Tales of the Oreo Express

As it happens, we have three rental cars in our group, two black and one white. Striking out for new adventures each morning, we form a small caravan, generally with Lily and me in front, Bob and Donna in the middle, and Maggie trailing. Sort of a black, white, black sandwich which I dub, “the Oreo Express.”

On our first day of serious exploration, we set out to find two Cathar castles each perched on a mountain top northwest of here. You might describe the Cathars as sort of a splinter group breaking off from the catholic church over -- how you say -- doctrinal issues. When the pope sent an emissary to quell the spiritual discontent, the poor guy was unfortunately executed leading to 300 years of mayhem as the pope launched crusades to put the kibosh on the whole thing. The Cathars, not to be taken lightly, retreated to their fortresses, lording over the region from the highest pinnacles of land this part of France offers.

What we found were the Chateau Queribus and the Chateau de Peyrepertuse, two of the craggiest, most magestic aeries you’re apt to find. Built in the 11th century, these magnificent testaments to human fortitude and dedication are reachable only through great and hair raising effort. And, this is by car! Arriving by a cliff hugging road about the breadth of a fat pencil -- often with no guard rail to discourage an unintentional descent into the valley many hundreds of feet below -- one is exhausted by the mere threat of such danger. For all the ridiculous effort it takes to get up to these retreats, I kept wondering aloud, why didn’t the Catholics just let the Cathars keep their castles and take over everything else. I’m just saying.

But wait. Once parked, now you must take on a vertical hike on pathways clearly unchanged in a millennium. To say they are rocky is to say there are a couple of holes in swiss cheese. One must climb up “steps” some of which seemingly require pole vaulting apparatus to be surmounted. And, once in the castles, you must negotiate skinny, spiral staircases that are helpfully assisted by a lighting condition one might best call pitch black dark.

But, the views! Ah, the views! Incomparable. If you cup your hands on either side of your eyes, you can imagine yourself flying. The valley is so very, very far below, the towns reduced to a smattering of red roofs. In the distance one way, the Mediterranean. In the other, the majesty of the Pyrenees that one can tell are even higher than you are. A lot higher. At the peak of the Chateau de Peyrepertuse, we experience the odd sight of seeing strands of our hair sticking straight up. Great gayety ensues. Many photos are taken. We conclude the static in the air is caused by gathering storms clearly visible from our perch.

Perhaps not the safest place to be in that moment.