It was a blue sky, sunny and vibrant. I don’t ask much more of the winter weather. We walked along the wide avenues under the plane trees on either side of the canal and soon found ourselves in front of the tall stone and metal market of Halles. And then we crept in, immediately engulfed by the red-blooded cacophony of sensual abundance. The entire bounty of southern France wine and vittles – from oysters to olives to wild boar – was spread across dozens of stalls, each a frontal celebration of carnal pleasures. The weak will may never escape the liveliest market in the French south. I just made it.
Like so many other things worth mentioning, this happened in Narbonne, the crossroads of the French south. This has been the case ever since the Romans established it as the capital of their first province north of the Alps. Located where France’s Mediterranean coast dips south, Narbonne sends the Via Domitia – you may still see a bit of the old road in front of the cathedral – into Spain, and the Via Aquitania northwest to what is now Bordeaux.
That’s why it’s such a great all-season base. It’s not just the market. Once you’re full, you can go pretty much anywhere. The sea is but a limited path. That includes the Corbières hills, the Minervois highlands, the Canal du Midi, Carcassonne and more vineyards (Corbières, Minervois, Limoux, Fitou, Cabardès) than you could possibly get around in a lifetime of effort.
But first, like us, you have to stay where you are, in Narbonne itself. Latin life took a noisy course through a past both miraculous and conspiratorial. The astonishing stonework of southern France’s largest Gothic cathedral and its associated Archbishop’s Palace tell you everything you need to know about the city’s medieval status. Also about its limits. Only the choir and transept were finished – either because they had run out of money, or because completion would have meant a partial demolition of the city walls, and they were terrified of the marauding English. Or both of course.
Anyway, it’s still a pretty old visit. The choir reaches about 40 meters towards the sky. Proportions and decoration suggest that builders shared both an overarching ambition and a consciousness of the sublime. They simply lacked foresight. The splendor ends at a back wall, where the rest of the church should have been. A tunnel-cum-corridor took us back to our starting point. Outside, I spent almost as many minutes as a monk in the cloisters. If I win the lottery, I’ll have a set built at our house. It’s the only luxury I crave.
We went to the house on the railway line where Narbonne’s most famous son was born on May 18, 1913. For about sixty years, Charles Trenet embodied French chanson. He wrote and sang about a thousand songs, and was certainly the most influential popular artist in the mid-1920secentury France. If you’re under 40, you may not have heard of him, but you probably know his most celebrated 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), plus Stevie Wonder all had a crack at it. You can’t say that about many songs.
The house museum is impressively unimpressive and is preserved as the neat petty-bourgeois house where his mother lived until her death in 1979. Scattered throughout the living room, dining room, bedrooms and 1950s furniture are details of Trenet’s life, friends, music, zest for life – he preferred lunches from six to noon – and talent. (If in doubt, call Que Reste-t-il De Nos Amours? on YouTube.) Not mentioned, however, is the dude’s wartime record, which – like that of other French light entertainers – wasn’t as glorious as we fans had it might like it. But there’s a slice of French culture in the visit that I rarely encounter elsewhere (narbonne.fr/maison-natale-charles-trenet; £3.40).
As mentioned, Narbonne was an important Roman provincial capital (and port city) but there is not much more to prove. No arenas or amphitheatres, like in Nîmes or Arles. What is there fills the Narbo Via Museum. Also fills it excellently. The people at Norman Foster designed the place – which opened in 2021 – to tell all the stories of Roman Narbonne in a moving way. We were there so long that we almost missed lunch.
When we arrived in 462 AD – when the Visigoths had invaded and ruined everything – we headed back to the center, the swirl of the market and the second loudest of the lunch counters. (The loudest had no stool available.) Steak, black pudding, fries and salad flew over the zinc. This also applied to a carafe of La Clape rouge. The fortunes of RC Narbonne XV – once champions and currently at the top of French rugby’s third division – were discussed in decibels. The locals have been haughty since the 13thecentury Cathar heretics took on king and pope and lost. They still play rugby as if they want revenge. It’s a serious matter. RC Narbonne may have fallen recently, but the place remains more raucously a rugby town than almost anywhere else in Britain.
Other days we rode the bus to the three-mile beach at the ramshackle seaside resort of Narbonne Plage (no. 8, £1). Our footprints were almost the only footprints in the winter sand. Well out of season it was like being backstage after the show. Also by bus to Fontfroide Abbey (no. 407, £2). Nestled in wooded hills, it is a beautiful setting, another place where the Cistercians retreated to do God’s work by producing alcohol in beautiful places. The brothers are long gone, but the wines remain fine (fontfroide.com; £11.50).
The landscape – hot, rocky, dry and flammable in summer – had calmed, but remained unyielding. We visited France’s foremost musical impressionist (Michaël Gregorio, as you ask) and then settled for a whiskey or two in a bar in the city center. We have increased the average age by approximately 93%. You really have to see Narbonne. Give me a call and I’ll come with you.
Essentials
Ryanair (ryanair.com) flies to Béziers from Luton, and to Carcassonne from Stansted and Manchester. From either airport, take the bus or train to Narbonne in an hour or less.
The central, family-run Hôtel La Résidence has double prices from £82 (00 33 4 6832 1941; hotelresidence.fr).