Carcassonne Chapter: Lechery and Laughter in Limoux

St. Martin's in Limoux from the Old Bridge

I took the train down to Limoux today to take part in a mixed media art workshop that began at 2:00. I have always wanted to be better at art--drawing, painting, photography. In school I always took the music courses--band and choir. I never regretted that decision, but always yearned to be able to draw and create something from nothing. Today I would have a chance to do just that!

Vineyards show colors in the hills above town

I went a little early--I caught the 10:36 train from Carcassonne. I wanted to take my camera for a walk, maybe capture some photos of the autumnal scenery. The vineyards were spectacular; the yellows and scarlets brilliant in the late morning sun.

There were plenty of photo opportunities and a few shots turned out well. The Aude was running low but clear. I meandered over to the cemetery; I could see chrysanthemums already had been placed on the family tombs. While I was there, looking for some photo opportunities, I was approached by one of the cemetery workers, dressed in day-glo green. I am not sure what the hazards are in the cemetery that the workers need such brilliance, but someone, somewhere, must know.


Cemetery is behind this wall

Anyhow, this guy struck up a conversation, asking about my taking photos. The ensuing interchange went something like this: I asked if photos were permitted; I did not want to be disrespectful. He replied that it was fine. He asked me if I was alone. Yes. Certainly I had left my husband back in England? No No husband, ever. And I am from the United States. American? Yes. I was toute seule (all alone)? Yes. No children? No. No companion? No. Did I want one? Maybe, if the right one came along. Perhaps it could be him. Did I think he was handsome? Oh yes, very handsome. (He was in that no shave for 3 days grizzled kind of way and what was I going to say?), Good, because he thought I was cute. CUTE! Maybe he could be my companion? I am too old for you.

By now I am edging toward the entrance. It was lunchtime, after all. I mentioned that, and he replied that he would be having his lunch in about 8 minutes. (No doubt prepared and put on the table by his long-suffering wife) Then he said, "Madame, au revoir," and held out his hand for me to shake. I shook it, and as I did, he asked if he could have a kiss. No, it's too soon.

All of this took under 3 minutes. This man believes in letting no grass grow under his feet, I guess. Maybe being surrounded all day by the tombstones in the cemetery have made him realize that time is fleeting, but really? Three minutes?!! But he was so good natured that I couldn't get all affronted and huffy. Ah well, if I need a date for the prom, I know where to find him, and hey, it's been a bloody long time since anyone told me I was CUTE.

Memorial to the end of WWII catches late morning shadows

I enjoyed a Caesar salad for lunch. It was similar to what one gets in the States, except it had a lot of onions on it. I had forgotten that in Limoux, it seems all the salads are laden with onions. And I had a glass of wonderful rose--I read somewhere that the better roses are so pale as to be nearly grey. At first I thought she had given me a glass of white--it was that pale. Oh my, was it ever a good glass of wine!

Last leaves of a severely pruned plane tree

Then it was off to the workshop. I had inadvertently stumbled into a nest of Brits; the instructor and all of the students there were British. The workshop accomplished exactly what I expected--I was able to lose myself in the process and not be concerned about the outcome, which is a good thing, because there was a reason all those years ago that I took music. It's frustrating to want to do something so badly and to have absolutely no gift for it. We were painting and gluing, and working with ink, and I had all three things strung from hell to kingdom come. Neat-handed I am NOT. But I did enjoy the company, although it was a little disheartening to learn that these folks had been in France for years and still hadn't learned the language. It's a lesson to go far, far outside one's comfort zone to really learn a new language.

At one point our instructor was relating a story about bras and one client who never wears one, although she most definitely should. Apparently she and her un-bound ways are well known to some of the people who were there in the workshop. The lone man, a lovely Brit who confessed to being 83, very quietly asked, "And where might this be?" We all nearly fell from our stools laughing.

I practically ran to the train station to catch what I thought was the 5:08 back to Carcassonne, but as it turned out, that train runs on Sunday only. So I waited for the next one, due to depart a little after 6:00. By the time we left Limoux, the light was rapidly fading from the sky, and it was dark by the time I got home. The autumn time change brings early evenings. I was tired, really tired, from all the walking I had done. When I look at the distances to and from the train stations, and roaming all over the town of Limoux, I logged a few miles in my New Balances. I was lulled by the regular clacking of the wheels--how I love train travel, especially in the dark. It does wonders to free up my imagination.