Last Days In France: Down The Valley Of The Têt

Dark clouds sometimes gather over Le Canigou, the iconic mountain of the Eastern Pyrenees which looms over our village, and during one evening we catch the sound of distant thunder rolling around the towering giants, but Vernet-les-Bains stays dry. The last drop of rain we saw was when the heavens opened in Paris almost three weeks ago; the summer sun has been in charge since then.

Our village of Vernet-les-Bains is so good, its beautiful mountain setting enhanced by the little square where Bar Chez Jean-Louis serves beer to weathered old guys endlessly puffing on cigarettes and the tapas bar next door gives us a little foretaste of the Catalan cuisine which lies ahead. Breakfast is great too: just grab a croissant from Marie the boulanger and take it to whoever is doing coffee this morning, it may be Jean-Louis or it may be someone else, but whoever it is, they don’t bat an eyelid if you bring your own food from Marie’s. 

And who wouldn’t love a village where the chicken rotisserie has a name, and a logo, like this:-

While Vernet-les-Bains is delightful, the neighbouring village of Villefranche-de-Conflent is so picturesque that it threatens to steal the show. Sitting where the River Cady joins the River Têt, hence the “conflent” bit of the name, practically all of the village still sits within the fortified walls with barely a handful of buildings on the outside. The encircling rivers, mountains and walls make it virtually impossible for anything to change here and so this ancient village remains all but untouched by development.

This place is in the heart of historically disputed territory, the many wars between France and Spain rendering these parts both a battleground and a prized possession. Villefranche has been ruled at different times by the Celts, Romans, Visigoths, Moors, the Spanish, the French and Majorca, and only when Catalunya was split between Spain and France and a boundary drawn after the Treaty Of The Pyrenees of 1659 was Villefranche finally placed under permanent French rule.

Such exposure to warfare called for the construction of serious defences, the walls which wrap around the village are double width with passageways between – passageways which enabled its defenders to move unseen by those laying siege and then fire on them as they advanced. These walls are so well preserved that now, for the payment of a small fee for upkeep, you can walk a large part of these ramparts, still hidden from view just as those embattled soldiers were centuries ago.

Walls were not enough though, as Villefranche’s position in the bottom of the valley rendered it vulnerable to attack, and so construction of Fort Libéria was necessary. In came battlement expert and military engineer to Louis XIV, one Sebastian de Vauban, who designed the innovative and peculiarly shaped fort, using the limited hilltop space to great effect. 

Later, in the 1850s and with Napoleon III fearing further onslaughts, and in order to facilitate movement between village and fort, a subterranean staircase was built inside the mountain, through a steeply rising tunnel. Known as the “Tunnel of a Thousand Steps”, though there are actually 734, it’s a pretty remarkable secret passage. We ascend via the exterior stony path and return down to town via this eerie, gloomy stairwell, imagining as we descend the history within the ancient stones of this odd innovation.

Part of the fort’s history is the tale of the Villefranche Poisoners, a group of Catalan ladies imprisoned in the fort after a conspiracy to poison Louis XIV’s representatives in the garrison, in protest at the suppression of Catalunya. The men who appropriated the poison were tortured horribly before execution, but six women charged with concocting the poisons were imprisoned within the fort. Chained to a wall in perpetuity and provided with minimal rations, two of these women survived, incredibly, for more than 35 years – the last one dying after 42 years in chains. Just imagine living for 42 years chained to a wall.

Villefranche-de-Conflent itself is a charming collection of ancient dwellings huddled along tight lanes. Quiet courtyards hide between the houses, the church and its lofty belfry look down on the quaint square, wrought iron signs hang from shopfronts. It’s ridiculously pretty. Admittedly there’s a tourist element to those shops, but, you know, there’s a reason that some places attract more visitors than others – they are special.

It’s a quiet Sunday morning as we leave the Pyrenees behind, for now, and take the train down the Têt valley – journey time 49 minutes, cost 1 euro each – to arrive in the city of Perpignan just as the lunch cafes fill up with families. Perpignan’s shops, and half its restaurants, are shut. Those eateries which are open are obviously getting their just rewards as tables fill up and the carafes are quickly filled with rosé; parents and grandparents eat, drink and chatter while the kids play games, chase off pigeons and then come back to the table when it’s time for ice cream. 

Expecting nothing much more from Perpignan than a one night stand on our journey south, we are surprised and delighted by the beautifully adorned cavernous cathedral, and even more so by the Palais des Rois de Majorque (Palace of the Kings Of Majorca).

The palace is hugely impressive, having been built at the end of the 13th century when Perpignan was the capital of the Kingdom of Majorca, as decreed by King James II of Majorca, which was a province rather than just an island back then. Later, and again after the signing of the Treaty Of The Pyrenees, the French strengthened its fortification – and again it was that man Vauban who was brought in to do the job. Clearly Vauban was worth his wages, with so many of his creations still intact several centuries later. Military architecture as an art form, perhaps?

Away from these sights, Perpignan is, we find, just a little bit edgy. The streets of the old town seem to switch from modern day retail to decidedly unsavoury in a matter of yards: turn the wrong corner here and you are immediately on your guard. Large ragged dogs roam unfettered, odd looking characters lurk in doorways, broken beer bottles lay amid the litter on the paving slabs where inebriated young men swig beer from cans – yet within two minutes and around one corner, smart shops sell designer clothing at inflated prices and there’s not a trace of danger. There barely seems to be a boundary between the two extremes. We get the distinct feeling that it’s best not to wander too far after sundown.

Perpignan is the final call of what has been a rather brilliant French section of this adventure: it’s goodbye now to lavender and sunflower fields, farewell to the wines of Côtes du Rhone and Chataeuneuf du Pape, and au revoir to cassoulet and bouillabaisse. When we wake next morning we will be heading across the border to Spain. Next stop Barcelona.