The Road to Carcassonne: Racing the Rail Lines to Trausse-Minervois

 

After a warm, restless night, it was finally time to catch the fast train to Carcassonne.

But first, breakfast! We headed to Gare de Lyon, aiming for the famous Le Train Bleu - well, actually, the brasserie directly beneath it. Oeufs brouillés, fresh baguette, jam, and a piccolo, set us up for the journey.

News was that rail lines were buckling under the sun. We half-expected to see "Cancelled" flash across the departure boards, but luck was on our side.

When the platform was announced, the usual chaotic scramble began. Of course, our carriage turned out to be way down at the very front of an impossibly long train. But once we finally climbed aboard and sank into our seats, the stress melted away. Cocooned in air-conditioned comfort, we watched the stunning French countryside blur past at impossible speeds. Oh, why on earth don’t we have these trains back home in Oz?

Our easy relaxation didn't last the whole trip, though. We had a ridiculously tight five-minute window to change platforms at Lyon Part-Dieu station. If there is one thing you know about French high-speed trains, it’s that they wait for no one.

But we needn't have worried, the second the doors opened, a young guy helped us with our luggage, and guided us directly to the correct platform. We were literally walking down the aisle to our new seats when the train jolted and set off. Talk about cutting it close. Merci, Monsieur!

Looking out of the window was so nostalgic passing so many places we’ve loved and stayed in over the years. The highlight was passing Sète, instantly triggering memories of the month we spent there, getting lost along the canals, wandering the vibrant markets, and, of course, cheering at the water jousting.

Carcassonne was hot, hot, hot—but of course it was, we were in the south of France in the middle of the hottest heatwave they've ever had! We picked up the keys, walked out to the lot, and discovered the car was a manual. We tentatively set off into the French traffic, desperately trying to balance two ideas at once: drive on the right, press the clutch, drive on the right, press the clutch Oh and which way do we go!

After a few tense stalls and some careful manoeuvering, we eventually tottered our way into the quiet village of Trausse-Minervois. What a joy to pull up outside the Mairie (town hall), where Erin and Milton were waiting for us.

We'd made it and were ready to enjoy, but that is a story for the next blog.