Car-free in Carcassonne
As some of you may know, we are currently living in the south of France, in the medieval hilltop city of Carcassonne. Without a car. We decided to try the French lifestyle and are “toodling around on bikes dans la campagne francaise“[1] instead of driving everywhere. More accurately, we are trying out a life of picking up our fresh baguettes and croissants in the morning by walking to the local épicierie. Biking to the local open air marché to fill up our panniers with farm fresh lettuce, freshly picked local oranges and homemade cheese every Saturday. And wandering for hours around the red-tile roofed Mediterranean villages on the French coast, just an hour’s train ride away on our weekly excursions.
Not surprisingly, we are getting a lot of daily exercise—which is quite necessary, given that French food is so fresh and delicious (and rich). In the three weeks since we arrived, we have biked 216 kilometers (135 miles) and walked at least another 65 kilometers (40 miles).
Now I admit that not all of these kilometers were walked and pedaled just by going shopping in the local markets and hiking up to the fairytale Carcassonne castle, perched on the hill above our house. It turns out that the historic 240 kilometer Canal du Midi passes through Carcassonne right near our house. So, within five days of our arrival, we set out to pedal the 180 kilometer southern section, past 350 year old locks, elegant aqueducts, and hand hewn stone bridges. The canal is an engineering UNESCO world heritage site. Of course, Lorenz could not stop examining every 17th century engineering design and innovation on the way. We arrived in pretty Sete, perched on the hillside above the Mediterranean, three and a half days later—much more educated and inspired by French engineering. (I’ll post more about our Canal adventures later).
The benefits of living car free in France extend far beyond our health and waistlines, however. Without a car, we feel so much more connected to the rhythms of French life and the local community. It is delightful to pedal to the Saturday market, following the throngs of women wrapped in chic, colorful neck scarves and men in their French caps, all carrying wicker shopping baskets and streaming over the Pont Vieux (ancient bridge), with the turreted castle of Carcassonne in the background.
We can only buy as much as we can carry home on our bicycles (which are currently small folding bikes that we can transport easily on the trains and planes). This leads to some interesting pannier packing techniques as we try to fit gigantic cauliflowers and leafy farm picked salads in our bags. As a result, we have started to make daily stops at the local épicierie to pick up bread, milk and fruits and vegetables between shopping trips.
Our épicierie is nothing like the local mini marts in the US. Outside is a stand of beautiful fresh fruit and vegetables under a colorful awning; while inside it smells wonderfully of the fresh baguettes behind the counter, the strong cured sausages hanging from the ceiling and the delicious pungent cheeses on display. Naturally, we never have to worry about running out of wine, since they have an excellent selection. But best of all, is arriving early in the morning, when the local old men stop by to pick up a cup of espresso. I love standing in the back, listening to them debating about the latest local football match, the upcoming horse races in the Hippodrome right out of town, or the tree that fell down on a nearby wall during the latest windstorm. (Windstorms are such a natural part of the climate here, that they even have names for the different winds: le marin which brings in warm weather and rain and the cers which blusters in cold and dry from the north.)
On the way home from the épicierie, we pass the large playground of the jardin d’enfants filled with the happy cries of preschoolers, who run and play outside all day oblivious of the rain, cold and wind. Schools, like most businesses here, hold long and leisurely lunch hours. So between 12:30 and 2:00, they are closed. Since the children walk back and forth to school with their parents, several times a day the gates to the school are filled with excited children running and babbling to their parents about their latest art projects clutched in their hands. It’s a lovely sound, that makes you feel warm and confident that –at least in this quiet faraway place in the world–life goes on as it always has.
Last week, while strolling back home, laden with some delicious blueberry jam and a baguette, we paused to stop at a poster, placed strategically directly across from the entrance to the school. The poster advertised a traveling puppet show about Guignol, a favorite, rather silly and funny French character. Naturally, Lorenz insisted that we must go. So three days later, we found ourselves sitting in a small white tent, behind three rows of excited, giggling 3-7 year olds. Every now and then their parents, who were sitting next to us, would run forward to catch an adventurous four year old who had jumped up to look at the side table filled with twirling lollipops, princely swords and cotton candy. For an hour we sat enthralled as the curtain opened to reveal a hand painted backdrop of mountains, and then a pirate’s cave. As the puppet, Guignol, begged the children to tell him if they saw the very very bad pirate with an eye patch, the front rows of kids began screaming and shouting á droit. Then non non á gauche, non NON!!! A droit!!!! as the pirate snuck up behind Guignol first right, then left, then right. Until finally Guignol turned around very surprised, and captured him.
What a lovely feeling it was to stream out from the tent with the group of laughing, giggling children afterwards, knowing that somewhere in the world there are still such simple delights as family run, traveling puppet shows. And that the children will walk home holding their daddy’s hands, thinking that life is amazing.
As Lorenz and I strolled down the cobblestoned street, past the blue and green and peach shutters of the pastel French townhomes, I wondered, would we have seen the poster or gone to the puppet show if we had been cruising the neighborhood in a car, instead of walking? Probably not. Mais oui! I thought. I’m so glad we chose to live car-free in Carcassonne!
To be continued….
[1] We stole this title from the Spotify playlist made for us by one of our favorite people (you know who you are!) just as we left for France, and, incidentally, which I am listening to right now.
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You might also love reading our book, Breathtaking: How one family cycled around the world for clean air and asthma about our family’s cycling adventures around the world–through 24 countries across Europe, Asia, the South Pacific and North America.
Hi Paula and Lorenz—I hadn’t realized you were living in France. How very exciting.
It sounds like a peaceful and relaxing adventure. Your description of your daily life there is well written, as usual. I feel like I’ve been transported there myself—seeing the sights, smelling the freshly baked bread, and feeling the fresh air as you bike the roads.
Looking forward to the next blog. Thanks, Paula.
Hi Rebecca, Thank you for your lovely note! I’m so glad that for a minute, you can be transported here with me. Your note makes me feel as if we just sat down for a coffee together in a delightful French cafe!