The trouble is that if I were to find myself in Carcassonne it is unlikely I would ever leave.
50 years ago is the last time I was there.
It was August.
I was hitchhiking with a university friend.
Having arrived at Carcassonne we found ourselves on the ramparts, as night fell, with a couple of bottles of red wine, some salami, a large chunk of cheese, a baguette and a kilo of peaches.
Looking south towards the Pyrenees there were sunflower fields and cypress trees, a full moon rising and, in the distance, the silhouette of the mountains.
It was balmy, it was beautiful, the only noises were of cicadas and the susurration of the warm wind and, in the old town, the murmur of chatter, laughter and music.
Can you now can see why I cannot contemplate the temptations of Carcassonne?
I fear Carcassonne's siren song would shipwreck me and I would go no further.