Quillan

View from the "ramp" up to the chateau.  The bones of the mountains show through.

First of all, it's pronounced "Kee-ohn."  I am not trying to be snotty, but French is such an odd language, and I would not like anyone, especially me, to be embarrassed.  I guess people here smile up their sleeves when the English tell them they've been to "Qwil-len."  

Place de la Republique--I think there's one in every village

Secondly, it's in the Haute Vallee--the high valley, so I assumed it would be colder and rawer than Carcassonne.  It just goes to show me that I should never assume anything.

The transfer bus from Limoux to Quillan--with a great driver

The sun was shining this morning, so I decided to take myself to Quillan.  I had actually considered it and Couiza, which is on the way there, as possible locations for this six-month adventure.  I am so thankful that I chose Carcassonne.  These little towns are beyond charming, but very, very remote.  Yes, there is train service of sorts, but maybe only once a day.  I am convinced daily that I made the right choice, but I wanted to visit and walk around these little towns.  

The train station in Quillan

The French railway has a deal--for 1 Euro you can go from Carcassonne to Quillan or any of the little whistle-stops in between.  And, no catch, it's only 1 Euro to return.  While the Moffits were here, we took the train to Limoux for this very deal.  I read in the paper last week that the SNCF, the French railway, is going to close a number of these little-trafficked lines, and sadly, the Carcassonne-Quillan run is one on the chopping block.  I surely hope that it gets saved somehow.

The curved wooden door of the Tourist Bureau

Here's the drill:  You take the train from Carcassonne to Limoux and there transfer to a  huge motor coach, with all the comforts--including free wifi.  Amazing.  That bus makes a couple of stops along the way, and the ride is scenic and comfortable.  We came along this same route with Jason on our outing to Peyrepertuse last month, but this time I was able to see more of the countryside from the greater height and wider windows.  It is such beautiful countryside.  The vines are taking a well-deserved rest from all the work last season of turning soil and water and sunshine into grapes for the vintners. 

A house off the square near the church.  Charmant!

Our bus driver was quite skilled.  The streets of Quillan and Limoux were not designed for great huge Mercedes motor coaches.  They were designed for donkey carts.  So, we found ourselves stuck in a place where someone had parked a truck and it looked impossible for the bus to get by.  We sat and honked and honked--in vain.  Finally, the driver inched his way past, with, in his words, "cinq (5) centimetres" to spare.  It was an amazing feat of driving. 

Ruins of the chateau look down on the town

The town of Quillan is charming, but shuttered. The fountains have been drained, many doors are closed for the season.  I didn't make this trip yesterday because I suspected that on a Monday, things would be closed.  Apparently in Quillan, once tourist season is over, the town really gets quite sleepy no matter what day of the week it is.  I arrived at the tourist office two minutes before they locked the door for lunch and was able to get a recommendation for a place to eat. The people there had to rack their brains to come up with a place that wasn't closed.  I walked around a bit, tried to get into the church, because I could hear someone practicing the organ inside.  Whoever it was could play well.  Alas, the door was locked.  The library was closed.  The Cathar exhibit was closed.  I did walk up the very steep hill to the chateau ruins.  They were open but there was nothing and nobody there.  Nice view, though. 

This is the "Ramp"--too steep! Yes, I climbed it.

The very best part of the day was the 45 minute conversation I had with the proprietress of the creperie where I had a coffee and a crepe.  We actually talked--she is from Normandy and moved south for better weather.  She plans within the next year to sell her place in Quillan and move to Spain--for better weather.  We shared some laughs, she helped me with my French, talked to me about the creperie business in the summer.  It was simply delightful. 

A view into the heart of the wall

Quillan has an odd feel to it, for me.  I guess it's a sense of being semi-deserted, a result of absentee owners and seasonal businesses.  It's surrounded by  low mountains that feel old, like time has sand-papered away the skin and bones are showing through.  The buildings are mostly field-stone at their core, and have been plastered over during the years with layers of more modern materials.  But at their hearts is the stone of the countryside. 

The chateau from the other side.

The Aude flows swiftly here

On the way back to Limoux, we had to stop to let a couple off the motor coach--they thought they were going to Perpignan, not Carcassonne.  It was raining by then, not hard, but certainly wet, and they had to go back to the train station to sort it all out. The guy was blaming his wife; I imagine a heated argument took place on the walk back.   I am always grateful when I have managed to get the right connections, and get on the right vehicle.  And hey--they were French and they couldn't get it figured out!  I shared some pleasantries with a gentleman who was on his way home to Toulouse. Thank you Richard Tomlinson, my high school French teacher, for the wonderful start he gave to me in speaking the language that allows me to  communicate with my fellow travelers here in the south of France.  By the time I arrived in Carcassonne, it had stopped raining, but it was decidedly colder than it had been in the mountains.  Go figure!  All in all, it was a very good day.

The church at the heart of the town