by It was blue-sky sunny and brisk. I ask a little more about winter weather. We walked the wide avenues under plane trees on both sides of the canal, and soon we were before the towering stone and metal market of Halles. And then we snaked inside, engulfed at the same time in the blood red cacophony of sensible abundance. The entire cornucopia of French wines and wines in the south of France – oysters through olives to wild boar – was spread across the many stalls, each a full-fledged celebration of meaty pleasures. The faint of heart might not get out of the liveliest market in the south of France. I just did it.
Like so many others worth noting, this happened in Narbonne, the crossroads of southern France. It has been that way since the Romans established it as the capital of their first province north of the Alps. Located where France’s Med coast falls to the south, Narbonne sends the Via Domitia – you may still see a section of the ancient road in front of the cathedral – out to Spain, and the Via Aquitania north-west towards Bordeaux as it is now.
That’s why it’s a great all-season tire. It’s not just the market. Once you’re soaked, you can go almost anywhere. The sea has only a limited way. So are the Corbières hills, the Minervois highlands, the Canal du Midi, Carcassonne and more vineyards (Corbieres, Minervois, Limoux, Fitou, Cabardès) than you could reach in a lifetime of hard work.
But first you should, as we did, stay right where you are, in Narbonne itself. The Latin world lived a high life through the magical and conspiratorial past. The stupendous masonry of the largest Gothic cathedral in the south of France, and the palace of the Archbishop that serves it, tell you all you need to know about the medieval status of the city. About its limits, too. Only the chancel and transept were completed – either because they ran out of money or because the completion would have involved the demolition of the city walls, and they feared the death of the weeping English. Or both, of course.
In any event, it is still a fair old visit. The choir reaches about 130 feet into the sky. Proportions and ornamentation suggest that builders had both an overarching ambition and an awareness of ambition. They were just short-sighted. The beauty ends at the back wall, where the rest of the church should have been. A tunnel-cum-path found us back to our starting point. Outside, I spent almost as many minutes as a monk in the cloisters. When I win the lottery, I will have a set in our house. It’s the only luxury I want.
We made for the house, next to the railway, where the most famous son of Narbonne was born on May 18, 1913. For 60 years, Charles Trenet was the embodiment of the French canon. He wrote and performed around 1,000 songs, and was certainly the most influential artist of the mid-20th-century France. If you are under 40, you may not have heard of him – but you probably know his most famous song, La Mer (Beyond the Sea, in English). It has sold 70 million copies and has been recorded by almost everyone. Robbie Williams sang it for the Finding Nemo soundtrack. Bing Crosby, Django Reinhardt, Bobby Darin (and Kevin Spacey as Darin in the 2004 Darin biopic), and Stevie Wonder all had fun. You can’t say that enough.
The house museum is very impressive, kept as the neat petit-bourgeois house where his mother lived until she died in 1979. Details about Trenet’s life, his friends, their music, are located around the lounge, the dining room, bedrooms and furniture from the 1950s. joie de vivre – he preferred a lunch that lasted between six and 12 hours – and talent. (If in doubt, dial Que Reste-t-il De Nos Amours? on Youtube.) Not mentioned, however, is the man’s war record, which – as with other French light entertainers – was less than glorious. maybe his fans liked us. But there’s a slice of French culture to the visit that I rarely find elsewhere (narbonne.fr/maison-natale-charles-trenet; £3.40).
As mentioned, Narbonne was a Roman provincial capital – and a port – but not much remains to be proved. No arenas or amphitheater, as at Nîmes or Arles. Its contents fill the Narbo Via museum. It fills up great, too. The Norman Foster family designed the place – it opened in 2021 – to tell all the stories of Roman Narbonne in an exciting way. We were there so long that we almost missed lunch.
Arriving in 462 AD – when the Visigoths had come in, destroying everything – we went back to the centre, the swirl of the market and the second loudest of the lunch counters. (The loudest one had no stools available). So did a carafe of La Clape Rouge. The success of RC Narbonne XV – once champions, currently top of French rugby’s third division – was discussed in decibels. The locals have been in trouble since 13th-century Cathar heretics captured the king and Pope and perished. They still play rugby as if they are getting revenge. It is serious business. RC Narbonne may have fallen recently, but it’s still more of a rugby town than almost anywhere else in Britain.
Over the next few days, we turned out on the three-mile beach at the rickety seaside resort of Narbonne Plage (No. 8, £1). It was practically our only footprint in the winter sand. Way out of the season, it was like being backstage after the show. Bus, also, to Fontfroide Abbey (No. 407, £2). Set back into the wooded hills, it is a wonderful place, another place where the Cistercians retreated to do God’s work producing alcohol in beauty spots. The brothers are long gone, but the wines remain fine (fontfroide.com; £11.50).
The landscape – hot, rocky, dry and inflammable in summer – was tempered but remained fruitless. We went to see the most famous musical impressionist from France (Michaël Gregorio, since you asked), then settled for a scotch or two in a bar in the city center. We raised the average age by about 93%. You really should see Narbonne. Drop me a line and I’ll come with you.
Fundamentals
Ryanair (ryanair.com) flies to Béziers from Luton, and to Carcassonne from Stansted and Manchester. Take the bus or train to Narbonne from either airport in an hour or less.
Doubles from £82 at the central, family-friendly Hôtel La Résidence (00 33 4 6832 1941; hotelresidence.fr).
