Collias is a medieval village in southern France and is everything you expect a medieval village to be. It straddles a picturesque river, the Gardon, just a few kilometers upstream from the first century Roman aqueduct, the Pont du Gard.
Collias traces its origins back to Ancient Greece; it has shady squares and limestone dwellings and stone alleyways and chic, sophisticated cafes.
In the surrounding hills, grand hikes take you through landscapes cut by precipitous gorges topped with plateaus of pure limestone. Nearby there are caves with evidence of habitation dating to the Paleolithic era.
It’s hardly surprising. You can’t blame humans, whether ancient or modern, for wanting to live amongst the hills of Collias.
A forgotten gem
Located in the Gard Department of Languedoc-Roussillon, just a short distance from Provence, Collias is home to the remarkable Chateau de Collias. For much of the past century, this historic 11th century chateau stood abandoned, its ivy-clad walls concealing interiors overrun with brambles – a silent witness to time and neglect.
This in itself is nothing unusual. There are hundreds of abandoned chateaus strewn across France, though precise numbers are hard to come by. Some say there are thousands. They lie hidden, reclaimed by nature, the poor cousins of the gloriously restored examples we all know and covet, a parallel narrative of decay and neglect.
These abandoned places, over time, have become the stuff of myth and legend.
The French Revolution of 1789 started the decline with its rejection of the notion of monarchy and aristocracy. These abandoned places, over time, hastened by two world wars, have become the stuff of myth and legend; enigmatic relics of an era long gone.
The chateau is now the home of Christophe Tailleur and Philippe Huber. They used to live in Strasbourg, Alsace, a long way to the northeast of Gard near the German border, and were living pretty well. They owned restaurants, and had renovated a charming hotel not far from Strasbourg Cathedral, the Hotel Rohan. But something was missing. Something monumental.
The project begins
In 2012 they discovered Collias’ ugly duckling, a 3,000-square-meter chateau, parts of which dated to the 11th century with various Second Empire additions from the 19th century. It had been on the market for 10 years because the daunting prospect of its renovation had routinely scared away any potential buyers.
Tailleur and Huber became obsessed with it and approached the family that had owned it for generations. Negotiations dragged on for the next seven years, a testimony to two men’s indomitable, determined vision. Finally, in 2019, they clinched the deal. The ruin was theirs.
They moved in on day one of its restoration.
“We didn’t know where to start,” Tailleur recalls. “There was no electricity for the first three years, and it was freezing inside; in winter it was just 11 degrees.”
The daunting prospect of its renovation had routinely scared away any potential buyers.
The first year surveyors drew up plans for each floor and every tiny niche, while archaeologists busied themselves determining the site’s historic value.
In the meantime, Tailleur and Huber rolled up their sleeves and poured themselves into what looked like some impenetrable backwater – the 11-hectare garden that hadn’t been maintained in decades. Ultimately, it would be redesigned according to the original 18th century plans.
A local architect, Gabrielle Welisch, came up with the chateau’s final layout, and for years the site swarmed with dozens of tradespeople and artisans.
A miraculous transformation
The restaurant came first, opening in November 2022, and it was clearly designed with some lofty gastronomic ambitions. The first six rooms opened the following year. There are now a total of 14.
The rooms are individually and sumptuously furnished, and each bathroom has its own individual frescoes, painted freehand on ceramic tiles in 2023 by the acclaimed painter Thomas Henriot.
Classical music performances are held here too, featuring world-renowned artists. The chateau is also a museum, with space enough to house the burgeoning collection of furniture, artifacts and curiosities of its owners, accumulated over a lifetime of travel.
The chateau’s transformation is miraculous. Everything – its walls, floors, facades and some beautiful ceiling frescoes, plumbing, electricity and the replacement of many of its windows – took years. The interior, frozen in time since the Napoleonic era, was respected.
Though a secluded world unto itself, the chateau is intimately a part of village life.
You’d expect nothing less in a building with such an enviable pedigree, with previous owners being the Marquis de la Chapelle, and Napoleon I. Louis XII stayed here too. More than just another chateau, it’s a repository of French history.
Though a secluded world unto itself, the chateau is intimately a part of village life. Located just a meter away from the rear wall of an adjoining church, a gate in its garden wall connects it to what looked to me like someone’s driveway, while the main entry opens directly into the village’s heart.
Dinner in the chateau’s beautiful restaurant L’hirondelle was memorable. Their seven course signature menu included a cucumber ravioli, shrimp in a Tagetes vinaigrette, lamb chops and local chards stuffed with Provencal delights, and a rhubarb confit sprayed – at your table – with a garden rose perfume.
Wine pairing was offered, and there was a deliciously creamy Pelardon, a local goat cheese served with peppercorns and flowering herbs.
Fit for a king
But the chateau is still not finished. The latest room is a three-level retreat inside the chateau’s 11th century round tower, its Chambre Triplex du Pigeonnier.
It was still being renovated when Tailleur led me up its original stone spiral staircase. It’s on three levels, the first floor containing a living room, toilet and Italian-styled shower; the second level has the bedroom with a king bed; and the third level is the rooftop, which opens onto a huge terrace with deckchairs, a parasol and 360-degree views over Collias and the surrounding countryside. A retreat within a retreat – a hideaway of epic and historic proportions.
My favorite room is its lounge, an elongated red room just in from the terrace. This is one of the oldest parts of the chateau, added in the 12th century just off the tower. It had a lot of water damage, so its 1.2-meter thick walls were scraped back to the bare stone, a process that revealed its antiquity, its stones fitting together with absolute precision, typical of the era.
More than just another chateau, it’s a repository of French history.
The room was restored in the Napoleonic style, its painted First Empire-era ceiling depicting various hunting scenes with game, fruit, fish – and even a bottle of Chianti.
The room has a wealth of period and antique furniture including an ebony and blackened pearwood cabinet with bone and ivory marquetry from the Napoleon III era, but my favorite piece was a late-1700’s harp made by the acclaimed harp maker Jean Louvet.
Its soundboard has seven maple ribs, and there’s some beautiful gilding along its neck and parts of the arm and decorated with floral motifs, scrolls and flowery cartouches.
I love this place. Not so much because of its five stars, or its gastronomy, or its gardens and frescoes. Mostly, I think, because of the monumental audacity of its owners, who bet their lives on bringing it back to life and the fact they choose to live here in the sort of place that Napoleon, Louis XII, and now you – just for a time – can also call home.
