Camping part 1: the seige of carcassonne

tonight we are camped below the celebrated walls of carcassonne, like the motley crusaders of pope innocent 3rd before us, hunkered in under the lofty battlements waiting to storm the cite, whilst its expectant inhabitants gird themselves for the fray to come. but this time round it’s we, both invading hordes and faithful pilgrims, who are lambs to the slaughter enticed like the armies of yesteryear by the lure of a fantasy…. pilgrims just as much as those encouraged to besiege the walls by that fateful papal edict.

the camping i imagine is also not so different despite the centuries - pick a good spot, up canvas, shake out the bedding, light a fire, heat up water and prepare a makeshift meal. eat under the stars and plan the operation ahead...

accommodation around cathar country is notoriously tricky to secure, booked up days, weeks in advance. we were turned away from our first attempt, the aptly named 'camping de la cite', and a scrum of camper vans, cars, cyclists and bikers ensued as alternatives were suggested and the caravanserai of pilgrims moved on to lay siege to another hamlet along the route.

our eventual stop is a trusty municipal campsite 5km south, the hulking fairy topped citadel still visible on the horizon, a confection of heritage, a confusion of history. largely the re-creation of the somewhat notorious renovator of france, Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, who perhaps over enthusiastically restored the fortress in 1853, it bears little actual resemblance to the carcassonne of the albigensian crusade. nonetheless its presence is undeniably stirring as the dark gathers and night closes in on our ragged company of brightly coloured vans, canvases and awnings, reminiscent in my romantic dreamings of medieval encampments long ago…

the campsite proper is full as is everywhere else on route, but we are kindly offered the boules field next door on the proviso we are all gone at first light. as we pitch up the makeshift base fills up with others also on the holy trail and we greet the by-now familiar faces as they draw up, congratulating each other on making it, sharing provisions and passing on nuggets of information about local amenities. by dusk the flurry of activity around the field and the evening repast is over, our improvised company is settled, lamps lit, hammocks slung, beds unrolled.

it’s an early start tomorrow, as our weary band readies itself for the battle ahead. guide books are primed, digital cameras poised, as another 'authentic' experience is anticipated, checked off and bagged. but like all armies before us, the eve of battle brings with it both unease and calm, and over the perpetual hush of the citadel above us can be heard a more prosaic quiet, the snores and wheezes of nearby strangers, the snuffling and rustlings of dogs in strange surroundings providing a peculiar, quite unmodern, lullaby....