liminal limoux

Our night in Limoux at the end of June marked the transition from our 6 weeks travelling in Spain [and a few nights in Collioure] to taking up residence for the summer in a house in the village of Bouriege. We will no longer be on the go, staying in hotels or serviced apartments, but will be 'living the dream' in a house in a rural village in the south of France.

We picked up a car in Carcassonne and thanks to the sat-nav system found ourselves in the square in the middle of Limoux on market day, after a complicated route through narrow one way streets of this typical old French town. 

 

Liberty, Equality... Fraternity?

Dave was dreading driving on the right hand side of the road so insisted that I frequently repeated ''Keep to the right.'' This is difficult when so many roads only accommodate one vehicle. However the sat-nav system may well avoid a divorce as Dave prefers the warnings in advance of when to turn.

From the 'wrong' side of the road we realised we missed the planes and trains and buses and taxis we had used, where we could just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. “But it will be wonderful to explore this beautiful Aude region in depth,” I said. There was no response, as the Old Dog tried to reverse into the only parking space we could find.

We found our hotel, 'Les Arcades' on the edge of the square. I loved it. It was one of those old French hotels with a spiral staircase. ''Lovely,'' I said. ''Just like the hotels we stayed in many years ago.'' Old Dog, who was carrying the two suitcases up to the third floor, didn't share my enthusiasm. The carpets were stained and the prints on the wall eclectic as we mounted the stairs; it didn't help when the lights went out and we were plunged into darkness. I loved our tiny room, with two shuttered casement windows and small balconies overlooking the charcuterie across the road and the stone arches framing transient tableau in the square. The room was clean and bright with a new laminate floor, and a functional bathroom. I liked to imagine the people who would have stayed here over centuries: country folk for the market, troubadours, travellers , pilgrims and lovers.

Pétanque on the Aude river bank

Dave headed off to watch pétanque on pistes on the bank of the brown Aude river, which flows through the town. On the other side of the river, faded buildings in soft sepia tones, created a scene as muted as a watercolour. Such a contrast to colourful Collioure.

I chatted to two Australian boys in the bar of our hotel. Broad-shouldered rugby players, who have been here for 6 years. Now that the rugby season has ended, they work casually in the Irish Bar. [the Irish certainly have it covered!] The boys told me about a 'Feria' on that night, a festival with a Spanish theme. 

 

The 'Feria' was a loud, cacophonous event, with multiple marquee style bars and cafes, all trying to outdo each other with the deafening volume of recorded or live music. But we did enjoy the jolly brass band, playing the rousing music of the Torro, and the local flamenco dancers.

'Les Hauts de L'Aude' – from Quillan

After sampling the 'Blanquette de Limoux' the fizzy wine which has been the specialty of the region since 1531, I no longer knew where I was... Spain or France or somewhere in between? And I was mixing my Spanish with my French in a way which Dave found confusing. But the locals seemed to understand.

Back at our hotel, we were the last patrons dining at a pavement table. I still recall the perfume of purple petunias [Limoux is abloom with flowers]. The smiling hotelier stood in the doorway and told us how the economic woes of Italy, Spain and Greece, are affecting his business. The tourist numbers have dropped... the dreaded 'domino effect'.

In the morning, from our window, I saw local women with baskets walking to a single canopied stall in the square. As we passed, dragging our suitcases I investigated. They were selling white peaches, flushed with a delicate pink so I bought a kilogram to eat in Bouriege.

'Croque Notes' with drummer 'sans' Honda Accord Europa.

While having a coffee in the square before leaving Limoux, we were serenaded by yet another brass band. They were playing ''Don't worry. Be happy'', while a gypsy boy, stripped to his waist, with guitar and dog, danced and played along.

Earlier, as we were leaving the hotel, the manager asked if we were ''En vacances?''. ''Oui Monsieur, 6 semaines en Bouriege'', Dave said. “Ah, Bouriege. C'est tres jolie,'' he said.So we set off to find this 'very pretty' village.

On the verge of a new experience, and with Dave driving too close to the ditch on the verge of the road, I tried 'not to worry and to be happy.'