Far Away It Was...

Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett—better known to readers of fantasy as Lord Dunsany—was (and continues to be) a major influence on writers of fantasy from H.P. Lovecraft to Neil Gaiman. In 1910 he published A Dreamer’s Tales, in which a story titled “Carcassonne” appears—a story about a doomed-to-fail quest for a marvelous city. Here’s just a bit of the story, where the king’s harper, Arleon, tells the king what he knows of Carcassone:

“Far away it was, and far and far away, a city of gleaming ramparts rising one over other, and marble terraces behind the ramparts, and fountains shimmering on the terraces. To Carcassonne the elf-kings with their fairies had first retreated from men, and had built it on an evening late in May by blowing their elfin horns. Carcassonne! Carcassonne!”

Far and far away? Yes. Which translates to about 785 miles from Wrocław—as far as the drive from western Wisconsin to Wyoming’s Devils Tower if that helps put it into perspective:

In other words, close enough to visit over the (almost) week-long Easter holiday. So Cathy booked us a trip, we set a 3:30 a.m. alarm, hopped a tram to the bus stop, followed by a bus to Wrocław’s Port Lotniczny (Port Lot-NEECH-nih)—airport—where we boarded a flight to the next airport (Frankfurt), on to yet another airport (Toulouse), followed by a bus to the train station, and then a 1-hour train ride (Toulouse-Carcassonne), finishing on foot through town up to La Cite—the best-preserved (well, reconstructed) medieval walled city in all of Europe.

Our walk started with a bridge over the Canal du Midi (a 17th-century canal connecting France’s Atlantic coast to the Mediterranean)—more on that later—followed by a stroll through a typical tourist-oriented narrow-streeted cobblestone district in the modern part of town:

But after a mile or so, as we crossed the River Aud on a long stone footbridge, Lord Dunsany’s version of Carcassonne appeared on the horizon:

Dunsany again:

“Travelers had seen it sometimes like a clear dream, with the sun glittering on its citadel upon a far-off hilltop…”

As it turned out, the hotel Cathy had booked for us was actually in the walled city itself—convenient, but far (and far) away. A long uphill trudge ensued—probably about a 2-mile walk from the train station (traveling with only carry-on luggage helps):

With plenty of stops to rest… uh, I mean, to take pictures along the way:

And lots of intermediary gates between the city’s outer wall and inner wall—best to complicate things as much as possible for any invading army:

By early evening we arrived within the inner wall of La Cite, to find our hotel (Hotel Le Donjon) overlooking a small square near the Aud Gate (the western gate of the city, overlooking the river Aud), which is the usual way for pedestrians to approach; the city’s main entrance is on the eastern side, pretty much directly across from the Aud Gate.

Unlike the Citadel in Malta, there aren’t really any ruins in La Cite. It’s a functional town—if by “functional” you mean “a town completely based on tourism, with all its associated shops, snack stands, art galleries, and restaurants” (a bit like a medieval Door County downtown area).

Our hotel room/cottage garden (our room is out of sight, off the left-hand side of the photo below) offered a nice view of the Basilica of Saints Nazaire and Celsus, the main church of La Cite, dating back to the late 1200s (though there has been some kind of Christian church on the site more than 600 years earlier).

A long day and a lack of ambition (on my part, at least) convinced us to eat supper (was it pizza from one of the many restaurants in der Nahe?), take a quick walk around the streets of the inner walled city:

And call it a night.

I for one was looking forward to:

1. Sleeping.

2. Touring the ramparts of the inner keep and city the next morning.

But I’ll save that for the next post. Meanwhile, if you can’t make it to southern France for a visit of your own, you might give this a try instead:

Do zobaczenia!