Here you don’t want to go over the speed limit at all.
On the contrary, you want to drive even slower, because every turn, every landscape, every cozy family estate, of which there are many on this road, seem to ask you to stop and look at them. “Admire me!”
And that was why we came here. Our friends, after a week of
getting to know each other, kindly trusted us with their Smart, which we took off for a ride that same morning. Just like that, wherever our eyes looked.
Now this was not an excursion. We were just driving together, breathing in the spring charm of old Europe, permeated with fresh coolness and warm
natural smells. So we drove through several villages, when
we unexpectedly found ourselves on a mountain near the ancient 13th-century town of Najac.
We walked. We looked around. We read the signs and inscriptions. The whole
town was plastered with “mayoral elections”. In a town of 600 people, there was only one candidate. It was the mayor of the town. His portraits were hanging everywhere where a piece of paper could fit without spoiling the appearance of the building. The portraits conveyed the features of this elderly, respectable gentleman with absolute precision. His thin face was adorned with graying hair and a straight, long moustache. In the photo, as in life, he was serious and slightly drunk, which we could see for ourselves immediately.
He came out of his house, which stood right on the main street along which we were walking.
“Good morning, Monsieur Mayor!” we greeted him, as if we were residents of the town.
“Good morning!” he answered primly, not at all embarrassed, straightened his moustache, and continued the conversation with the main and only electrician of the town.
“We already know who will be our mayor!” I did not say this because I did not know the language, but I really wanted to do it, of course, jokingly.
We climbed further. One narrow street snaked through the entire
city right to the path leading to the castle. There, the occasional tourists wandered, quietly
talking. Local residents opened shops. Local cats sat and basked in the sunspots, from the sky covered with light
clouds. Local roosters crowed rural melodies every now and then.
I left Sveta on the path, and decided to go around the castle. But it turned out
not so easy. First, I made my way through thorny bushes. Then I looked for a
passage in a blank wall, one end of which looked into the cliff. Then
I stood on the edge of the cliff and looked at the valley, which from this place had a
especially beautiful view. Then the most difficult part – I had to crawl along the sheer wall of the castle and not fall into the cliff.
A little effort, and I found myself on a stone platform covered with moss. On one side there was a wall. On all the others, an abyss. And then I suddenly
felt fear. I was isolated. Time, which had frozen in this deserted place, suddenly fell upon me. Everything that in any way
resembled modernity had disappeared. There was no power line, no railroad, no paved highway. I only heard the pressure
of this echoing silence.
This entire centuries-old mass now squeezed me, now lifted me up like a feather. I
felt the warmth and cold of this current with my skin, as if I had entered
a river that was constantly changing its direction, temperature and density of water.
So clearly, simply and mercilessly I was squeezed and released and again
immersed. But I quickly got used to this phenomenon and began to enjoy it. I
felt how centuries change, how landscapes and river beds change. And I
saw how indestructible stones are. How strong the mortar is. How faithful the hands
of the builders of this castle are. Through the silence I heard their voices. I felt
how the stones vibrated under their tools and the hooves of the Templar horses
riding into the castle gates. How the days and years fit into the wall
on which I now stand.
I ran my palm over the 13th century. I took a piece of moss between my fingers and felt its
smell. A soothing aroma today on the solid foundation of centuries. Then I
clung with my hands to a small ledge and in two movements found myself on the slope
of the ravine adjacent to the wall.
It was already quite flat, and on its green grassy slope flowers grew. Small, completely wild, light-red tulips, lemon-colored daffodils, clover inflorescences. I was surprised and touched. How could time
not crush these vulnerable flowers. Why all of a sudden? I am a guest here, and
they live here. And this bird and the cat on the stairs leading to the castle, and
the chickens that the castle caretaker keeps right here in the small courtyard
at the museum. They live here. I will not touch all this. I will simply pass by, and the contemplation of these simple, long-established joys will remain a little in me, like the massive breath of time.
I returned to the entrance to the castle scratched, but happy. We went down through the courtyards. Here the roofs of the houses were level with the cobblestone road. Multi-tiered gardens and ruined walls covered with greenery created an extraordinary atmosphere of quiet, measured happiness. Everything was one step away. Step, stop, enjoyment of the charm of the place. We climbed for a long time through the quietest and most secret places of Chateau de Najac, until our stomachs began to rumble.