Touloulouse

Although I am currently waiting for a shed-load of photographs from the last few weeks as my camera, in a truly French manner, is en grève, following much haranguing from the other side of the channel (you know who you are) it seemed that updates on the past fortnight or so were desired, with or without accompanying images. So here goes for the first of a few instalments which will (I promise) be supplemented with some sort of visual media in due course.

Being both extremely spoiled and extremely lucky, I have just been treated to a séjour of a whole six days from the lovely Celyn, which encompassed both my birthday (on the 19^th) and the Newport Dragons-Toulouse rugby match which just-so-happened to fall on the Saturday before (was this perhaps the real reason for the visit...?)

Albeit brief, the time spent in Toulouse made a huge impression on both of us. On arrival we immediately flung ourselves into an impromptu sightseeing tour of the Rose City, in spite of the fact that Celyn hadn’t actually been to bed the night before (due to an irresponsibly early Easy Jet flight to Toulouse). When I say ‘flung ourselves’, what I really mean to say is, ‘we immediately got completely lost and ended up driving around inner-city Toulouse for about an hour before we could make head or tail of where we were meant to be heading’.  In fact, our ‘extended detour’ was a perfect way to see some of the city, winding one-way back streets packed with boutiques, bars and boulangeries, the wide roads alongside and across the Tarn, the beautiful gardens and bandstand inside the Grand Rond roundabout.

Having admitted defeat, and received extremely comprehensive directions from a Toulousian pharmacist, we arrived at our hotel – a small but perfectly formed hostel spitting distance from the station. Although not the nicest area, (we were more than once mistaken for kerb-crawlers), it was perfectly situated in spitting distance from the station, city centre shops, cafes, restaurants and bars, and Place Jeanne d’Arc, from which it was possible to get buses to almost anywhere.

After a quick turnaround, it was onto the bus and back out towards the airport, to the Stade Ernest Wallon. Not gonna lie, definitely had such a scene trying to work out which stadium the match was scheduled for, as Tou-‘Rugby-is-my-life’-louse have two. Luckily, we made it, to the right one, in perfect time – flashing our tickets at the gate we ran round to the north stand just as the teams stepped onto the pitch. The atmosphere was electric, as with any big sporting event, and what made it all the more enjoyable was the presence of an extremely healthy (and vocal) Welsh contingent. Proudly sporting both home and away Newport strips, we soon made friends, although a young Toulousian behind us didn’t seem quite as enamoured with the wealth of massive Afros (even though Faletau wasn’t playing!), ‘Draaa-gons’ chants, and (don’t ask why) Scooby Doo imitation calls.  

Although I am most certainly no rugby commentator – and am faar from understanding the unbelievably complex rules, it was a great match. Not going to lie, I was faintly concerned that the Dragons were going to get a bit of a beating, notably due to the constant abuse that I have had to put up with in the staff room at school as each teacher goes into great detail about the mythical prowess of the Toulousian side. Yet, with a defensive display to be proud of, the Dragons put up a strong fight, and it was only due to a lucky break (Poitrenaud) in the second half that Toulouse managed to secure their win. Jason Tovey (fly-half) scored the only points for the Dragons with a penalty just before half-time, but on the whole, the backs and wings really gave the home side something to worry about. The final score was 17-3 – not amazing but really nothing to be ashamed of.

As the previous 80 minutes had positively flown by, Cel and I decided to stick around the stadium for a final pint, to enjoy the warm sun, avoid the crowded buses back into town, and soak up the atmosphere. Within about 3 minutes, we had met some fellow Dragons supporters; Airbus employees hailing from Newport, Pontypridd, Australia and Toulouse itself. It was really such a fantastic treat to have a cold Heineken in hand in the late afternoon sun and just indulge in a wee chat (in English... lush!)

When the bar began to be somewhat indiscreetly be dismantled around us, we bade farewell to our new found friends and hopped on a less crowded bus back into the centre where, absolutely desperate to use the bathrooms, we ended up once again aside some Dragons fans in another rugby bar watching the Ulster Biarritz match – another Heineken contender.

After that, the evening just sort of... unfolded. Whirlwinding around the city, the night passed in a blur of Leffe, touristy trinket shops, Stade Toulousian merchandise, wine bars, Tintin, pedestrianised streets, a one-stop metro adventure and a handful of new amis. Toulouse is like Bordeaux’s less-pretentious younger brother. Full of students, young professionals, smart arty types, and hippies, each street is packed with bars, restaurants and cafes. At every turn, up-market high-street shops rub shoulders with run-down bar-tabacs and international food markets, and the city is saturated with pristinely preserved old buildings, with many comprised of the famous ‘rose’ bricks.  

Thoroughly enamoured with all that Toulouse had to offer, I didn’t really think the night could get much better. Yet, following some good advice, we decided to pop our heads into the De Danu Irish bar, owned by former Ireland player Trevor Brennan, which ‘just so happened’ to be on the way home. As a rule, I’m not a major fan of Irish bars – I never really understand who is supposed to go there; Irish people abroad, Foreign people who want to be Irish, Irish ex-pats, drunks...? Anyway, we went. And so did the Dragons. And l’équipe Toulousian. ‘Nuff said. Most fantastic night ever.

It was definitely all downhill from there – never ever try to keep up with professional rugby players. Yet having spent and evening feeding French chat up lines to Nathan Brew, gawping at the sheer size of Luke Charteris, and promising Jason Tovey that I’d move to Wales, I can safely say that from this moment on, I am 100% a Dragons supporter.

                                                                                                   

Obviously, with such a great night, it wasn’t such a great morning, but despite being on a pretty tight schedule, we managed to fit in a bit of sightseeing before heading back to Sarlat for yet another rugby match. First stop was the Basilique Saint Sernin, an awe-inspiring Romanesque church just off the Place Jeanne d’Arc. A lively eastern market surrounded the church, a perfect opportunity to indulge in a spicy steak-haché and chip baguette! We then managed to get lost a few times whilst searching for the Church of the Jacobins, burial place of St Thomas of Aquin. Having found it, and spending a significant amount of time gawping at the unbelievably high ceiling, we made our way back to the Place de la Capitole – the main square with the Hotel de Ville, Theatre du Capitole and Donjon du Capitole. Luckily for us, there was some sort of hippy demonstration in the square, and while we were wondering a) what the hell they were demonstrating about and b) dithering whether we should just chuck in our lives as we know them and join a hippy commune, an amiable yet slightly unwashed member of the protest came over and asked if we wanted to know more. Turns out that this guy was actually from the USA, and was doing the same assistantship as I, but in the past two days had decided to pack it all in and join the ‘Rainbow Children’ in their quest to overturn the LOPPSI 2 Law i.e. the Loi d’Orientation et de Programmation pour la Sécurité Intérieure which makes habitation in any sort of temporary housing (tents, caravans etc) on public or private land in France illegal. Yeah, we agree. It’s not fair. But it was really interesting to hear what he had to say, although I’m not sure his plans to live in a squat forever and ever amen more having only spent one night (in the centre of a city) with the demonstrators were wholly viable, but each to their own!

Unfortunately, our trip to Toulouse had to end, but even having spent a mere two days in the city, I, (and I’m sure I can speak for both of us) am completely smitten. What a city! Anyway... back to Sarlat for rugby instalment #2...

Pee Ess. For some reason (copyright), I can't upload any of these photos that I was lucky enough to stumble across on the internet. But have a quick look at this site, there's some great ones of the match. Also, check out NEW10012 - that was our mate, Christian!! Laads! http://clevamedia.photoshelter.com/gallery/Stade-Toulouse-v-Newport/G0000Cok1d1MQaDs