Our short stay in Toulouse was like a sip of Belgian beer that leaves you wanting more. After two days, we decided to head away from France's second-largest ville, but we could have easily enjoyed another day or two in the “pink city.” Photographing old buildings. Basking in the Garrone's golden albedo. Browsing endless bookstores. Picnicking in plazas. Walking, walking, walking. Tooling around Toulouse.
The driest city in France was true to form, warm and welcoming. The mistral winds greeted us with gentle sibilance. Heard before they are felt, these breezes are known for their violence, but by the time they reached our sheltered camp site they weren't enough to make Bertetto flinch.
Our experience made Jesse and CJ’s 2008 debacle here (a very rainy search for one-another) seem like an anomaly. The people were nothing but friendly, offering to watch Bertetto for us, telling us which sights to see, recommending rare local brews.
“I love France,” Jesse says, almost skipping back to the tent. “I thought that guy with the dog was going to tell me that we can't camp here. But he just wanted to let us know that there's a water spigot behind that house."
So it was decided, we like Toulouse. “But don’t tell CJ,” Jesse jokes. But I think CJ will have the same sentiment when he visits again, without the pressures of the Tour de France and with the sun shining.
I started off our stay in Toulouse with a new helmet. White and turquoise. Jesse said I had to get it because it didn’t make me look like a mushroom head. We spent five minutes outside the Decathlon adjusting the straps. This is the third helmet I have ever owned, and it’s the first one to be perched perfectly atop my head.
I even considered wearing it to the African photo exhibit housed in the Chateau d'Eau, an old water tower built in the 1800s that was a key element in the city's development. But Jesse said it wouldn't look good in pictures...
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