After the spooky night in the cemetery, we were ready for something on the mild side. We headed northwest up D612 and 100 km later arrive in Castres, a city of about 45, 000. It is tucked away and quite isolated, the only city of its size in France not connected to an autoroute.
I had my first experience with Occitan, when we came upon a group of old men speaking the language. Occitan is the closest relative of Catalan and spoken by a small number of mostly elderly people in Southern France. It is a dying language, due to native speakers being encouraged through humiliation and ostracism to only speak French. Occitan speakers refer to the effects of the government’s various “anti-patois” policies as la vergonha -which means shame. I was quite happy to have stumbled upon this pocket of French culture and I was also happy to have been introduced to some new music.
Inspired by our new friends, we headed down l’Avenue Charles de Gaull and checked in at L’Occitan, a sleek and bright hotel. After settling in, we walked down to the Agout River just a few blocks from our hotel. The river bisects the city and is flanked on either side by houses with colorful facades. We rented a rowboat and enjoyed the scenery.
After our trip on the river, we stopped off to see the Castres Catherdral. It was very simple compared to other cathedrals we’ve seen, but it was nonetheless ornate and unique.
Our last site was le Musée Goya, a museum named for famous Spanish painter Francisco Goya, which boasts the largest collection of Spanish paintings in France.
After our long day outdoors, we retired back to the hotel and enjoyed a dinner of “chareuteries des monts de lacaune” (which I think means it was sheep) with our new Occitan speaking friends.
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