a visit

Wouldn’t you love to be you again, for a week or a few hours, as a child? To be yourself when you were new? To see the world before you failed that math test or couldn’t hit the ball or lost your hair or got fat? Wouldn’t you love to see how you looked at the world when you were a child?

When I was a girl, my mom would take us to the Omaha Public Library and let us roam. I didn’t know what to look for but found the fairy tale books. There was the Red Book, the Blue Book and the Little and Big Book of Fairy Tales. These books were collections of Grimm s, Hans Christian Andersen and King Arthur tales. Maybe there was a Yellow Book too, I’m not sure anymore. Anyway, one by one I checked them out and read them from cover to cover. It was the first time I really lost myself in books and imagined other worlds.

I recognized Carcassonne when I saw it for the first time. I was on the motorway on my way to Barcelona. I was so nervous driving that I hardly dared look left or right but suddenly Carcassonne came into view. I blinked and looked again. Long, high, crenelated walls encircled a hill-top city of crooked tile roof tops and flag waving towers. I knew this place. It was the castle in those fairy tales. I’d spent a lot of time there when I was a child. I didn’t know it was in France. I’ve seen other fortified cities but they were mostly in ruins and I’ve seen other castles but nothing like this. It seemed wreathed in mist and I strained to hear the trumpets. I craned my neck to see more but lorries kept blocking my view. As it passed into my rear view mirror, a white hanky waved from a tower window.

I was nine years old again. As soon as I could, I found a book about Carcassonne and read it from cover to cover. The title was different but it was The Red Book of Fairies with the same stories. The current castle dates from the 12th and 13th century but the Romans, the Visigoths and the Saracens all lived there earlier. In the 11th century, it was given to Viscount Trencavel after he’d fought the Moors in Spain. After that, it was taken, lost, and taken back again by Crusaders, Cathars, and a colourful cast of characters, The Black Prince, Peter II of Aragon, the two Philips, (the Bold and the Fair) and a guy named Pepin the Short. I excitedly told Joost all about it.

A few weeks later, we went to Carcassonne together. We got there late, stayed at a campground outside of town and drove up the next morning. Unfortunately, we approached the city from a different direction and Joost didn’t get the same first view of the city as I had seen. This was disappointing. I really wanted him to see that. Then we had to park the camper quite far away and walk up a tiresomely steep hill. It was also raining and Joost looked cold. I said, “Honey, You’re not gonna believe your eyes!” He gave me a reassuring smile. I walked faster as we approached the city walls. I’d read that there was actually a wall within a wall, joined by 39 high towers and I searched for the widow’s walk. Finally, we crossed the drawbridge and I bounded through the city gate.

Inside was a narrow cobbled street lined with shops. The tourist information centre was in the first tower to the right. I shouted over my shoulder, “I’ll get a map!” and ran inside. Nobody was there and it was unhelpfully dark but a tablet of maps was on a table and I tore one off. Joost was looking in a shop window when I returned. It displayed tee shirts printed like armour and one with dragon scales. We walked on. In the next shop, there were mannequins wearing princess dresses. The shop after that sold crystals and incense. I looked down at the map. All the good stuff must be further up the street. We passed a goblin-themed chip shop. Then I saw a tower and said, “look theres the romanesque church!” The crusader, Simon de Montfort was buried here in 1218. He led the crusade against the Cathars and was universally hated in Occitane. After maintaining a siege on Toulouse for 9 months, the women of the city fired a stone from a catapult and knocked him dead. There’s a plaque in a wall in Toulouse to mark the spot. It says, “now a stone hit just where it was needed” They still hate him.

At the church entrance was a table of photocopied guide sheets in all different languages, even Chinese. They cost 50 cents. I went off in search of de Montfort’s tombstone. It was big and really dark in there but I found the stone in the wall of a side chapel. The image of a knight was carved on pink sandstone and his hands were pressed together in prayer – I think. I could hardly see it in the gloom. Joost made a photograph but it just showed the gloom. Then we looked around the rest of the church but it didn’t have many remaining romanesque features. In fact, it was an oddly misshapen place and didn’t smell like a church either. I put my guide sheet back on the table when we left.

Outside it was raining harder. We walked on and passed more souvenir shops, a christmas shop and a few hotels. I avoided looking at Joost. Where was the real stuff? We passed an empty field that was called a jousting ground and a ticket stand for horse drawn carriage tours but, it was closed. The city has just a few streets and we were about to turn back when I saw a sign for the Castle of the Counts. Finally! I tugged on Joost’s hand.“We really have to see this!” I’d read that the castle is a fortress within a fortress with its own ramparts, brattices and “hourds”(something to do with pouring molten liquids down on invaders). Best of all, it was built with complicated passages and strange detours to confuse enemies and bring them within arrow range. It sounded so great. Joost followed me into the castle courtyard. It was empty except for a few listless tourists. A girl in the ticket booth watched us without interest as we studied the tour pricing structure. It cost 14 euros or it was free, it wasn’t clear. I looked quizzically at the booth but the girl avoided my eyes. Annoyingly, the image of a bouncy castle in an amusement park popped into my head. We stood there without speaking for a few minutes and then drifted back to the street. The public toilet was outside and I went there. Joost waited for me in a shop selling regional products. On my return, I pointed to a narrow curving stone staircase that led to a small door high up on the city wall. “Shall we go up there? He looked at it and hesitated, there was some scaffolding a the base. “The door looks locked…but we can if you like. Do you want to? I looked again and thought he was probably right. “No, not really,”
We walked back down the hill to Merlin and just missed the hour of free parking.

What did I think I’d see in Carcassonne; a knight on a horse? Jesters juggling? Troubadours strumming? I suppose I did. That’s what they did when I visited as a child. As a grown up I’ve toured many castles in many countries and seen that they’re usually big tat shops – but that happened years later. I didn’t know that when I was nine.

The French tourist board have done a wonderful job of restoration. It could’ve been built yesterday. But some things are best left to the imagination and some places are best seen from afar – or only by a little girl curled up on the sofa reading fairy tales. Yet, I still loved seeing Carcassonne. I saw a castle and better than that, I saw myself. I saw my dear, little nine year old self.