Well that was funny! I had just finished typing (yesterday, at the Madison airport) how I was aiming for everything to be completely calm, unrushed, and here I was in Detroit, less than an hour later, dashing to the gate of an earlier flight to Amsterdam, working my best smile to get them to put me on it. Since I have only a carryon, they let me do it. Whoa, I suddenly needed to quickly wind up the day's Ocean post and send it flying before my own takeoff!
The flight to Amsterdam was especially lovely because I was so pleased to be on it. And it was fast. Good winds and all that. But sleep was not going to come easily (try: at all), given the fact that by my Madison clock, we took off at five and arrived in Amsterdam shortly after midnight. You want a chance at sleep, stick with the later flight.
In Amsterdam things came to a grinding halt. Yes there is an earlier flight to Toulouse. No they wont put me on it. "It's overbooked" -- says the agent. I get out my computer, go to the KLM airline website and show that I could purchase a seat on that flight right now. So how can it be overbooked? Blah blah blah, catching up with things post Covid blah blah blah. Had I been on the phone, I would have hung up and tried for another agent. At the airport, this was not possible.
So the question is, should I sit and wait the now six remaining hours? (It took an hour to figure out that I can't fly out earlier.) Or should I go into town? In younger years, I would have chosen the latter. Indeed, I have gone into town here, just under these circumstances many decades ago. Those were days when dragging a suitcase through a city was nothing to me. When jumping on a tram was a breeze. Days when you didn't have to go through a tedious security check before reentering the gate area.
Still, six hours? All those lovely museums, canals, coffee shops...
No, I stay put. Masked. Nearly the only one at a very busy airport hiding behind a KN95. Reassuringly, the agent tells me -- you're not the only one stuck here for a very long time. Well fine, but you could have had one less person at the busy airport had you let me get on that flight.
(busy airport)
In the afternoon I'm on the plane and I think how grateful I am that everything has been so uncomplicated. Early arrivals, departures, no line at passport control -- all this would have been golden for anyone passing through Amsterdam this summer (I have read that the chaos here was.. remarkable). So, I sit back in my comfy seat and look out the window and in the space of an hour we fly over the Netherlands, Belgium, and finally France, and l'Occitane.
(It's hazy to the south, but still, I see that band on the horizon: the Pyrenees, touching the clouds with their jagged peaks.)
Toulouse. Time to say a few words about the city. First impressions are always important and Toulouse is easy to warm up to because for one thing, it's toasty warm here (and it will remain thus til the end of the month). 80F plus (28C). I take a taxi to my hotel (a very short and very inexpensive ride). I'm staying at the Soclo. It's a fairly new place (in an 18th century building)...
... and I've been curious about it ever since I decided to come here. The people I've been corresponding with seem super enthusiastic. They offer their favorite eating suggestions which honestly sound a lot better than what you're likely to find yourself, doing internet searches. And the hotel itself? Lovely. Very understated...
(my room)
(my view...)
... but with stunning public spaces. Including a garden in the back with lights and tables and a calm that you would not expect in a city this big.
The hotel person tells me -- you can swim. Our pool is still open. I didn't bother even bringing a bathing suit because normally the pool closes in September.
So, it's not typically this warm in October?
No! This is a first. It's scary.
I take a brief walk to the Capitole. I want to ask a few questions at the tourist office there. So, a few pictures of the heart of older Toulouse. (There is definitely also a new Toulouse -- the city is home to France's aerospace industry and Boeing's competitor, the Airbus.)
Initially I think -- my, but the old town sort of looks like Krakow.
Until it doesn't look like it at all.
There are such crowds on the main square that I give up on taking pictures. Can't be done. Besides, there is a wine fair right smack in the center and so much of the open space is taken up with makeshift tents. For now, let's just look at the side streets.
I head then to the river. I'm definitely hitting the hot spots here for Saturday afternoon strolls. Everyone is taking in the unusually warm sunshine.
It's really getting close to dusk by the time I get back to my hotel. This brief walk is all I can afford to do today. But, I'm here for three nights. And I may do a side trip out of town. Or not. Toulouse itself offers great walking possibilities, including by the River Garonne and (this is definitely a bonus in my eyes) along my beloved Canal du Midi. (It's not really mine, but I fell in love with it the first time I set foot in Languedoc, excuse me, in l'Occitane now 16 years ago.) I'll decide tomorrow.
For now, I go out to the garden and have a Negroni. Not exactly a L'Occitane special but close enough.
And I exhale. It was a very long trip!
At 7:30, I make my way to Franquette, where I eat my first Toulousian dinner. The restaurant describes itself as a restaurant locavore et sans chichi: for locavores and without frills. Tables, packed solid, spill out onto a small square. I notice mostly young people. Like, half my age or less. Of course. The university is nearby. And maybe the oldsters are all tucked in for the night.
It goes without saying that, after a yummy appetizer of an onion tatin, I'm going to choose a very regional dish. It reads on the menu thus: Côtelettes d'agneau de mon ami Gérard Rispal, persillade, salade tiède de haricots Tarbais aux herbes et crème d'ail. In translation: lamb chops (sorry, lambs!) from my friend Gerard, a warm salad of Tarbais beans (these are the delicately thin skinned white beans from France that are traditionally used in a cassoulet) in garlic cream.
Dessert? A raspberry mousse with a Breton cookie and a basil coulis. All this glorious food -- three full courses -- comes to you for 35 Euro, which at current fabulous for Americans rates of exchange is an utter steal.
And now if you'll excuse me, I'll read myself to sleep. I'm in the middle of a very good mystery story that takes place in... southern France where they eat cassoulet and foie gras and and drink good local wines and ... yawn!
Good night!
