Toulouse: Old City, New to Me

After making a few wine deliveries with Phillip, he took me into Toulouse. The first thing I did was walk towards the heart of the city to find a place to eat. Oh boy, did I find it. I sat down, ordered a beer, a foie gras appetizer, the duck breast and chips fried in duck fat, and a coffee. Pure heaven I tell you.

(not my pack of smokes)

After I completely stuffed myself with French prepared duck products, I needed to walk it all off. I gave myself a tour of Toulouse on foot.

In the capitol square I noticed a lot of people were looking up and I saw that there were large painted panels on the ceiling. Pretty cool. I decided this was a nice spot to sit down, have a coffee and a crepe and do some people watching for a bit.

As I was enjoying my crepe filled with strawberries and luscious whipped cream, I overheard some Australians talking about the cathedral they were about to visit that was very close to where I was. When I was done, I started my trek to the cathedral.

I left the cathedral, walked around a bit more, and found the main shopping street. The street was filled with people, well, shopping. Clothes, books, cooking supplies, shoes, electronics, you name it. Since my willpower is quite strong, and my bank account quite small, I only did a bit of window shopping, then decided to stop off at a café. Time for another great coffee and pastry. Across the street from the reggae store that filled the compact street with the echoing sounds of Peter Tosh, an art gallery stood looking at me. Shut your eyes and see is the name of the gallery and it begged for me to come in and peruse around a bit.

The moment my foot touched the ground outside of the gallery, thunder cracked ominously and it started pouring buckets. I have never been in a rain this heavy. I swear the rain drops were the size of ping pong balls. There was more water in the air than air itself. Sprinting down the streets of Toulouse, I was absolutely drenched within seconds. I had to take refuge in a cathedral that seemed peer out from between buildings with rock sculptures of saints and angels that came out of nowhere. I ran in without thinking, somewhat instinctively. The change in mood was quite dramatic. One second I was hurrying down a busy street, laughing and howling at the rain, water coming out of everything it could like a rapid river was suddenly set down in the city, the next second I was in a quiet, warm, dry, old building with a similar nun smiling at me. I set down a two Euro piece for a fifty cent candle, walked to the other candles that had no idea what kind of dangers lurked for them outside. The candle burned for everyone I’ve lost, everyone I remembered, and everyone I missed.
Built at the end of the 14th century, the church of Notre Dame du Taur is said to have been built where Saint Saturnin- the first bishop of Toulouse- was first buried. He was martyred in 250, under the Consulate of Decius and Gratus. He was first attached by his feet to an enraged bull, then dragged and torn to bits. Some saintly women immediately buried his body at the gates of Toulouse.

The rain had subsided a little, I had about two hours until my train left, so I decided to find somewhere to warm up. I asked a girl that looked my age that ended up being quite jovial with me where I could find a good bar. I figured I would ask someone my age so I could have the chance to meet people my age. She told me she would show me her favorite place to go, and that it was close. We walked for awhile and even though it was raining we walked slowly. It was nice to chat with someone else who enjoyed the rain like I did. When we arrived to the no name, hole in the wall bar, she automatically ordered and paid for two Ricard aperitifs on ice. The milky, licorice flavored drink didn’t go down as easy as a beer would, but it was a nice change. When I started talking about my girlfriend and how I wished she was in Toulouse, something came up and my new friend was history. I went into the bathroom to see if there were some paper towels to dry off with a bit.

I came back out to the bar where the bartender was kicking back a glass of wine while dealing out a deck of cards with one hand to some older gentlemen that will most likely get yelled at by their wives when they returned home drunk and money gambled away. They looked like my type of guys. Two of thee guys bought me some drinks for some reason. I couldn’t understand their slurred French. The bartender later told me that it was the anniversary of the Normandy invasion; the two gentlemen, World War II veterans, respected me for being American, especially on this day. After the fifth round and the tenth time singing “my bonnie lies over the ocean” I realized I was going to be late for my train if I didn’t sprint to the station. This was a lot of fun in soaked shoes and jeans.

Chateau Boujac

The first thing I did when I woke up was open up my old farmhouse style, wooden shuddered windows to look out at my new romping grounds. I crawled out of bed and took the best shower ever. I had to wash off the invisible muck and grime of traveling. I walked to Phillip and Michelle’s house, had a breakfast of toasted baguette with Nutella and home made strawberry preserves, yogurt, coffee and orange juice. Michelle asked if I wanted to work or rest for the day. Even though my body would have loved to kick back and drink wine all day, I had come here to work, and I was excited about it. I went with Phillip to a neighboring winery to pick a bottle labeling machine. We loaded it up in the large, orange Renault van and brought it back to the cellar.



My first job was wiping off wine bottles, putting them through the label machines, and packing them in boxes for purchase.

After labeling and packing up about one hundred bottles of wine, I was called in for lunch. Michelle had prepared slow cooked duck meat in read wine with mirepoix, pasta, tomatoes with fleur de sel, herbs, and olive oil, pieces of cured meats, a salad with lettuce from the garden, all topped off with a decadent (to me) cheese plate. Two hours and two bottles of wine passed before It was time to get back to work. This was my type of lunch break. Michelle insisted that I didn’t work and that I go and get some sleep. I agreed, and went to bed. I woke up in time to walk around a bit, check out my surroundings, then sit down to yet another amazing, slow meal with plenty of great wine.

Grandma Glorya's Chickens, hehe

Planes Trains and Automobiles

When I got to the Sacramento airport I was greeted by my girlfriend, Katy, and her best friend, Phoebe. Man Katy looked good. The woman working at the United Airlines counter told me I couldn’t fly to France without a return ticket since I didn’t have a visa. A return ticket three months from that day would be $5000 so we figured out a loop hole and I got a ticket from Paris to London for one hundred something bucks. Through that half hour of BS all I could do was look back at my girlfriend sitting on the bench behind me and realize how much I’m going to miss her. I just wanted to say “…fine, I just won’t go…”, buy two tickets to Mexico, and take off with her for awhile.
Too bad I had to go to France. Since my flight was delayed my parents had to drive me to SFO to catch my connecting flight there. I kissed Katy goodbye, a kiss I will never forget. I can still recall every part of it. My dad jammed down to SFO and I barely made it. I never actually ran through an airport to catch my plane. It felt so cliché, like I was in some movie. I had a sentimental goodbye with my mom, dad, and brother, did the no shoes metal detector dance, and found my gate. After a few last text messages from the two main women in my life, Katy and my mom, my plane took off. I couldn’t help but laugh maniacally. No turning back from here, I’m off..
5600 miles, nearly ten hours, plenty of French practice, and some hard core chick flick viewing later, I arrive in Frankfurt. I was so ready to speak German to find my way through the airport, but as soon as I started to speak it, everyone would talk to me in English. I exchanged my dollars for euros, (got ripped off), then got my first legal beer. A second legal beer was definitely needed.

Luckily I made a friend on the plane who lives in San Francisco but visits Germany twice a year. He gave me the run down on the airport, showed my where to exchange my money, and where to go through customs. He made the experience easier and a whole lot faster.

Frankfurt airport was not only the coolest, technologically advanced airport I have been to, but the most economically friendly. For example, most of the airport staff got around on bicycles. There were also “smoking cabins” for those that couldn’t make it outside between flights to have a smoke.

From Frankfurt to Lyon I got lucky and occupied the middle seat of three empty ones, so I sprawled out and snoozed for the duration of the forty five minute flight, except for the five minutes I woke up to eat my complimentary sandwich and cookie which was better than any American airplane food I’ve ever had. While I was scarfing down my delicious ham sandwich, I looked out my window and saw some of the French country side for the first time. Small clusters of villages surrounded by grape vines and other agriculture populated most of the rolling hills, dissected by rivers, creeks, and miniscule roads.

The Lyon airport was nothing I wished. I think it has the potential to be a nice airport if you haven’t been flying for eleven hours and wanting to lay down and die. The only part that excited me were the concession stands filled with French pastries, sandwiches on baguettes, coffees, beer, and wine. A lot of wine. Once I figured out how to buy a bus ticket to the Lyon train station, about thirty minutes away from the airport, I realized I was going to be a bit late for my pick up in Toulouse. I didn’t even care. I knew I had made it and I only had one hurdle left, he Lyon train station.
I wish I could remember more of the bus ride to the Lyon train station, but I was 75% asleep for about 90% of the time. All I remember is coming into downtown Lyon and saying “holy shit, there’s a lot of graffiti in France” and of course, getting off the bus. I got off the bus, bought by ticket with ease, and made myself at home at an Irish pub inside of the station. Don’t judge me, I had time to kill, and I’m a fan of all things Irish, especially the beer and whiskey which is what I got right when I sat down. “Shot of Jameson‘s and a Guinness please.” The bar man asked if I wanted a big one or a small one. “I hate that question. Full pint please.”

Damn good Guinness. I caught my train and was on my way to Toulouse to be picked up by my new family. I think the only train I have ever been on was an Amtrak, slow motion train to Reno when I was younger. This was a whole different experience. The TGV train was a whole lot faster, smoother, and more comfortable all around. After passing through a few sea side villages I arrived in Montpellier for my transfer. I had about five minutes so I got a chance to hop outside the station to snap a few crappy pictures of the city I will be in in August…if I make it that long.

Before I got back on the train, I bought a bag of the best potato chips I have ever had. America sucks solely for not having these chips. Come on, USA. Voila. Roasted chicken and thyme flavored chips..

Watching the sun set over the Mediterranean on my left while rows of grape vines flew past me on my right was beautiful. It was hard to believe I was really there. This was even better than my dreams, and I was only on the train. Across from me sat a student, probably about my age, that lives in Montpellier. When I told him I was from California, he immediately brought up Snoop Dogg and something about “cash money”. He then proceeded to talk about blonde women with big boobs. I could hardly understand him, but I still nodded as he rambled off the California stereotypes. He then told me that Montpellier is the best city in the whole world. I was glad when he got off at the next stop. He was too talkative and I was way too tired and hungry.
I pulled up to Toulouse after the night had taken over the sky and the city. Toulouse is a beautiful city. The neon lights in the night against the ancient, charming buildings strung along a slowly but surely moving river didn’t remind me of anything. This type of city was completely new to me. Little did I know it, but this was the city I would have some of the best times in for the next month.

After about forty five minutes of patiently waiting, pondering what Phillip would look like, what kind of car he would drive, how long the drive would be, etcetera, Phillip finally arrived. We shook hands and he asked if I wanted anything to eat. Even though I was famished, my fatigue took over. I said no. I just wanted to get to Chateau Boujac and get some real sleep, in a real bed. Phillip took the long way out of Toulouse and gave me an impromptu tour of the city that I would later navigate solo in the daylight. After flying down the freeway in a two door Peugeot for close to an hour, we exited, went down some tiny country roads, and arrived. Finally. I wish I could call upon my first impressions of the house, but at the time, my mind was set on one thing. Sleep. Phillip took me to my room, located in his parents house on the second floor. My room is Phillips childhood room, and it appeared as if it hadn’t changed since he was six years old.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and crashed like a cop car in The Dukes of Hazard. The original one, not the horrible newer one with horrible actress, Jessica Simpson.

Farewell...

My dream, a move to France to devote myself to the study of French epicurean culture, started to form at a young age, but for the sake of this blog, it started with my “bon voyage” party. This is where it really began to sink in. Holy shit. I’m actually going to France. Tomorrow. Even then it didn’t hit me all the way.

This is when I realized how much I’m going to truly miss my family. A great dinner with the ones closest to me was the only way I could think of being sent off. It was everything I wanted it to be. Great food, wine, family and friends, and of course, a Led Zeppelin jam session.
May 31st. The day hastily arrived. I’m not ready to go. I have to be. I woke up from a night of no sleep. I squeezed my wardrobe into a backpack as my dad helped and squeezed in his last words of wisdom. Goodbye to Grandma Glorya and I was off.