The historic city of Carcassonne lies in France’s sun-baked south, a landscape of craggy hills and undulating fields close to the Pyrénées mountains. Rising from the Languedoc plain, the turreted fortifications that surround the town have the air of a fairy-tale fortress.

The lower part of town has a dusty, southern bustle about it, full of shops, markets, outdoor cafés and traffic, while the upper part, much older, is virtually car-free and breathes an ancient, nostalgic tranquillity. Among its ancient buildings is the Hôtel de la Cité, once home to kings and consorts, but now more usually the base for those looking to explore the pleasures of the countryside, whose aspect has changed little since Roman times.

On the arid, stony fields that run down to the Mediterranean, only three crops could thrive in the summer heat: grain, grapes and olives. Progressively, the vine took over in the Midi, as the semi-coastal area from Marseille west to the Spanish border is known.

Two centuries ago, these vineyards produced quality that rivalled the best from the Roman hills, but, by the 1900s, they were churning out oceans of indifferent wine that satisfied the thirst of the northern workers and created great fortunes. Then, in the space of three short generations, the market for gros rouge and over-alcoholic rosés vanished and tens of thousands of hectares were simply abandoned.