A week in Toulouse whirs by like a day. We moor at Port Saveur, a quiet port on the Midi with contemporary residential brick buildings. ‘Looking up, do you feel like we are in Yaletown a bit?’ I ask. ‘If the windows were bigger…they try to keep out the sun here as opposed to getting the light in,’ J replies. Right. It’s hot for the first few days. Unbearable. We seek out shade along the Garonne river bank at Toulouse Plage, where kids bounce on blow up castles and special misters spray cool little pebbles of water on you at the push of a button. Genius.
Afterwards, we wander back into the heart of centre ville, taking in the warmth of colour, brick in the architecture, the multiple public squares and museums, the typography exhibition of the new ‘Garonne’ font displayed in the street, the artsy cafes, restaurants and wine bars, the Japanese-designed children’s clothing and toy shops, the ‘bieretorium’ with artisan beers, and the ‘Grand Round’ – a circular park that is part of the Jardin des Plantes, a whimsical and very well-kept garden with green pedestrian overpasses and statues of naked nymphs. The city is magnificent and we are instantly in love.
On Fete National, or Bastille Day (July 14 National Holiday), there are concerts and fireworks planned at the Allee de Jean Jaures. We have 20euros in our pocket for the entire evening and begin to wander at 6 o’clock, starting with a Dixie jazz band in the gazebo in the Grand Round. We are tapping our toes when a city worker tells us to step off the grass and we note he probably has a long night ahead of him. The evening is cooler and high purple clouds are muting the intensity of heat so we are quite content. When we get to Jean Jaures to check-out the festivities, the streets are already packed with people and we are happy to see the pre-parade from afar and then leave. I pick-up some sushi, J goes for a kebab and we picnic and wander some more, ending up at the London Pub for some traditional ales. Our 20euros gone, we cruise slowly home thinking we will watch the fireworks from the boat. We make it back just in time for the thunder storm pelting down and lighting the sky with flourescence. Oh no. We imagine people at the concert running in all directions and put the kettle on for tea to watch for an hour or so as the wind stole reams of thin storm clouds quickly by us. (Later the fireworks could be heard but seemed minimal after the lightning).
