Travelogue Languedoc (FR): Carcasonne and Lac du Salagou, July 2013

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Saturday, June 29th. First, we'll drop off our daughter Tanya at Zaventem Airport early in the morning for her flight to Nepal, where she'll be working with impoverished orphans in Kathmandu for four weeks and teaching English to girls in a Buddhist monastery as a volunteer. Then we'll drive on to Charleroi, where we'll have to waste a considerable amount of time before our flight. Always miserable, killing time at airports. After landing in Carcasonne, we immediately picked up our rental car, and shortly after, we were at our gîte in nearby Cavanac. A charming chalet nestled in a pine grove among the vineyards.

We immediately head over to our friends Stefaan and Ariane, where we receive a warm welcome at their recently purchased "venue." A super-sized former B&B with a huge garden. A brand-new, beautiful building with enormous spaces, all the comforts and amenities you could wish for. Away from it all, completely private, yet close to Carcasonne, with, above all, an unspoiled, stunning view. We have a wonderful evening, with barbecued meat flying around our ears (inside joke), and decide to spend the night in one of the guest rooms.

Sunday, June 30th. The next morning we're completely exhausted and decide to do absolutely nothing today. We buy just enough at a local shop to get us through the first day. I cook something, we nap, dolce far niente. Monday, July 1st. We head to the Cathar city, first to the lower town of Bastide Saint-Louis and then to the Cité in the sunshine. Sunny indeed. Because the weather for the first two days wasn't exactly what we expected. We split the old fortified town in two and choose the side near the basilica. We sit on a terrace on the bustling, charming Place Marcou and then, in a leafy terrace garden, sample the local specialty I love so much: salade de gésiers and a royal cassoulet.

In the afternoon, we struggle to find the Hypermarché Casino where we stock up on supplies, water, drinks, and southern French ingredients. Sunbathing, a swim. A rather annoying swimming pool, though. Apparently, every swimming pool in France now has to be secured against "accidental falls in." The alarm system has to be decrypted every time. But it doesn't always work. Annoying when you dive in and the alarm starts blaring... which happens a few times. Snacks and the estate's wine. That holiday feeling is finally here.

Tuesday 2/07.

I pick up my morning croissants 700 meters away at the only, almost impossible-to-find tiny grocery store that has practically nothing. For vegetables, only onions and garlic... Touching. We decide to take a boat trip on the Canal du Midi. This experience makes me want to rent a boat and take a long canal trip somewhere. Along the tranquil water, lined with plane trees, do those 60-plus locks, and blissfully relax and enjoy the rhythm. Some rental boats here can accommodate up to six bicycles and usually have all the comforts. Future plans. However, it's windy and chilly. Languedoc in July and only 18°? Global warming, my, ahem, r***. After this poor weather all year...

Anyway, we'll have a light lunch and then set the world record for a nap, from 3 p.m. to 7:30 p.m.! We'll eat in our village, which literally has nothing besides a little shop and a hairdresser, but it does have a château with a huge restaurant and a very extensive menu for €45, including wine and all-inclusive. Quite tasty, but the wine (from their own estate) is rather bland, which is probably why...

Wednesday, July 3. Still terrible weather. And as if the fatigue has finally lifted, we do nothing all day, not even going outside. During my breakfast search, I find delicious Campagnarde sausages, which I later transform into quasi-delicatessen on the BBQ with homemade ai oei li! (aioli). When ordering the sausage, the man says: "Il n'y a pas de saucis." What do you mean? Il n'y a pas de saucisses? Just warm enough to eat outside, then do nothing, nap, nap, laze around, wow.

Thursday, July 4th. Time for action. I planned a road trip that crosses the Canal here and there. Trèbes, Rieux-Minervois, and finally Caunes-Minervois with its beautiful abbey. A few kilometers further, the idyllic Notre Dame du Cros, a chapel beside a gurgling stream, beautiful cliffs, and a stunning green setting. We buy a vase made of the red marble from here, which was also used in the construction of Versailles, the Opéra de Paris, and St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. In the small marina of Trèbes, nestled in a bend in the Canal, there are inviting terraces, but we eat grilled fish somewhere inside (too chilly) for next to nothing. We pass the Truffle Village—too bad it's not the season—to catch up on some reading and browsing.

Friday, July 5th. Early start to Lagrasse, one of "one of the most beautiful villages in France."

I choose a back road through the hills, along narrow, sometimes dangerous mountain passes, winding but full of beautiful views. Lagrasse is a tranquil village, a postcard-perfect spot, and we took plenty of such photos. Old bridges over empty rivers, rustic, very quiet, almost no one around. Then it was time to do Carcasonne part 2.

This refined medieval UNESCO heritage site is quite comparable to Bruges. Yet, as a tourist city, it's still not too crowded for early July. Actually, everywhere in the region... Although Bruges remains a truly livable, vibrant city and was once accused of being, or becoming, a Bokrijk or Disneyland. That's not true. But to be fair, things are different here. Hardly any real residents in the historic center; most of them come to work at the "quasi-amusement park."

We immerse ourselves in the castle, a true, picture-perfect fortress with a fascinating and varied history. A remarkably well-made and captivating audiovisual presentation is shown on a dual screen. In 12 minutes, it tells you everything you need to know in a highly informative yet engaging way. Perfect for any audience. We're still lacking something like this in Bruges, and it's a shame the Historium doesn't explore this perspective more effectively instead of opting for a fictional narrative. Then we continue strolling through the streets and terraces. A photo. A true morning for the Homo Turisticus.

Violène, the girl at the door, convinces us to enter her restaurant, Auberge des Musées. In the courtyard, they only want to give us a table for two, which is either sunny or seems like a hidden corner. A table for four is out of the question. It's 1:15 p.m. and only half full. We insist, and the staff treats us very curtly and unfriendly. So we leave again. Violène welcomes us and seats us at a nice table for four, which causes tension among the staff. Afterward, we constantly feel like we're being "punished." We're ignored, and my dish, even though it's from the daily menu—the house specialty, cassoulet, of course—arrives 15 minutes after Nella had already finished her main course. Afterwards, it turns out half the tables are never occupied. I also find their clothing choices rather poor. Waiting in casual attire is customary everywhere here, but why not keep it smart casual instead of streetwear or a uniform shirt? This is the first time I'm writing a glowing TripAdvisor review.

Look, this is what happens when tourists become "taken for granted." A danger that also threatens the hospitality in certain establishments in Bruges and, in the long run, the city's reputation. Bruges, safeguard the quality of your welcome and the way you treat tourists. They remain guests who deserve respect.

When I try to leave the parking lot, the ticket machine refuses my ticket. When I get to the parking lot, I realize I've been trying to use my Q-Park Charleroi ticket over and over again. Ugh.

An evening sunset drowning in the vineyards. Tomorrow we leave l'Aude for l'Herault, a little over two hours' drive.

Saturday, July 6th. The bill is going smoothly. We consumed their own wines, olive oil, jam… I first drive through the Minervois region to Béziers. It's hot. There's a huge flea market. For lunch, we stop for the outrageously cheap seafood platters at a terrace restaurant along a kind of third-rate ramblas. Giant oysters and shrimp, and six other shellfish. You can eat a huge pot of mussels and fries here in five different ways (including with local Roquefort) for only €9.90. Hello Belgium! The portion is enormous, and the mussels are quite large and overpoweringly aromatic. It's striking once again how much cheaper restaurants are compared to Belgium, except for the beers, which sometimes have limited selection … but we're in the largest wine region, so…

After a beautiful view of the Pont Vieux and the city with its cathedral towering above, we headed for Liausson, our hamlet near Clermont-l'Herault, which overlooks the truly remarkable Lac du Salagou. Turquoise water, limestone hills covered in garrigue with brown streaks of ruffe, and red earth from iron oxidation. A remarkable place. Our gîte is a gem. The fact that it's super comfortable and has everything is certainly a bonus, but we have a private terrace with a unique view of the lake, which is, of course, fantastic. The entire surrounding area is also spotlessly clean, and the path to our accommodation is through leafy forests full of kermes oaks and well-maintained roads. We are, after all, in the Cévennes National Park.

For groceries, we always have to go to Clermont (7 km). We quickly go shopping, mainly for drinks, fruit, and vegetables. And fill up the tank. Thirsty! I beg Nella to find a cold can of beer somewhere. She returns with a lemon drink that resembles beer… Then comes the welcome from the owners with fresh eggs and two bottles of wine. The gîte is an extension of their very charming and beautiful residence. The kind of house you'd dream of if you were looking for a place in the South of France. Pleasant, bright, no, not a renovated farmhouse. We settle in, but it suddenly got really hot, 38°C. As much as I'd experienced this before, the next few days, seeking coolness became a major issue. Shutters closed, countless cold showers, sometimes just staying indoors. And me getting angry when people, as soon as it finally warmed up, immediately start complaining that it's too much.

Sunday, July 7th. Getting bread is a half-hour drive away. We take a mini-trip to Villeneuvette, charming, and then the region's attraction, the Cirque de Mourèze, a cirque with its many bizarrely shaped dolomite rock formations. For a while, it's a matter of climbing, slogging, and puffing. Today, it's 38° again. No idea why the owner gave us a duvet yesterday. But we're enjoying ourselves. While the first week emphasized culture, the second is all about nature. We finish at a mini Sunday market in Sarcasc and fill up on water at the only local café. With meat for the BBQ, 5 vegetables from the farmer, not €2, we head home via wonderful views of the lake and reddish-brown rock formations where lovers have left names and messages everywhere with white pebbles.

Evening barbecue with pork tenderloin and contorni on our smoky terrace, and then suddenly a few drops appear – delicious, don't worry about it. But then it all breaks loose; we'd just about finished eating. Thunderstorms, rain, and later, when it's dark, we stand breathlessly under the awning, bare-chested, enjoying the ozone and oxygen in the air, watching a symphony of crashing thunder and lightning that seems to set the lake's surface ablaze like jets of flame. It's cooling down a bit, which is welcome. The downside is that all the flies, moths, and their friends from the neighborhood are now living with us. Mosquito pills, but the buzzing is causing a ruckus with this guy. That the calico cat, who's always with us, could finally catch them all, huh? Nope.

Monday, July 8th. Paragliding day! But help, I'm not feeling well. I have profuse diarrhea and I'm as weak as a rag. The morning is wasted. But the appointment I've made months ago at Pic de Vissou is still on at 4 p.m.

The southerly wind is ideal and strong enough, and the heat is such that I can float above the hills in a T-shirt. Not hungry, so I set off on an empty stomach. It's not far, a bit of searching, and finally 2 km along a bumpy, dusty, potholed track, a challenge for our cheap rental Chevrolet. All under a scorching, leaden sun. Next time, I'll definitely get a car with air conditioning and one that doesn't wreak havoc on my back, begging for pity, after every ride...

Half an hour early and no shade anywhere. Luckily, Patrick arrives on time, and we get started. Ugh, we have to clamber down to the starting field, and Nella isn't equipped for that, especially not with her footwear. It's a nerve-wracking moment because she wants to witness the takeoff and take photos, of course. But she makes it, and one of Patrick's colleagues will guide her back up. In a flash, we're off on the perfect, ideal southerly wind. I can see the highest peaks floating above, even Sète and its lagoon and the Mediterranean coast, still 50 km away. I'm thoroughly enjoying myself again. Yes, really, happiness and total freedom is... really getting off the ground. Lol. (In the photo: dot down between my legs = Nella)

Tuesday, July 9. We leave for St-Guilhem-le-Désert, another "plus beau" village. First, we visit the Pont du Diable, which has a charming devilish legend attached to it, and then along the Gorges de l'Herault, upstream to the village. We realize this is the holiday for photos on or in front of beautiful bridges with backgrounds. Guilhem, the local dialect for Guillaume, or Wim in Dutch, a nephew of Charlemagne who was a significant figure in the region. The beautifully flowered village is actually one narrow, winding street with the Romanesque Abbaye de Gellone and a pleasant square above it. I've rarely seen so many Romanesque buildings that bear witness to the truly early Middle Ages, even before feudalism. Once back in Clermont, we'll eat a two-course meal of the day on the central Allée in Le Tournesol, recommended by everyone, for only €13.

Later, we'll go for a swim and sunbathe at our spot. The owners are away on family business, and we'll chat with their friend, Alain from Merchtem, who looks after the house. They've been friends for decades and met in Damascus (Syria).

Wednesday, July 10th. Market day in Clermont, one of the oldest in France and worth a visit, bustling and lively along the old streets and squares of the old city center. As an espadrille fan, I buy a pair of genuine leather ones for €15, although I later find myself with rather large feet. Nella, looking for a super-light summer dress, buys a cute skirt. Then I sit on the terraces and watch the comings and goings of so many people in clothing-forward little things. You can't tell locals from tourists; sandals, shorts, and a shirt or something negligee. First, a beer. When you're really thirsty, always look out for Belgian beers. At the Estaminet de Commerce, they even serve Grimbergen Blanche and Blond on tap. And thankfully, AB InBev is everywhere, because some French pilsners are decent (1666), but if they only have Heineken, I'll leave anyway. But with the food, it's naturally regional wine, and here, mainly rosé. We round off, why not, with a fortunately reserved spot on the packed terrace of Le Tournesol.

It's striking that the free carafe of water you always got at the table in France is disappearing everywhere. A shame. You really have to ask for it yourself now. I, who always seek out local cuisine, order what I usually consider a weakness: sirloin steak, but I do it for the Roquefort sauce. This cheese was invented in these parts. You know the story of the shepherd and his forgotten cheese in the cave. After the Périgourdine salad, I can almost feel the cholesterol clapping, but hey, we ate mainly light and healthy this trip. Once back, Nella gives an impression of Botticelli's Venus, and I portray a Greek warlord about to go to war.

We're also getting news from our Nepalese daughter on her iPhone, like "Tanya - mosquitoes 0-16." Here it's "flying - Wim & Nella 16-0," but I'm forcing the decision. Soon the score is 20-5.

Thursday, July 11. We want to see the sea. Off to Sète, where we pass Bouzigues (oyster fields) and the Etang de Thau, passing through the fishing port and the town center, only to end up, of course, with a huge portion of seafood, half a crab and half a lobster for barely €50 each, with aioli, toast, and a fresh white wine. We chose from the dozens of fish restaurants along the quay. Everywhere, the terraces have those wonderful automatic misters and reasonable prices for many types of fresh fish and bouillabaisse. What strikes me again is how children are conditioned. Children's menus seem to be the same everywhere in Europe: spaghetti, chicken and fries, or pizza. That's how you develop bad, one-sided habits. A quartet goes around the terraces. I predict four songs from their medley repertoire correctly (it's the same all over the world, isn't it?): O sole mio, Nava havila, the Russian Nje kati and... we're not far off... the inevitable E viva Espana, which Samantha never earned a cent from.

Friday, July 12th. Last day. I get up early and climb the nearby 7km climbing trail that should take me to the Pic de Liausson, with, of course, a magnificent view of Lac du Salagou. Those three hours of scrambling—no longer just puff puff—were worth it, but I underestimated the descent and briefly went on my back, clawing at thistles, but oh well. The day is spent eating our leftovers and doing the last few things.

Saturday, July 13th. For a moment, it looked like we'd left too late for the return trip to Carcasonne on this peak day, and we ended up in a traffic jam around Béziers, but I managed to escape via back roads. We ended up having fish tapas for €10, this time on a terrace next to the bend in the Trèbes canal, with its small harbor and beautiful boats. Then we returned the rental car; we'd covered almost 1,000 km. For only €300 all-inclusive. A smooth return trip. We were home at 9 p.m.

More photos on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/wimvanbesien/sets/72157634684281823/