latter would ask: "Where are the immigrants' contributions to the culinary landscape? A Carcassonne which embraces multiculturalism in its historic centre would instil a stronger, more resilient community." I did see Black people on the 40 minute walk between my accommodation and the heart of town, so I know they are part of the societal fabric. Now is the time to get more inclusive. (Historically, too, people of colour were present in small numbers all around France and Europe - this is nothing new.)
I usually travel on a budget and this is reflected in my food choices - 14 days of southern France saw me eating at least one croissant or baked good each day. This time around, I was inspired to break up the pattern with a local dish called cassoulet - a medley of duck thigh, beans and sausage. It was advertised everywhere, but it wasn't until the opportunity to try it at a Michelin-starred restaurant came up that I found myself having a gourmet experience. The meat was mouth-wateringly juicy and tender, and it remained on my mind long after it was savoured. I had taken care to ensure I was comfortably sated and not too full, and thought about how even an uncomplicated dish can be a phenomenal taste sensation if prepared with care and attention to detail.
Now, wouldn't it be great if a restaurant of comparable quality was set up by an Afghan chef? The locals and travellers would enjoy not one, but two exceptional dining experiences, and learn about the way food is prepared, presented and appreciated in another culture. A win-win scenario, and one I hope emerges in the future.
On my third day I made it up into the ramparts, and had the mind-blowing experience of looking out into the orange roofs of the pale houses sprawled just outside the walled city. They stretched out towards the dainty yet vivid mountainscape on the horizon. It was deliriously scenic. This was on my right-hand side. On my left-hand side was a bird's eye view of the pretty, charismatic contents of the walled city, dotted with trees and creeping vines. Back to the right, and forward a bit, I spotted the houses giving way to vineyards and other green spaces, looking verdant and well-tended. The distinctive, tall, bushy-tailed trees of the region teased my eyes, poetically pointing to the heavens. A conspicuously located church vied for my attention on the right hand side, while an amphitheatre came into view on the left. The compact, contained nature of the citadel could be seen as contrasting with the expansiveness of the open fields. Lush greens rode up to light blues, indicating the cooler climes of the mountains.
Upon viewing my photos from the ramparts, my best friend would muse that they looked almost unreal in their Mediterranean splendour. Indeed, I was semi-dazed as I took in the stupendous views on all sides. If this wasn't enough, moving through them revealed another side of the fortified wall, with its asymmetrical roofs, narrow openings designed for bows and arrows, and sleek stone surfaces. I must confess I was too overwhelmed to take in the informative signs very well. I remember vaguely being informed about various kings and the battles they had found themselves in, but perusing them was first and foremost a way to catch my breath between the onslaughts of sheer gorgeousness.
Back down to the dark grey ground, I made another round of the adjoining courtyards and passageways, the sunshine dancing in the hair of the people in front of me, accompanied by a refreshing breeze. Most of the travellers were well-dressed, and seemed to be either from the UK, France or Spain. As I wove through displays of cookies, the Tourist Information Centre and knight costumes for little kids, I overheard a person with a Scottish accent exclaim, "This was brilliant!" to their partner.
I have to concur. Carcassonne was the cherry on top of my French travels.
