Collioure to Carcassonne
I quite enjoy arriving into a new place at night and not being able to see anything around you. The next morning always feels a little like Christmas as you open the door step outside and see what surprise awaits you. This is how we got our first glimpse of Collioure, a seaside town on the Mediterranean coast of France. We arrived in the pitch dark at 11pm after a three hour drive, couldn’t find the hotel, couldn’t find where to park, once we sorted all that out, couldn’t then find the code to get back out to the car to get the last remaining things so we went to bed utterly befuddled.
The next day, I was up early with the WonderDog and as I stepped out of the hotel somewhat bleary eyed, what a sight Collioure was to behold. Brilliant blue sky, warm sunshine and sparkling ocean, not to mention Medieval ruins, a castle, a waterfront church, a lighthouse and narrow cobbled lanes to explore. Heaven.
We decided the perfect way to work off William’s jet lag and our own fromage and wine consumption was a vigorous hike in the wilderness. As you may already know, Europe has some truly amazing hiking trails. The Grande Randonnée as the French call it, or Grote Routepaden to the Dutch, Grande Rota in Portugal or Gran Recorrido in Spain, is a network of long-distance footpaths in Europe. The trails in France alone cover about 37,000 miles which means no matter where you are, you’re never too far from a good hiking trail.
And when you give two lads free rein to select a strenuous hike, you end up climbing up the side of a cliff like a bloody mountain goat and clinging on for your dear life. The GR10 trail in the mountains above Banyuls-sur-Mer is apparently a moderate hike according to the website we were following. Clearly Sir Edmund Hillary or Bear Grylls were responsible for grading the hikes as there was nothing moderate about this scramble. But it was a stunning view from the top and worth every single step.
As due reward for our hard work, we decided a lunch of fruit de mer and rosé were in order. So we left a very tuckered out WonderDog to rest in the hotel and headed out for lunch. I shall pause here for a minute to explain a little something you should know about getting things done in France. You have to be super organised. Restaurants open from 12-2pm, or any combination in between. You’ll rock up to a restaurant only to find out it doesn’t open until 12.30pm, or you’ll get to a place at 1.35pm only to find it’s already closed. Fancy a late lunch? Tough luck. Brunch? Nope. You eat between 12-2pm or you don’t eat at all. While we’re talking about opening hours, you’d better know about the shops too. They all close for a lunch break between 12-2pm or any combination in between. Want to run an errand at lunchtime? Tough luck. Fermé my friends. Come back at 2pm, end of story. I’m not talking about one or two boutiques, I mean all shops are shuttered and locked for lunch. (Let’s just pause here to give our American friends time to grapple with this concept. Go ahead, we’ll wait.)
So the skies darkened above us as we went from one restaurant to the next where there was much shaking of heads and shrugging, until the lovely Chez Simone took pity on us. We enjoyed a smashing lunch of sangria, seafood and local wine as the rain poured outside and then we ran home, sloshing as we went.
That evening once the rain stopped we decided to head out once more for a few drinks and a little fun. Bars were a little hard to come by on the account of it being the off season and a number of the places being closed until May. But as we rounded the corner on the seafront, my finely tuned ear picked up the strains of something with a beat. Like a bloodhound, I was off, head cocked to the side listening to the wind. Could it be? Yes, yes it was. I could definitely hear the base beat of that classic tune “Despacito.” Then I saw the disco lights on the bar and it was a done deal.
Barreling up to the door of Le Borabar with the lads in tow, it all came to a grinding halt when my path was blocked by a man with a rather stern face.
Him: “Non madam. Fermé.”
I looked past him at the ten or so people dancing about and a rather plastered looking barman fiddling with disco lights and a smoke machine. I tried my most charming smile.
Me: “Fermé?”
Him: “Oui, fermé.”
I think he went on to say it was a staff party or something along those lines but I was too crestfallen to pay attention. I must have looked rather pathetic because another man inside weaved his way over.
Him: “Français?”
Me: “Non monsieur, je suis anglais.”
Him: “Anglais?? ANGLAIS! Entrez, come in come in!!”
Whatever this Catalan fella’s beef was with the French, it clearly worked in our favour, and just like that we gate crashed the best staff party in town. What followed was a mystery to all of us, who knows what was said, we couldn’t make out a word over the banging music, the smoke machine and the flashing lights, but a few beers in, there was much back slapping, hearty laughter and general merriment. So as not to outstay our welcome, we bid farewell after a couple of drinks with hugs and kisses all round and sauntered off to grab a bite.
We stumbled across a rather charming place called La Cuisine Comptoir or The Countertop Kitchen. No need to look for the kitchen in this place, there isn’t one. Just good food served casually, good wine and a lot of locals. They also have a cracking sense of humour, the book shelf next to us contained an Enid Blyton book called ‘Five on Brexit Island’ and a charming Ladybird Book called ‘The Midlife Crisis.’ Genius.
The next day, after another walk around town and a little swim for the WonderDog, we headed off to Carcassonne, a fortified medieval town in the Languedoc area of France which is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. If I asked you to close your eyes and picture a fairytale castle, I'm quite sure you'd conjure up something that looks very much like Carcassonne. Driving up and seeing the ramparts and castle walls, it’s easy to imagine that any number princesses, kings, fairy godmothers and evil witches live inside. Once you step inside however, that illusion is somewhat shattered by the endless array of tourist shops selling plastic swords, ice cream and nougat. And of course the jars of cassoulet mix. There can be few things that look as truly awful as a jar full of cassoulet beans, it looks like something Voldemort would keep under his cloak to terrify Death Eaters with. The medieval feel was restored once we checked into our hotel, the Hotel de la Cité, right next to the ramparts inside the walled city itself. The hotel was a delight but even more wonderful was the chance to walk around the walled city once all the tourists had gone home. The WonderDog and I took many a walk through the grassy moat and all up and down the cobbled streets.
But the most incredible part of our trip to Languedoc was our visit with Paul and his family in Corbières, a major wine making region in the Languedoc. Paul and Mr T worked together at a winery in California, and his family are wine makers and grape growers from way back. These days they grow grapes for a co-operative but Paul is about to begin winemaking once more. From what we've seen, he'll be one of the great young wine makers in a few years time, he has some very interesting plans for a new winery in the region so watch this space. Paul told Mr T that if we were ever in town, we should come on by. What he didn’t say was when we did come by, he’d show us all around his village, his winery and museum, take us wine tasting, then for a fantastic hike, and to top it all off, his Mum would make us the most superb French feast. A quick pop in turned into a seven hour visit which was out of this world. It was quite simply one of the best days on the trip by far.
Right after we took the sunny pictures on our hike, the weather closed in and down came the snow. By the time we got back to Carcassonne, fat snowflakes were falling at a rapid pace and the temperature dropped to minus 4. Hotel guests are not usually allowed to drive within the city walls because the streets are not built for cars, but given the snow was dumping, we were given permission to drive through. There's really nothing like driving through streets built for horses in the dumping snow to concentrate the mind a little. We made it through and lived to tell the tale.
We left Carcassonne on a high note but it wasn’t to last. Sadly just after we left, there were a series of terror attacks in Carcassonne in which four people died. I won’t mention the killer’s name here because he doesn’t deserve to ever be mentioned, but I shed many tears reading about the hero gendarme Lt. Col. Arnaud Beltrame who died after he took the place of a female hostage and saved her life. We should all hope to show such courage in the face of such terror. France quite rightly gave him a state funeral this week. If the news about the attack didn’t make it to where you are, take a moment to think about a man who walked into a situation he knew would likely be his last, to save someone else’s life. With all the hatred in the world these days, I think it does us all good to remember the best of human nature every once in a while.
Our next stop is the world famous Provence. I hope we'll see you there.
