As the sky starts to darken, we are ready for our evening meal. A salad dressed with Rogallais cheese is followed by a hefty plate of cassoulet. Arguments over the origins of the dish are enough to bring passionate gourmands to blows but this evening I don’t care who created it. It’s exactly what I need. Piquant Toulouse sausage, haricot beans from the nearby town of Pamiers, and duck confit. I don’t think I’ll be able to manage another morsel but succumb to the temptations of a slice of Ariège croustade: layers of flaky pastry encasing plums. Not long after, I fall into bed, soothed to sleep by the distant lullaby of cow bells.
The Ariège isn’t just about pastoralism though. Saint-Girons, capital of the Couserans, is a thriving place, albeit with a laid-back air that befits the Ariège. Its streets are lined with cafés and small bespoke shops which demand you linger and browse. Visit on a Saturday and you will get the true measure of Saint-Girons as the legendary market unfolds along the Champs-de-Mars on the banks of the River Salat. The stalls are set up beneath the broad plane trees which offer seasonal cover and the variety of wares on offer is staggering. Alongside professional vendors selling cheese from a refrigerated truck or the butcher offering cuts of meat fresh from local farms, is an old lady with a basket of potatoes, a small bunch of carrots and a chicken which looks older than her. She sits on her stool, constantly in conversation, occasionally checking to make sure the chicken hasn’t escaped.