Fairy tales in France

We had a fairy-tale kind of day on Tuesday, meandering through the land of the Cathars where the Knights templars once were the admiration and scourge of the locals. For two boys who were hooked on the days of chivalry already (not that they practiced that virtue a whole lot), being in this neck of the world is just one revelation after another. Our pilgrimage to Carcasonne was, in all honesty, brought about because of the game of the same name that they have at home. I had no idea there was much to actually see in the place (being until now ignorant of all mediaeval history outside of Britain) -- so what a shock I got. Looming up before us was a palace of Sleeping Beautyesque proportions, endowed with no less than 52 towers along its outer walls. The great thing about Carcasonne is its gift of fleshing out details and enabling the growth of imagination; it is a complete castle complex: an outer wall, the medieval city and streets inside the keep, as well as a cathedral and castle. The history of the place dates back to the 9th Century, when the town was under siege. It had been going on for so long that the ruling Chieftainess (yes, a woman!!) called Carca was worried that the townspeople were going to starve. She took a gamble that the army outside the walls was feeling the same angst, and ordered a pig stuffed to the brim with food, and then thrown from a tower to the troops below. The leaders from the other side (presumably men!!), were aghast that there was still so much food they could allow such waste on the inside... they slunk away with their tails between their legs. Meanwhile, Carca was doing a dance of delight over the success of her plan and ordered all the bells to ring out her joy. The people took up the cry that "Carca sonne, Carca sonne" (Carca is ringing, she's ringing), and thus (so the legend goes) the town got its name. They know that the town did withstand a siege at that time, so there's basis for the legend -- and I love to picture a wild woman brimming with jubilation up and down those tremendous walls. Hearing bells ring out across the land is a great source of happiness for me and one I can't get enough of -- it was so delightful to actually trod in her footsteps in a mad caper along the top of those magnificent walls... .

It was really just a golden day, because we took our time getting there and the journey was as fun as the destination!! We drove -- somewhat accidentally -- along a smaller road through fields of vines that were absolutely dripping with grapes. As the fields gave way to buildings and we entered a little town, there along the side of the road was a queue of tractors as the local farmers brought their crops in to the local caveau... it was so much like a line-up of trucks at the grain terminal that I was smitten with homesickness for harvest-time in Saskatchewan and hollered at Mitch to turn around. Such fun -- we got to watch the loads of purple grapes as they were dumped out of little carts and into a hopper below, where the weighed them the sent them through a machine that separated the fruit from the stems. These were then spit up onto a conveyer and dropped out into a skip outside. The grapes meanwhile we sent through a crusher and then, as we watched, the juice poured out into a large vat just below where we were standing. We watched several loads come in and could start to notice the difference in the quality of the grapes by the quantity of liquid they produced. And it smelled so good!! Meanwhile, the farmers stood around gossiping (just like at home) as the purple-handed employees of the caveau weighed and calculated, then handed over a chit of paper detailing the amount of that dump, before moving on to the next farmer.
Besides the obvious language difference, these guys had the same air that I suspect farmers the world over must have. I suspect that another difference between these guys and their Canadian counterparts would emerge at mealtime... lunch here entails a baguette (firmly tucked in the armpit!), and a beverage that would not be the pilsner you might expect at home!!!

Fun fact: Henry the 8th had an army march all the way to within 50 miles of Paris -- only to discover that they had run out of beer and that the only beverage they could procure locally was wine!! The army revolted and actually turned around and went home!! Personally, I'm with the French on this debate!