Flashback: The Crags of the Cathars

One of the chief sightseeing delights of southern France is visting the Cathar castles.

The Cathars, also called Albigensians, were a renegade branch of the Christian church in Europe early in the second millenium CE. Though at one time they could be found in many places, including Italy and eastern Europe, the fullest flowering of Cathar religious and architectural expression came in the 13th century in the mountain fastnesses of what is now the French region of Occitanie.

Visiting a Cathar castle always makes for a good cardio workout. Because their faith was more or less constantly under siege from the mainstream church, wealthy Cathar lords built their strongholds high atop the most unapproachable crags they could command. It’s a testament to human will and ingenuity that these fortifications could be built at all. Whether you’re a medieval soldier in chainmail or a tourist lugging a backpack and camera, you’re wheezing by the time you make the outer gates.

During our months living in Reynes, Carol and I explored three extensive castle ruins associated with the Cathars — Queribus, Peyrepertuse, and Montsegur.

Famous among the Cathar castles, Montsegur, seat of the Albigensian faith, is most remembered for the manner of its downfall. After a nine month seige beginning in the spring of 1243, the garrison surrendered to Catholic crusaders dispatched by French religious and civil authorities to crush the heretical movement. Roughly 500 Cathar knights, dependents, servants, and other believers were caught in the crusaders’ net. More than 200 of them refused to renounce their faith and were burned to death in a field at the foot of the mountain, beneath the walls of their erstwhile stronghold.

In the aftermath of the seige, the Cathar fortress was pulled down and few traces of it remain. Later medieval fortifications were built on the site, and it is those ruins that you see when you climb the hill of Montsegur. They are impressive in their own right; but it is also still possible to see foundations and other traces of Cathar dwellings that clustered on the slopes skirting the original castle.

Wander the ruins of Montsegur with Carol and Pip »

When Montsegur fell, many of the survivors fled to the castle of Queribus. Originally constructed in the 10th or 11th century as a Spanish possession, by 1244 it was held by a knight with Cathar sympathies. Ultimately, Queribus in turn fell 11 years later when the residents abandoned it ahead of an attack by the crusaders. It is regarded as the last bastion of the Cathars in France.

Queribus is the smallest of the three castles we visited, and my favorite. Its white bones bleaching atop a lonely eminence, the ruin provides glimpses of a citadel that must have been lovely in its heyday. Because of the confined space on the hilltop, the castle is piled up vertically upon itself; after climbing from the parking lot to the front gate, you continue to ascend the various levels of the site until you reach the top of the keep, earning a spectacular view far down to the valley floor.

Our friend Sherry joins us for an assault on Queribus »

Just visible from Queribus on a clear day, the castle of Peyrepertuse is the most extensive of the Cathar fortresses we explored. It was built in the 11th century by the kings of Aragon, and was never attacked by the crusaders. Instead, it was surrendered voluntarily multiple times between French and Albigensian forces as local allegiences shifted.

Tapering to a point on its narrow ridge, the castle’s curtain wall looks for all the world like a tall ship, cresting the heights like a prow carving the ocean swell. Perhaps because it was spared the deadly strife that afflicted other Cathar strongholds, there is a spirit of peace that infuses Peyrepertuse. You feel it in the warm hue of the stone, the wide-open space of the yard, and the contemplative quiet within the chapel walls.

Tamsyn helps us investigate Peyrepertuse »

Remarkably, the afternoon we visited Peyrepertuse, we ran into our friends Mari and Greg and their son Ayden, who had hosted us months earlier in Toulouse. (In fact, in one of the last pictures in the photo gallery, you can see Greg [light green jacket] and Ayden in the background, seconds before Carol and Tamsyn recognized them.) Together, they numbered about half the people we knew in France at the time.

France. It’s a small place, really.

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Flashback: Arles

After leaving Freiburg in August of ’16, and dropping Randall off in Geneva to fly back to the US, Carol and I continued on to France, to stay with our very kind and excellent friends Greg and Mari (and their cool little boy, Ayden) in Toulouse. On the way, we spent an afternoon in Arles, a sun-drenched city in the Camargue area of Provence. Even feeling as low as I did in the wake of Randall’s sudden departure, I was still beguiled by this beautiful old Provençal gem.

Sited on the Rhone River, Arles is the largest city in France by area. It was an important commercial and cultural center in the western Roman Empire, and already an established Christian bishopric in the 1st Century CE. A UNESCO World Heritage site, Arles features a well-preserved Roman theatre and arena, tightly enmeshed within a network of narrow, bustling streets. Their deep shadows and cool stone provide some refuge from the summer’s heat.

A little more recent in origin is the twelfth century Cathedral of Saint-Trophime. I was eager to see the church, featuring prominently as it did in my Art History studies. Saint-Trophime’s deep, handsomely adorned portal adumbrates many features found in later Romanesque and Gothic churches; and a casket on display inside offers one of the best-preserved examples of late Roman figure carving. The church faces onto the Place de la Republique, the city’s governmental hub, which is organized around a soaring obelisk salvaged from the ancient Roman circus.

Arles is also famous for its association with Vincent Van Gogh, who lived and worked there in 1888-89. He featured one of the town’s many night spots in his famous Terrace of a Cafe at Night, now in the Kroller Muller Museum. The cafe is still open, by the way, in the Place du Forum. You can see it, dressed up in yellow paint and awnings, in one of our street photos.

Visit our Arles gallery »

Urgencies

This past Sunday, Carol and I went to Heidelberg for the day. Straddling the placid Neckar River in Baden-Württemberg, the city hosts one of the most impressive castle ruins in Europe. It has also been a college town since the 14th century, when the excellent Heidelberg University was founded in 1386.  We found the city to be beautiful and bustling, and even—despite the legions of visitors on a sunny weekend—quite gracious.

Have a look at our photos from the trip »

It was also my first real immersion in the German Autobahn experience, which was terrifying  sphincter-twisting  nerve-searing interesting.

The Autobahn comes in two flavors: the kind with speed limits (about half the total Autobahn mileage in Deutschland) and the kind without. Traveling on the latter, which I was for maybe half the trip, I posted a personal record by getting our trusty Skoda Yeti up to about 145. That’s kilometers per hour, mind you, but it was still pretty thrilling for me. Of course, at that speed, I had an unending parade of German and Italian performance cars passing me as if I had brought a golf cart to Daytona. But that’s exactly what those cars are made for. It’s actually kind of fun watching a Lamborghini Gallardo drop you like a bad habit on the Autobahn.

Know what else the Autobahn is good for? Bathrooms.

I’ll probably be talking a lot about bathrooms in this blog, because … well, never you mind why. Let’s just say I’m a 58 year old guy, and keep the HIPAA police happy. If you’re coming from a place like the US, where there’s a free public toilet about every half block, you may find Europe a little … cavalier. But on the Autobahn, blessedly, you’ll get treated to a rest stop about every 10 or 15 miles, just like back home.

Anyway, more on that important subject as time goes by.

ABCs

One of the things that I, as a former Art History grad student, looked forward to most ardently about living in Europe was all the medieval masterworks I would see: cathedrals, abbeys, castles and chateaux, altarpieces — you get the picture.

The first great castle I saw — Conwy in Wales — I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Visiting the amazing, quirky Romanesque church of Anzy-le-duc — one of the rock stars of medieval architecture books — was like meeting Elvis (or at least Ian Anderson). And the hits kept coming: Autun, Vezelay, Salisbury, the Tower of London….

But after a while, something odd happened. I could no longer get myself out of bed in the morning to go see a cathedral, unless maybe there was a serious patisserie on offer as part of the deal. What I had come to find is that, in a great many European towns and cities, you almost literally can’t swing a dead cat without smacking a thousand year old building. Or as Garrison Keillor might say, over here miracles of medieval craftsmanship are no more rare and wonderful than rocks.

In our family we’ve even coined a term to describe this satiation on ancient monuments: ABC — “another bloody cathedral” (or castle).

At times, though, there yet comes the occasional architectural gem to shake me out of my torpor and restore my sense of wonder. And today’s destination was just such: Strasbourg Cathedral.

The foundations of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Strasbourg were laid in 1015 AD. It was built over a period of more than 400 years, reaching from the Romanesque through the early and late Gothic periods, and harmoniously incorporating elements of all those styles. For over 200 years it was the tallest building in Europe, and is indeed the tallest building built during the medieval period. And does it soar!

Chancel of Strasbourg Cathedral showing Romanesque influences Column with figure sculptures at Strasbourg Cathedral Stained glass window from the south aisle of Strasbourg Cathedral

Influences from the Romanesque period, as well as perhaps from early Christian and eastern empire churches, can be seen most clearly in the wide, handsome chancel (left, above). The round, gold-painted dome with its hieratic tableau overlooks echelons of painted figures, and rounded arches, as opposed to narrow and pointy ones.

Elsewhere, the church wears a pretty familiar array of style cues from the early and high Gothic, but there are some wonderful surprises as well. The large chamber to either side of the chancel, for instance, features a soaring central column supporting the vaults high above. In the south chamber, the column is fantastically bedecked with holy figures (center, above).

But the true glory of Strasbourg Cathedral is its glass (above, right). Respendent in brilliant reds, mystical dark blues, and a vibrant palette of supporting hues, the windows impart a richness to the church that photos unfortunately are inadequate to capture.

For more pictures of Notre Dame, as well as the lovely, lively old town that surrounds it, check out our Strasbourg gallery.