The courtyard of Hôtel Le Mosaïque promised a warm sunny day, but having exited the sheltered streets of Narbonne I was greeted by a strong cold wind against my side Accessible by a rough dirt track, or had I known of it, a road from the far side, three windmills sit on the ridge separating me from Nissan-lez-Enserune. That hardly a breeze blew up there felt something of a slight given the structures at hand and the cold sweeping through the valley below. Like windmills on a ridge, a medieval castle in the middle of a town warrants investigation. Visible over the tremendous ramparts, a handful of new windows have been installed on the top floor. Lights are lit within. There is no name, nor historical record, on any of its four sides, just a simple “PROPRIÉTÉ PRIVEE”. Above the roofline, a canon points over the village. Emerging from a patch of forest, a man stands smiling, eyes my panniers, and watches me pass. On my right: A fifteen foot tall fresco on the side of a barn depicts a woman and her cat.
