SOUTH-WEST France has too much history for its own good. Every city you visit has world-class heritage, its own art museum and probably a famous artist in its cemetery.

Every town you drive through has a small castle or at least a relic of a fortified gatehouse protecting a bridge.

Every village you stop at for ice cream has a story about knights and armies, queens and princesses, priests and miracles.

The area is a glorious mosaic of fields and forests with golden villages and red roofs. But the sheer volume of beautiful ancient buildings can be exhausting.

So, after a week in the Languedoc-Roussillon region - where the Holy Blood and Holy Grail furore and the Da Vinci Code ruckus started - you can be forgiven for feeling like you've had enough history.

CASTLE IN THE AIR: The castle at Carcassonne, restored in 1853, risess above the town and has a bustling wet market which sells anything from fresh bread to plastic swords.

Knights Templar swearing secret oaths to protect offspring of Holy Family - check.

Armies sweeping back and forth building castles, razing castles, pillaging and conquering - check.

Religious groups put down with extreme brutality and burning of villages, sieges and starvation - check.

But nothing prepares you for the castle at Carcassonne, the largest fortified town in Europe.

Declared a Unesco World Heritage Site in 1997, it is the essence of everything a castle should be, a sweeping series of massive walls and towers with pointed roofs.

First fortified by the Romans in 100BC, it has been a castle for over 2,000 years, although finally it was brought down by peace, not war. When a border was established between France and Spain in 1659, there was no need for a castle and it was left to crumble.

Fortunately, the French started restoring it in 1853, thanks to an architect named Eugene Viollet- le-Duc. Now, several parts have been rebuilt, with covered wooden walkways around the battlements, for example, to give an idea of how the castle used to work.

The castle, or cite as the locals call it, sits above the town, or ville basse. From a distance, it looks charming in the Mediterranean sunshine. But as you get closer, it starts to loom over you in a threatening way. A double ring of ramparts sits heavily, solid and impenetrable, while 53 towers gaze sternly down. Everything was designed to exude power and authority.

But inside its thick defensive walls, Carcassonne has the bustle of a wet market in the morning combined with VivoCity on a Saturday afternoon. Even today, 200 people live there.

The narrow streets and cosy squares hum with life, with the smell of fresh bread and strong coffee, lavender and leather, and the chatter of tourists.

The bakers and butchers are still there, but in the place of tanners and wheelwrights, barrel makers and armourers, stores sell jars of jam and honey, toy knights and plastic crowns, soaps and scented candles.

A lot of it would not get through Customs at Changi: It would be hard to explain why you wanted a 2m broadsword or a working crossbow, or what you plan to do with a full suit of armour in Pasir Ris.

But sometimes it is good to be armed, especially in a crowded street.

My wife and I bought our three young sons plastic swords which they wielded with vigour, and that kept the other tourists at bay as we explored.

They scattered at our approach and left us free to wander down quiet side streets and noisy squares, the ecclesiastical calm of the Basilica of Saint Nazaire with a scent of incense still hanging in the gloomy air (where the boys' swords were sheathed), the art galleries and the museums of mediaeval torture device (where they came out again).

Later, we snacked on crepes, thin pancakes smeared with Nutella or strawberry jam or drizzled with lemon juice and dredged with sugar.

For lunch, we bought baguettes and filled them with cheese, ham and tomatoes all sliced with that essential wooden- handled French pocket knife, an Opinel, which you can pick up for a few euros. Cheaper than a sword, and much more useful.

We made our own food because, as is typical in Europe, the prices were startling and a street snack costs the same as a meal in a hawker centre here.

In fact, if you're looking to save some euros, stay in the ville basse rather than the castle in the tired and grubby - but cheap - Bristol Hotel on the banks of the Canal du Midi.

This is the flip side of the historical appeal of France: It is so old that sometimes facilities can be startlingly old too. The long history can also take away the urgency to visit a castle that has been there for so long... and will still be there next year.

But time may not be on your side. France already hosts more tourists than any other country in the world, and more go every year. It makes sense to go before it is overwhelmed by these new invaders and its history is, well, history.

This article was first published in Life!, The Straits Times on April 22, 2008.