Mirepoix via Fanjeux

Thursday October 1st

Off to Mirepoix courtesy of Madame. We stopped at Fanjeux high up above the surrounding countryside. It was from Fanjeux that St Dominic began his crusade against the Cathars.

The post midday carrillion sounded grand, but proved one too many times for an old white Samoyed who, slumped in his doorway, howled in protest. The covered town plaza appeared abandoned but was obviously well used as evidenced by numerous cigarette butts.

Dry and brittle Franciscan-brown sunflower stalks lifted their heads to Heaven, awaiting harvest time in the Aude. Madame warned us of a imminent speed camera as we approached Mirepoix. We parked and walked towards Le Centre Medieval. Modern shopfronts sat beneath wooden frame supported houses that sported faded coleurs. Tree trunk thick columns were hung with wrought iron lamp lights that lit the deep alcoves housing cafe tables and chairs.

Autumn leaves were windswept down Rue Monseigneur de Cambon fleeing the ivory painted horses of the carousel foaled in 1900. We chose a table close by the covered market place quadrangle where merchants cleared their morning's offerings. The church bells tolled the hour in the spire occupying pride of place. The verdant rain trees and purple prunus shed their leaves, some of which fell on our luncheon selections. Each dish was accompanied by fragrant heaps of garlic-flecked beans.

L'ancienne Cathedral Saint Maurice was built in the 14th-17th centuries and was distinguished by its remarkable organ and handpainted decorative walls. We lit a candle and placed it at the altar dedicated to Notre Dame de Lourdes.

Madame was obviously peaked at our refusal to take the next turn left and took revenge by directing us down a narrow lane that ended in a dead end. My first French traffic reversal.

Via Lavelanet and Belesta we passed through Puivert seeking Chateau de Puivert. Make a hard left turn. Hard! - I practically broke my neck seeking direction. The previous heart-attack inducing French roads were highways compared to this crumbling goat track. Phew! we made it, and it was worth it. From our highly prized strategic stronghold we had the most awe inspiring view of that day. The Pyrenees shrouded in cloud were but a backdrop to the valley of the River Rebenty below. Brazened fields awaiting harvest lauded it over their plucked and ploughed brethren.

Home via Limoux's peak hour, along plane tree lined A and B roads.