Perpignan, Béziers, Vichy

We awoke in Quillan to the coldest morning yet. It was freezing or close to it and the was sky very clear. It was going to be a large day. The restaurant in our hotel was closed so we had to find breakfast elsewhere. We walked into the main square of town to find a bar. It was market day and the square was packed with market people. Men and women worked side by side in the chill morning air setting up their wares. Everyone was dressed in sweaters and parkas. Cold breath streamed from their nostrils as they hoisted boxes from their vans and trucks, arranged stalls and chatted and called out to one another. The bar we chose was warm and thick with cigarette smoke when we entered. It was packed with market people gathered in groups, joking, talking and laughing.

After breakfast we started out onto the highway. It was the large D 117 and we expected heavy traffic. There was virtually none. We cycled fast through the frigid morning air, the tips of my toes tingling with the cold. We were surrounded by high mountains. We followed the Aude river gorge south through deep canyons and the high stone walls on either side let in little of the morning sun so it continued cold. We cycled around hairpin turns and through dark tunnels. Everywhere there we signs warning of falling rock. The wind picked up and made cycling more difficult but I, for one, was happy to have the added effort. It warmed me up.

Our hotel manager told us the night before that the road to Perpignan would climb for 17.5 Km then it would be all downhill the rest of the way. I watched my cycle computer closely. At Km 17 the road leveled out and we started to descend. The information we were given was dead on. At around 10 AM we stopped in Puilaurens where we had coffee.

Even though we knew we had a lot of cycling ahead of us,
we had to visit the fortress of Puilaurens.

The only way up to the fortress was to walk. As we were looking around for the path up, I heard a voice, "Can I help you?" it asked in French. I looked around. The voice belonged to an old, wrinkled woman of about 70 sitting by the side of the road on a stone. She was dressed in black and wore sunglasses. I couldn't see her eyes. I got the impression she might have been blind.

"We're looking for the path up to the fort," I said.

"Over there behind you," she said indicating a path just over my shoulder. It looked like it wound its way steeply up through the forest. I began to wonder if a visit to the fort was such a good idea.

"Is it a long way," I asked?

"Not for you."

We both laughed and I thanked her but as we walked up the path to the ruins, I kept thinking about her. I couldn't help it, not with my imagination. I know it's stupid but I kept thinking she was an ancient Cathar sent there to steer us in the right direction. As we climbed up the steep, narrow path through the forest, Elizabeth and I joked that because the old woman had guided us on to the right path, we'd never be late for anything that was going to happen to us in the future again. Maybe the altitude was getting to us. Who knows?

We continued to towards Perpignan and began looking for a picnic spot. We decided on a roadside picnic table and were just unpacking out lunch when I heard a car honking and someone shouting. I looked up. An old woman dressed in black was walking along the road and a motorist had given her a blast and said something insulting. The old woman didn't even appear to have noticed. She walked towards where Elizabeth and I were about to have lunch. We looked at each other. It was clear at this point what we were dealing with. In each hand the old lady carried huge tattered plastic bags. She was very short. She had grey hair that was thick with dirt and grease. Her skin was the color of old shoe leather. When she got closer I noticed her hands were black with grime. Elizabeth and I communicated silently and began to pack up our uneaten lunch. We would find another spot.

The old woman sat down quietly on the curb near us. She didn't say a word, neither did we. We finished packing and were about to leave when I felt a pang of guilt. I walked over to the woman. As I did, she seemed to notice us for the first time. I reached into my pocket for FF10, held out my hand and mumbled something about wanting to help. She just looked at me and shook her head. "I don't accept money," she said simply. I must have looked bewildered. I wasn't expecting this. The old woman continued to look at me, or through me, I'm not sure which. I noticed she had a milky white cataract in one eye. The other eye was a brilliant violet blue, the color of an azure sky on a hot summer afternoon. It added to my confusion.

"You don't...?" was all I finally managed.

"I'm on a pilgrimage to Lourdes," she said by way of explanation.

I had to think for a moment before remembering where Lourdes was. "That's a long way from here," I said. "Will you go on foot the whole way?"

She smiled and nodded then looked down and studied the ground at her feet, I thought she'd lost interest in me. But a moment later she looked up again, "Where are you from?" she asked. I told her and this pleased her. Then what followed was one question after another; how far had we come, how long had we been on our journey, did we have far to go, what had we seen. I answered her questions as well as I could. She wanted to know so much.

Suddenly she said proudly, "I've been walking like this for almost twenty years."

Again, I was caught off guard. I couldn't have heard her correctly. "Twenty years?" I said.

"Yes" She smiled at me. There was amazing depth in that smile.

For some reason, at that moment, I felt the weight of the 10 franc coin in my hand. I thought I should try again to give it to her. I hoped this time she'd take it, I really wanted to do something for her. To help her. "Are you sure you won't accept this?" But as soon as the words left my mouth they felt foolish. I already knew what the answer would be.

She shook her head and repeated gently, "I don't take money."

I was embarrassed that I'd asked her again and continued to be tongue-tied. After a moment of silence all I could think of was, "Well, Bonne Route."

"Yes," she smiled that smile again. Then, "How do you say that in your language?"

We say, "Good journey," I answered.

"Good....jour...ney," she said sounding out the words then she absolutely twinkled with delight at getting it right the first time.

"Good journey," both Elizabeth and I repeated as we got on our bicycles to ride away. I will always regret not inviting her to eat lunch with us.

We arrived in Perpignan late and found the tourist office closed. We wandered around busy streets and after 20 minutes of false starts arrived at an address I had for a hotel. It looked perfect. There was a large sign clearly visible from the street, but no entrance, not from the main street anyway. We went down a small dark lane way. The hotel was above us, we could see the windows. There were many doorways all with doorbells - but no clear indication as to which was the bell for our hotel. I went back out into the street to look some more. We must have just missed it. Nothing. Back into the dark lane way again. It must be here, we thought. Finally we were able to ask someone. "It's closed," was all they had to say. We'd spent 30 minutes and came up empty handed. Bummer!

Finally we stumbled on "Hotel de la Poste et de la Pendrix" it looked pretty fancy but we decided to try anyway. Perpignan was not full of tourists at this time of year and the Madame was so happy to see us we got a nice room for FF210 ($61.00 cdn) instead of the usual charge of FF250.

Our room had a big window which looked out over the rooftops to Le Castillet, a fortified town gate, and beyond that to the busy Place Verdun. We were showering and changing our clothes that evening, when we began to hear loud sirens unlike any I've ever heard before. They were like the heavily amplified coughing bark of a sick dog. HANCK!! HANCK!! HANCK!! HANCK!! It would get louder and louder - then fade away - then get louder again. This continued for 30 minutes or more before we were finally were able to pinpoint the source of the noise. It was a tiny public works truck with loudspeakers on top that were pointed skyward. We couldn't figure out what the hell they were doing. Moments later as we were looking out the window someone shot off a burst of fireworks into the evening sky. The were very loud too. Immediately huge flocks of Starlings took flight and filled the sky with perfectly choreographed confusion. Wheeling and darting in flawless military unison. One body. One mind.

Evening turned to dusk and we could actually see the fireworks as they were being shot up into the sky. It was as though the town was under siege. More fireworks and more Starlings. More HANCK!! HANCK!! HANCK!! HANCK!! A huge chunk of the twilight sky was made darker with birds. They'd dart off in a floating dance away from the city. We'd watch them disappear, only to have them reappear 10 minutes later as a dark cloud on the horizon. More loudspeakers. More fireworks. HANCK!! HANCK!! HANCK!! What a riot.

We decided, since we arrived so late in Perpignan the night before, to stay an extra day. It was a great city to explore. We learned it is the largest Catalan city next to Barcelona. I had no idea. There really is a Catalan influence to the place. Lots of people even speak Catalan.

As it turned out this was Vin Nouveau premier night in Perpignan. I was surprised because Beaujolais Nouveau isn't released in Canada until sometime in November. Anyway, we ended up at a bar where we'd had a drink in the night before. They remembered us, which I thought was really very nice. The bar was packed. People spilled out into the streets where there were not nearly enough tables so most people stood around talking in groups. Everybody seemed to know everyone else. People were eating hors d'oeuvres and escargots provided by the bar. Vin Nouveau went for about FF5 ($1.40 cdn) a glass so it was quite cheap. We hung out watching the spectacle for a while then headed off to our dinner.

That evening we chose "le Grilloteque" for our dinner. We were getting pretty good at giving the restaurant owners a good "grilling" of our own while researching places to eat. We didn't ever want to repeat the disaster of the Limoux restaurant experience. Our vacations are too short. We wanted someplace good every night. When we'd talked to the Chef/Owner of le Grilloteque we got a good feeling. She was a large woman with short curly blonde hair. The apron she wore was stained with the sauce du jour and did all her own cooking at a woodfire grill (old vine wood). She was able to say quite honestly that we would eat well there that evening. (We learned a lesson on this trip. When asking owners about their restaurant, if they hem and haw and say, "Well...it's not up to me to say." or "You have to be the judge if you like it or not, blah, blah, blah...yada, yada, yada," it usually means they're not proud of what they do and it won't be very good. If, on the other hand, they can honestly say, "I like what I serve." or "I serve the best." or "This is how I like it," then it's often quite good.) That night we struck gold. We each had a menu FF69 ($20.00 cdn).

The cycling part of our trip was over. We caught an early morning train to Béziers where we would spend the night before catching another train to Paris. We arrived in Béziers at about 9:30 am and found the Hotel Nouvel FF150 ($44.00 cdn) where again we were given a discount because we were so out of season. (The sign on the back of the door in the hotel room actually said the price of the room was FF250) After unpacking we went out to have a look at Béziers. What a beautiful place. We learned that the man who was responsible for building the Canal du Midi, Paul Riquet lived here in the 17th Century. He was the local tax collector and spent many years trying to get the canal built.

Later that afternoon we went up to Cathédrale St. Nazaire that sits high up on a hilltop above the city. It was rebuilt after being totally destroyed in 1209 during a particularly notorious episode of the Albegensian Crusade when thousands of the townsfolk were killed.

I ran out of film so this photo of Cathédrale St. Nazaire
is courtesy of the Office de Tourisme, France.

Elizabeth and I had both been to Paris on a number of occasions so we thought we would break what would have been a very long train journey to Paris with a stop over in Vichy. During the latter half of the 19th century Vichy had been a very fashionable resort. The town grew as many wealthy people built magnificent mansions and apartments. During the 2nd world war a puppet government was set up in France with its headquarters in Vichy. After the war ended Vichy never really regained its popularity. Having said that, more and more there seems to be an effort in the last few years to market Vichy as place that might appeal to the young "keep-fit" crowd.

We arrived late in the afternoon around 4:30 after a 7 hour train ride from Béziers. I immediately liked Vichy. We could easily see that it was once a very grand place. What appealed to me was that much of the "Belle Epoche" charm was beginning to decay. Things were a little seedy. We found a great deal on a hotel at "Hotel Fréjus" where we paid FF200 ($58.00 cdn) for a really great big room on a quiet street. The room was beautiful. We had a wonderful view from two huge windows. It was arguably the nicest room we've ever had in France. That evening after a long look around we decided to eat at "Josephine" where we ate a really good dinner. Being Saturday, it was absolutely packed. We each had a menu for FF105 ($30.00 cdn) which was quite expensive. (We noticed that although hotel rooms in Vichy seemed well priced, restaurants were way more expensive than we were used to.)

Continued.....

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