30/05/2019
After a stressful and early morning involving cancelled busses, angry passengers and a general breakdown in bureaucracy, I finally arrived at London Stansted airport and found myself queueing at the gate to board. Not that I needed convincing, but the flight showed me how Ryanair is really quite an awful airline. Poor seats, the only free baggage is the size of a handbag and through every step of the process from booking to landing at the destination they are trying to sell you everything under the sun that you do not need.
Having slept a little on the flight, much to my own surprise, I felt refreshed as I stepped through customs and into France. Picking up my backpack, I immediately noticed how quiet the airport was.
My first aim in Toulouse was to find gas for my little camping stove, and it is fair to say I made a mess of it. There is a large Decathlon somewhat near to the airport, and I walked twenty minutes to find it. Inside, I was amazed at the comprehensive supply of not only hiking and camping gear and equipment, but also almost every other sport. However, here is where I managed to make my first mistake, buying a gas canister which did not fit my stove. Nevertheless, I headed into town.
I purchased a day ticket on the Toulouse transport system for €6.10 which allowed me unlimited travel for the day on all busses, trams and metro. One of my first impressions of Toulouse as a whole was, unsurprisingly, of how much better the transport system is here than in any English city I can think of. London is obviously efficient with its oyster card system, but the fact that the metro here is automated, the tickets are far cheaper, and everything runs smoothly and on time shows that the French know how to run a system.
Having found another decathlon which did have the right gas, I returned my dud canister for a proper one with the help of a near fluent sales assistant.
After this, the hot midday sun was beginning to take its toll and having seen a nice park by the river on my way in via the tramline, I headed back there to relax for a while. The large park lining the edge of the Garonne river was filled with many people of all walks of life. There was a general atmosphere of relaxation, but also of festivity as some people played sports such as frisbee, boule etc. I sat watching two jugglers practicing with up to five balls at a time. A group of teenagers gradually gathered to my right, with more and more people turning up, and they began chatting and laughing jovially with an air of freedom. To my left was a large group of people which I presumed to be homeless, but who were also enjoying the sun very much. They had clearly been drinking for most of the day, and I saw one man take a bong down to the river’s edge by himself.
Occasionally, a bout of shouting and hollering between a few men would break out, often enhanced by barking and growling from the many dogs kept by the group. It seemed to bear no affect on any passers-by, as grandparents walked their dogs through the parks and behind me a father taught his daughter how to ride a bike. Suddenly, the shouting started up again, and I glanced over to see two men facing off. The first was a skinny, tall man. Topless, the sides of his head were shaved short, but on top, a mass of dreadlocks had been allowed to grow out and hang down almost to his waist. His eyes squinted against the sun, and his face told a story of sleepless nights and drug abuse. The other was older, or perhaps had simply been more weathered by a life sleeping rough. His hair was greying, and he was dressed in a scruffy looking tracksuit. The younger man launched a great kick, camo trousers flapping, at the other mans face, catching him square in the side of the face. I later saw how his mouth had begun to bleed and his puffy face had begun to look worse as a black eye slowly formed. Apart from what seemed like two different groups of homeless people, nobody batted an eyelid.
It was Ascension Day, and I had little understanding of what this meant until I went to look for groceries and found everywhere was shut. This became even more of a nuisance when later I realised a bus I was aiming to catch did not run on public holidays. Luckily, the shops did reopen later in the afternoon, and while I waited, I wandered through the streets of Toulouse, admiring the various bridges which span the Garonne. As I learnt, a number of the bridges had in the past been washed away due to floods. Today, even on Ascension Day, as I sat on the banks of the river I looked across to the other side where a team of engineers worked feverishly with trucks and tractors doing some kind of flood defence construction.
Apart from some really beautiful buildings, the architecture in Toulouse is not particularly special, although I have had little time to truly appreciate the whole city. It is hard to say what the essence of Toulouse is, having spent so little time there. But there is, as with any large city, some great cultural and historical knowledge to be gained from walking its streets.
At the end of the day, I managed to hitch a couple of lifts out into the countryside, where I found a small wood in which to camp. Tomorrow I hope to get to Foix.
Til next time,
Stay Hydrated.
France/Spain 2019 I – Outline