An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
TODAY WE STOPPED to be healed. “I said healed, brothers and sisters,” as the inimitable rooster Foghorn Leghorn might say. Having left St-Jean-de-Luz, we zipped along the main highway, but a short 25 kilometers away was Lourdes. It had nothing to do with Matisse, though he might well have made the trip himself. Who wouldn’t want to be healed? And when would we have another opportunity like this—to wash ourselves in restorative waters that might take our troubles away? We aren’t Roman Catholics, but who cares? I was happy to take a shot at my own miracle, and I’d been working on healing myself for years through various spiritual endeavors. I was ready, willing, and open to the experience. Jim veered to the exit like a man on a mission.
The countryside was fresh and green with sheep and horses grazing in the pastures. The snow-capped peaks of the Pyrénées loomed above this little burg of 15,000 people—a town with 40,000 hotel rooms! What? I had no idea. Lourdes’s fame is well known, of course, and I had seen the Hollywood movie The Song of Bernadette, with Jennifer Jones. But who knew this place attracted some five million visitors a year—the most-visited Christian pilgrimage site in the world?
Disney-ish atmosphere with life-sized cutouts of crippled people and others who need healing on Esplanade des Processions at Lourdes
The Grotto at Lourdes
After Lourdes, our drive across southwestern France from the Basque country to the Languedoc-Roussillon was sublime. The Pyrénées rose on our right, and castles and hilltop towns dotted the lush countryside. Toulouse had been our destination, but there were no rooms at any inn so we opted for Carcassonne as a base.
Carcassonne (images above and immediately below via Wikipedia)
The wonder of Carcassonne is the enormous and beautifully restored fortress, the cité. We arrived in the dark and found the tight gateway of the Porte Narbonnaise, the only place a car can get through; unless you’re staying there, you must park outside. The walled town was quiet and the cobblestone streets tiny. We prefer arriving in a town when we can still see, but we easily found our Best Western hotel, the Du Donjon, that I believe had once been an orphanage. We had a nice big room looking onto the garden. We would be here three days—which meant we had found a home again.
We began our evening stroll, discovering in the process an adorable restaurant for dinner. Their specialty was cassoulet, that wonderful casserole of white beans, duck or goose, sausage, and maybe even pork—a dish that’s native to the area. We paired it with a good red wine, and earthy comfort was ours.
Carcassonne (Photo by Beth Arnold)
To our great dismay, we had missed the Academy Awards the night before. We’re movie buffs, and at home the Oscars were a must in our house. But this year—for the first time I could remember—I hadn’t seen a single one of the movies nominated for Best Picture. That still didn’t take away my desire to watch the Oscar spectacle. I mean whose dresses were good, whose were bad, and the same for the speeches and the host’s jokes. When we returned to our room after dinner, we found a shortened version of the broadcast on French TV. Even though it had been dubbed in French, it satisfied our craving. We went to bed happy.
The next day we made the trip back to the Midi-Pyrénées and Toulouse, which is a city of 650,000 with 110,000 university students. It’s known as La Ville Rose because of the millions of pink bricks that radiate from its buildings. As the sun changes positions in the sky, the color of Toulouse changes to pinks, oranges, roses, and reds. Toulouse, the lively home of many industries, was also the home of Madame Matisse and her family—with whom the young couple had stayed for a while. That’s why we were here.
Toulouse, Place du Capitole (Image via Wikipedia)
We chose a café on the Place du Capitole for lunch and watched as the market closed down in the square and people hurriedly walked by or stopped and ordered a meal. We were there long enough to watch a demonstration in front of the city hall that seemed to be about homeless people. I don’t think we were included in their noisy appeal.
Spotting a Virgin Megastore (definitely a mecca for me), we went in and purchased the third season of “The Sopranos” (despite my entreaties to friends and family back home, no one had sent it to us) and the fourth season of “Sex and the City.” The comfort of good television (or even mindless TV, if it’s the right show) watched on a laptop computer cannot be discounted when you’re constantly on the move.
Having read about the famous violet candy of Toulouse, I had to try some. We found it in a shop around the corner. I chit-chatted with the clerk, who told me the elderly madame in the back wrapping huge chocolate fish in green foil was the proprietor and master chocolatier. The shop was a riot of colorful foils and candies in various spring-themed shapes.
Jim had begun the day a little cranky and now, exasperated by my distractions of candy, pop culture, and especially shopping, he had finally revved up to an ornery growl. After a spat, we split up—he to find the Matisse connections and me to wander the rues and peruse some shops. There were lots of nice ones, and roaming alone with no purpose was dandy. We both needed some space. He chased Matisse and I enjoyed exploring a part of the old city—a cornucopia of pink buildings that surely held an energy that the young artist responded to. I bought nothing after the DVDs and beautiful candied violets, but had a lovely afternoon just walking and looking. I ended at a café for a coffee and to read my novel. It was divine.
Toulouse
Our drive back to Carcassone was enhanced by vineyards, villages, and chateaux. I read to Jim about the Cathar country and the Corbiere (whose wine we love), as well as the village of Limoux with its carnival and its sparkling wine called Blanquette. Southwestern France was grabbing us, and we were ready to be grabbed.
Carcassone
That night and the next we ordered cassoulet again. White beans and goose, sausage and pork, bubbling hot and crispy brown on top with a bottle of red wine from the region—it was all delicious and very reassuring. We felt the country healing us again and again.
Beth Arnold
Carcassone, France
May 15, 2003
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The Song of Bernadette image via imdb.
Unless otherwise indicated, photos by Beth Arnold. Not subject to use without permission.
Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris, where she produces her "Letter From Paris" new media project.
You can find the Chasing Matisse book by James Morgan here at Amazon--or you can find it in or order it from your favorite book store.
Jours of Our Lives illlustration by artist (and couturier) Elizabeth Cannon. To find out more about her, click here.
