(Almost) Car free in Carcassonne 2

Barely two months ago, we arrived in Carcassonne with two folding bikes, three small panniers and two backpacks full of clothes. How quickly our car-free sejour has flown past! Five mornings a week, Lorenz walks to his intense French conversation class, while I write in my office with views of the turreted ramparts of the medieval cite and castle on the hill above us.  We’ve worn a clear path to the local épicerie on our morning trips for baguettes and croissants. Each week, we pedal or walk to our favorite grapefruit and olive and lettuce vendors at the Saturday market. We’ve walked almost every narrow cobblestoned street in the wood-and-brick thatched medieval city above us.

In the afternoons, we head to the Place Carnot, the town’s central square, where we love to sit with a café au lait and listen to the babbling central fountain as kids run happily below. Our legs have taken us to the art museum, the French movie theater, to the local puppet show, to the circus that came to town. We even joined in the masked Easter carnival parade where Lorenz and his friend, Hendrick, decided to wear matching grotesque cigar smoking masks.

When we first arrived, we were reluctant to pedal our tiny, nine gear folding bikes out of the flat valley of the Aude River, winding its way through Carcassonne below the snowy peaks of the Pyrenees to the south and the steep, rugged Black Mountains to the north. Instead, we took the very efficient French trains to visit the beautiful Mediterranean–visiting the famous hillside artist town of Collioure, where Matisse painted so many of his seaside scenes. And to explore the modern/ancient streets of the hopping airplane city of Toulouse, home to Airbus and numerous airplane and space museums (Lorenz was in heaven).

But then a gorgeous, sunny day arrived after weeks of rain. We decided to brave the climb up into the Black Mountains despite our small, low gear bikes. The first foray was a forty kilometer trip over lush rolling hills to the quaint book lovers’ town of Montolieu, with at least sixteen bookstores (my dream town).  Surprise! The bikes were not bad at pedaling over the hills! Soon we were cycling further afield. To the Lac de la Cavayere, a popular summer lake complex with beaches and huge waterslides. Along the lush banks of the Aude River. Through miles of scenic vineyards and their domaines (wineries) atop rolling green hills. And best of all, a bike trip up the valley of the steep walled l’Orbeil River to the breathtaking views of the four mountain castle ruins of Lastours—which of course we had to hike.

We had been feeling pretty proud of ourselves for living a car-free, environmentally responsible lifestyle. Until we got to know our 94 year old neighbor, Yvette, who puts us to shame. We are living in a little red-tile roofed row house in a quiet warren of higgledy piggledy streets below the castle. Behind each house is a peaceful little sunny patio/garden area. Yvette’s garden adjoins ours, separated by a lush line of rose bushes and white lilies. As the days have warmed, we find ourselves chatting over the flowers while Yvette potters in her garden, planting marigolds and geraniums, and lovingly watering and weeding her tomatoes and carrots. Dressed in her brown wool sweater and knee length skirt—never pants—Yvette wields her trowel with determination, as we discuss the weather. Her plants. Her son who runs a vineyard and drops by every few weeks with cases of wine, homemade olive oil and honey. The stories of the neighbors—both past and present—who have passed through these row houses during the sixty years that Yvette has lived here. The grey and brown and black cats who stroll through our gardens as if they are traversing a local highway.

At first, I thought I had misunderstood Yvette’s age. How could this little whirlwind of a woman be almost one hundred years old? Of course, perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. France has one of the longest life expectancies in the world (ranked 13, up there with Hong Kong, Japan, Italy and Spain; in comparison, the U.S is ranked 48, after Albania and Panama. In fact, the country has earned the distinction of being the home of the oldest living person in documented history: Jeanne Calamet who lived to be 122 years old and knew Van Gogh. She lived in Arles in the south of France, only a hundred or so miles away from Carcassonne.

The long life of centenarians is often associated with a healthy, vegetarian diet. But I’m not so sure I can argue that my neighbor’s longevity is due to France’s delicious cheeses, sausages, cream desserts and croissants. Maybe it’s the wine? Well, yes, the wine is…. Great. But I have another theory.

Like us, Yvette does not have a car. In fact, she has never learned to drive! No, she doesn’t have a  bicycle either. She walks. Every day or two, she shops at the local épicerie to buy her modest groceries. On Saturdays, she trundles over the cobblestoned Pont Vieux with her French shopping basket to the weekly market. She still hangs out her wash and cleans her house herself. And occasionally, as a treat, she strolls on over to the nearby street to get a coffee or have lunch at one of the local restaurants, sitting at an outdoor table to watch the people passing by. ‘At my age, I have cooked enough’ she explains.

It’s 10:30 in the morning and I have just spotted Yvette trundling out from her garden shed, wielding a pair of garden shears. Small actions every day. They add up to a lifetime of walking, lifting, carrying, bending. For us too! In the past seven weeks, Lorenz and I have pedaled over 500 kilometers (about three hundred miles) and walked at least another 150 km (90 miles). Yes, we did bike 280 km down the Canal du Midi. But the rest of the miles? Who knows? The miles, apparently, add up if you don’t drive.

Still, we have learned humbly, there is an upper limit on how far we can go by bike or foot or train. As an anthropologist, I have always wanted to see the famed  prehistoric paintings of the Lascaux Caves. So, I was thrilled to discover that they were less than two hundred miles away. A three hour car drive. Or an eight hour trip on two trains and a bus. It seemed that ancient Cro-Magnon man hadn’t thought about public transportation when he selected this remote warren of caves in the Dordogne to paint the ochre and brown and black horses, deer and aurochs across their walls. So we rented a car—a expensive project which cost us $240 for the gas, tolls, rental and insurance for twenty-four hours. But it was worth it to gaze upon the extraordinarily lifelike, dancing, running and playing animals that roamed the ice-age tundra with ancient man seventeen thousand years ago. We have to concede, cars have their place in our modern world too.

We’re sad to be leaving our little corner of peace and simplicity next week. We’ve had a taste of how wonderful life can be on foot and by bicycle. We’ll be back—to France, or Italy or Spain or Japan. People in the long-lived countries really do seem to know how to enjoy life. And maybe that’s the secret—that you slow down, explore the world at foot speed, and take time to live.

Sources

“Life expectancy by country,” https://www.worldometers.info/demographics/life-expectancy/

“Oldest people ever,” https://gerontology.fandom.com/wiki/Oldest_people_ever

Interested in other reasons to start a car free lifestyle? Check out “Cycling as a Solution”

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