France, part III – la belle Toulouse

(A/N: And that's the last of my entries from my old blog, for now. Wow. Didn't take as long as I expected. The tricky part is getting to know how to operate your new blog, all of that boring technical stuff. Once you've got that under your belt, the rest is child's play.)


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“Life is filled with strangers who shape our lives, both good and bad. All the people you meet leave a piece of themselves with you.” (source)

I was browsing through some travel blogs whilst planning my Polski jaunt this afternoon, and this particular paragraph really struck a chord with me. I think I’m going to write a very emotional post when I get to the Barcelona part of my travels (which is the next one, as a matter of fact). The hard thing is deciding how much of myself I’m going to put into it, since a lot of it was pretty personal (in a good way though, not bad, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking!). Even though I adored all the people I want to write about, I think I’d feel weird if I were them, and I was reading my blog, and came across a sentence describing me as “having the cutest socks ever, and a smile to die for.” (A/N: This is just a fictional example. FYI, all of the people I met had great smiles, and I didn’t notice the pattern of their socks, or if they were even wearing any in the first place.) Can’t have too much of a good thing. When you’re on holiday and you’re meeting lots of new people from parts of the world that you’ve never been to yourself, it’s an exhilarating experience. You observe them, you analyse them, you hang on to their every word, you put their thoughts and actions into a cultural context, you find yourself referring to them by their nationalities, you watch them for stereotypes (I plead guilty to this. Very, very guilty) and you formulate opinions of them. And you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see them again. Adding each other on facebook is a luxury exclusive to the 21st century traveller (I’m thinking Before Sunrise now, and the fact that the first film was shot in the 90s, and they agreed not to exchange landlines/addresses. What would they have done in today’s world!), if you can call it a “luxury.” It’s a bittersweet feeling when you talk to each other on skype/facebook/whatsapp/email, but deep down inside you know that the possibility of you meeting up again in person is slim, and if you meet again, you’ll still have to say goodbye. Before you know it, your relationship fades into that of liking each other’s drunk Friday night pictures, or cheesy Suarez memes. (For the record, I do not have any drunk pictures. )

But enough with the commiserating, and on with my travel log/blog/diary/post.

The Fondation Bemberg, an art gallery that offers free admission to students for its permanent exhibition.

I then went over to the Saint-Étienne, in the heart of the old city (Carmes), and got my very first taste of Continental gothic cathedrals. It was a magnificent piece of work, very calming. I spent quite a while here finding my inner peace before moving on to my next destination.

Outside the Saint-Etienne, otherwise known as the Toulouse Cathedral

Inside the Cathedral

Be sure to check out the organ, suspended in mid-air.

Walked over to the Saint-Cyprien side of la Garonne for a light lunch and nap. Probably one of my favourite parts of this entire trip. In retrospect, I did lots of outdoor napping when I was in France, but in all of the other countries, my schedule was either too packed (no time to lounge around since I had about 8 castles to visit in one morning), the weather was not right (too hot, no trees, no river, raining etc.), or it simply wasn’t safe enough for me to let my guard down (yes that’s you I’m talking about, Romania..and quite possible a tincy bit of Iberia too). But France…France was just so right for everything. It may have set the bar rather higher than expected. Everyone, and I do mean everyone I know, who went to northern France Paris either got mugged, looted or pickpocketed, so I was initially wary of everyone who came close or spoke to me. It took me about half a day to realise that I was grievously mistaken and that Toulouse was, in all honesty, probably the safest city I’ve ever been in all my travels.

With the Pont-Neuf in the background

Another thing that made Toulouse special for me was the fact that it’s not a touristy place, but it certainly deserves to be, much more so than some other places I’ve been. It’s a comfortably-paced city that’s very tourist-friendly and stress-free, and it also boasts a wealth of rich cultural heritage sights. Isn’t that what every traveller longs for, the best of both worlds? When I first arrived in Toulouse, I was amazed by how clear the air was, and how empty the streets were – empty’s not really the word I’m looking for here, but when you’ve lived in capital cities for the whole of your life, you get used to people and vehicles strewn – no, packed – all over the place. In Toulouse, you can walk everywhere without being jogged by someone’s elbow/overtaken/pushed/shoved/nudged. The cars do not play tetris with bicycles and motorcycles and pedestrians. The people were friendly and obliging and the food of course was wonderful – although the laurel wreath for culinary delights still has to go to Romania. How I do miss Moldovian stew and polenta.

When I walked back to Pont-Neuf, I saw this, which made me laugh. Although Jean-Luc Picard was supposed to be French, after all.

"Make it so."

The Esquirol, located in the city centre, close to the oldest part of the city, Carmes. Medieval, cobbled streets and a slew of fascinating shops.

I had booked a  boat cruise down the Canal du Midi with Paladine Boat Tours at the tourist office. It was a very good price, in my opinion – 6 euros, and the cruise lasts for 70 minutes. The captain was a very friendly man and the scenery…Well, the scenery just blew me away. It felt like I’d stepped into Middle Earth, into the realm of Thranduil Elvenking. Or probably Lothlorien. Unsurprisingly, the Canal is also an UNESCO World Heritage site.

The breathtakingly beautiful Canal du Midi, which commenced construction in 1667

It was quite extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I don’t suppose I ever shall again. The waters were quite still, and mirrored the overhanging boughs perfectly.

There was a bicycle trail along the Canal, which I walked for an hour before deciding I wanted dinner. I took another nap by the canal before going home.

Where the Canal du Midi begins

This shop sells the best paninis I have ever tasted in my life. After the second day, I started going to this shop almost exclusively, and tried practically everything on the menu. The shopkeepers were very nice.

It’s located on the Rue Saint Rome.

On the fifth day, I bade adieu to Toulouse and took a bus to Barcelona. The journey was hot and boring, though cheap (all other alternate methods cost over 60 pounds, while eurolines cost me 20 euros) and I managed to arrive safely in Barcelona Sants at about 4 in the afternoon, after a 7-hour journey. But that of course is another story.

I really liked Toulouse, and I think it’s far too underrated. People go to places like Barcelona and Paris all the time, but you barely ever know anyone who goes to southern France, apart from the obvious places like Avignon, Lyon and Marseilles. I’ve strayed off the beaten path quite a bit, but it’s opened my eyes up to new vistas, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m writing this at my desk in London Bridge now, and the sky outside is blue as speedwells, and I’m reminded of Capitole in the early evening hours; its resplendence in the rays of the slowly setting sun, children laughing and running in the plaza, a man playing the Blue Danube on his accordion, me and my panini. Thinking of Barcelona and the days to come, those days in the future that are now in the past, those early summer days that will never come again and thrive only in sweet, obscure memory.

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, in joy thou hast lived!

(A/N: Have a feeling that I’ll get VERY depressed when I start writing my Barcelona entries. I already feel kind of lousy now. Am going out to get some Ben and Jerry’s to cheer myself up. People automatically assume that travellers are a flighty bunch, that we’re so much better at saying goodbye because we’re always on the move. And that’s just not true. We travel because we want to find the people we fell in love with (I mean this in the broadest sense of the term, in a completely platonic context) from our previous journeys; that Scandinavian boy with the disarming smile and tousled hair who shared your passion for Indiana Jones, especially Raiders of the Lost Ark; the Irish girl who debated Freud and Foucault with you in the hostel all night and whom you ended up going out for a beer with; the Romanian boy whom you talked to all night using google translate because you couldn’t speak Romanian and he couldn’t speak English, and you somehow ended up singing the Numa Numa song together. Alors, sometimes you do find them, but then you have to say goodbye again, and the cycle begins anew.

And where does that leave us?

OK, I know I’m rambling and incoherent. I’d better just go to Sainsbury’s now.)