A space for reflection
On Victoria Street, I watched people line up to photograph themselves in front of a location widely promoted as the inspiration for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter novels. What fascinated me was that J.K. Rowling has publicly denied the connection. Nobody in the queue seemed particularly concerned. The goal wasn’t to verify the story. It was to participate in it.
That tension—between the Edinburgh that actually exists and the one people come to find—followed me through the entire city.
One of the highlights of my recent trip with Alliance Française of Washington in Toulouse was our day trip to Carcassonne—a place I had heard so much about but had never seen for myself. I expected something impressive, even picturesque. What I did not expect was its sheer scale. Carcassonne is far larger, more enveloping, and more physically demanding than I imagined—a vast, medieval city carved from stone—and all the more memorable for it.
Its origins stretch back to Roman times, but most of what we see today reflects medieval fortifications later restored by Eugène Viollet-le-Duc in the 19th century. His restoration was brilliant but controversial due to his use of northern-style conical slate roofs.
Passing through the main gates, you immediately understand why this site mattered so much strategically. This was not merely a town; it was a statement of power.
Anyone visiting should be prepared: there are many stairs, and not gentle ones. Some are narrow, steep, and circular, twisting tightly upward along the ramparts. These passages feel unchanged by time, and climbing them is part of the experience. The reward is the view—sweeping countryside on one side, rooftops and stone lanes on the other—and a deeper appreciation for the fortress’s vastness.
Walking the walls makes clear just how extensive Carcassonne really is. Photographs do not prepare you for how long the ramparts stretch or how many towers punctuate the skyline. For all the fortification, the Cité holds quieter, spiritual treasures.
Located near the Château Comtal, the Basilique Saint-Nazaire-et-Saint-Celse is a place of striking calm and beauty. Often overshadowed by the walls themselves, the basilica deserves slow attention. Its stained glass—among the finest in southern France—fills the space with filtered light, offering a quiet counterpoint to the militaristic architecture outside.
It is a place that invites reflection, and for me it became one of the most moving stops of the day.
Nearby, the small cemetery of the Basilique parish makes a powerful, somber statement. Its unexpected stillness grounds the grandeur of Carcassonne in something more human and final. Surrounded by ancient stones, it reminds you that this place was not only defended and restored—it was lived in, suffered in, and mourned in.
Another surprise was the Théâtre Jean-Deschamps, an open-air theater set within the walls of the fortress. It is genuinely impressive—grand, atmospheric, and beautifully integrated into its surroundings. Standing there, it was easy to imagine a summer evening performance under the stars, stone walls glowing as music or drama fills the space.
I would love one day to return and see a performance there. It feels like one of those rare venues where history and art genuinely converse.
Carcassonne is undeniably a major tourist destination, but it handles this role well. Just outside the walls, in the lower city (Ville Basse), the nearby town offers many restaurants, and the quality is excellent. After a long morning of climbing and walking, I sat down to a traditional cassoulet, the signature dish of the Languedoc region—rich, hearty, and deeply satisfying. It was both delicious and filling, exactly the kind of meal that feels earned after a day like this.
Carcassonne is not just something you see—it’s something you climb, walk, feel, and absorb. Its preservation is remarkable, its scale surprising, and its quieter moments—the basilica, the cemetery, the theater—linger longest in memory.
If you are in Toulouse and have a day to spare, Carcassonne is well worth the journey. Just bring good shoes, a sense of curiosity, and time enough to let the stones speak.
As a lover of France and its language, walking into the Comédie-Française feels like stepping into the heart of French culture. Founded in 1680 by decree of Louis XIV, it is the world’s oldest active theater company and the only state theater in France with its own permanent troupe of actors.
Its main stage, the Salle Richelieu, stands within the Palais-Royal complex in the 1st arrondissement. The setting is both grand and intimate — a space steeped in history yet alive with contemporary energy.
Often called La Maison de Molière, the theater honors the playwright most closely tied to its legacy. Though Molière died before the company was formally created, the Comédiens-Français still perform his plays and pay tribute to him each January 15.
The Comédie-Française is often associated with the classical repertoire, but creation has always been central to its mission. In 2023, I saw a modern staging of Médée d’après Euripide that showed just how vital and daring the troupe remains.
If you speak French, it’s worth buying a ticket. Sitting in that gilded hall, you’re not just a spectator — you’re part of a living tradition more than three centuries old.
