“That’s the third guy I’ve seen wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt since we got here today” I said to Melissa as we sat down to a bowl of cassoulet at dinner. A few years ago we noticed the prevalence of NASA shirts as we traveled around and this summer it has been New York Yankee caps, so I didn’t think much of it. Maybe Zeppelin shirts are the new trend? If only I still had my high school collection; a fashion trend setter I guess I was. A quick Google would have revealed that Robert Plant was playing at the Carcassonne summer festival that very evening, and while it might have been too late for this aging Zeppelin fan to procure a ticket to the small venue, I might have at least gone and stood outside to listen for a while. Well damn.
We arrived in Carcassonne after a rather unpleasant drive down the heavily trafficked A9 trucking route between Italy and France and into Spain. Glad to have that experience in our literal and virtual rear-views, we were ready to explore Carcassonne.
All across France, when we mentioned we were coming to Carcassonne everyone told us how great it was. I think the term “magical” might have even been used more than once. As we drove towards the hilltop medieval fortress to the parking lot designated only for hotel guests around the back of town, we saw that our friends were not the only ones who thought Carcassonne magical. Masses of tourists were streaming out after their day trip. Add to that the nightly summer festival concerts and Carcassonne was bustling both day and night.
In the morning, as the light filters into the city and before the busses, day trippers and tour groups arrive, those staying within the walls get to experience the magic. In high school, while in marching band, we got to march down Main Street USA in Florida’s Disney World. Being in Carcassonne as delivery truck drivers arrive to unload their wares and the city starts to come to life was kind of like being backstage at Disney, with unmasked characters and support staff milling about before you march through a nondescript stage door and pour out on to Disney’s Main Street.
The castle is the most visited sight in the city. It opened at 10am and after we strolled around both inside and outside of the walls, I arrived shortly thereafter to take it in. Your ticket includes both the castle itself, which includes interesting displays on the defense systems of the castle and a small museum of artifacts, and also access to the nearly 2-mile rampart wall around the city.
In the early morning, pre-tourist hours we wandered into the Basilica of Carcassonne, which was the cathedral until 1803 and made basilica by Pope Leo XIII in 1898, and found ourselves alone save for a nun lighting candles; almost as though we were intruders, but we weren’t as she gave an approving nod.
Carcassonne derived its name from a possibly fictional incident from the 8th century. When the city was being besieged by Charlemagne, Lady Carcas, the princess, fed a pig full of wheat and threw it over the city’s walls. Charlemagne, thinking the city was full of food, retreated and the Lady Carcas rang the bells of the city which led to its name, Carcassonne, or “Carcas rings”. But Carcassonne was nearly destroyed under Napoleon in 1849 when it was left off the roster of official fortifications. Thanks to local efforts, the city was not only preserved but renovated.
While cassoulet was born in nearby Caustelnaudry during Edward the Black Prince’s siege of the city during the 100 Year’s War, Carcassonne is very proud of their version which substitutes pork for the original’s version of goose or duck in the classic southwestern French white bean dish. You won’t want for opportunities to mange a bowl of cassoulet in this town and if one finds oneself here, one must try it. Every restaurant proudly serves it up.
We stayed at the Hotel de la Cite which embodied every touch of medieval style with some modern influences. The garden and pool were très agreables but on our last night someone had, inexplicably, scheduled some overnight work in the crawl space directly above our room. Initially, at 2:30 am, we thought it was a late-returning neighbor rooting around. When the drilling and hammering began we decided it was either a neighbor who should be reported to la police ou les gendarmes or some freak occurrence which, when reported, would be resolved. I marched downstairs to consult the night man who was, honestly, barely helpful. An hour later, when ma femme took her turn, he’d hung a sign saying he was “out for a few minutes”. Really?! At 4am?
But the manager was prepared for our complaint at 9am and aced the service recovery like a champ and we would recommend the hotel, despite our freak moment of despair. Because as Robert Plant would say, “on us all, a little rain must fall.”
Sources:
The Traveling Ridleys 
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