Walled city transports visitors to medieval time
Carcassonne has turrets and moats
Sunny, out-of-the-way Languedoc is an intoxicating part of the world. Stretching from the Mediterranean to the Pyrenées in southwestern France, it shares a balmy climate, winter wind, grapevines and the sea with Provence, its better-known neighbour. But to me, Languedoc somehow feels more real.
I first came here as a teenager, when I visited Languedoc’s spectacular fortified town, Carcassonne. Sitting on the ramparts, I wrote in my journal: “Before me lies Carcassonne, the perfect medieval city. Like a fish that everyone thought was extinct, somehow Europe’s greatest Romanesque fortress city has survived the centuries.”
Anyone can feel like a kid on a rampart in this ultimate walled city, but it’s easier to savour its fairy-tale towers, turrets, and cobblestones if you don’t have to swim against the midday mobs. Salespeople stand guard at the doors of their souvenir shops, creating a cheesy gauntlet of tacky temptations. But in the early morning, the evening or off-season, a quieter Carcassonne is an evocative playground for any medievalist.
The massive walls enfolding the old town are nearly three kilometres around, with 52 towers, each topped with a “witch hat” turret. For good measure, an outer rampart was added in about 1300. While the double walls seem mighty enough, moats strengthened the city’s defences. Moats weren’t actually filled with water and alligators; they were just a danger- ous no man’s land designed to expose attackers. The only way to beat a place like Carcassonne was a starve-’emout siege. (Charlemagne tried it but gave up.)
During Carcassonne’s golden age — the 1100s — troubadours sang ballads of ideal love, chivalry was in vogue and a pragmatic spirit of tolerance ruled. The area became a centre of the Cathars, a heretical Christian group. They opposed the over-the-top materialism of the church, which put them on a collision course with the pope.
But as France consolidated its central power, it clamped down on feisty groups like the Cathars, even in this remote corner of the country. The king and the pope joined forces to launch the brutal 13th-century Albigensian Crusades. The Cathars retreated to isolated strongholds in the hills but in the end were ruthlessly wiped out. Today the ruggedly beautiful land around Carcassonne is dotted with their haunting castle ruins — the closest are those at Lastours and Minerve (accessible only by car and with a good map).
In these parts, the Cathars were also called Albigensians — named after the nearby town of Albi. This enjoyable river town of sienna-toned bricks and half-timbered buildings has two world-class sights: a towering cathedral and the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum, named for the famous hometown boy.
Albi’s big and bold St. Cecile cathedral is hard to miss — it’s the biggest cathedral of brick in the world. It looks less like a church and more like a fortress. In fact, it was a central feature of the town’s defensive walls. Built during the height of the Cathar heresy, this place oozes power — get on board, or get run over.
Languedoc’s hard-fought past and independent spirit are evident everywhere — in its landmark fortified city, ruined castles, hearty cuisine and go-it-alone art.