Off the Toulouse lauTrack
Okay, bad jeux de mots, I know. I've returned to Toulouse from the Périgord region where I had a few rural days. Despite the rumours of the entire population of France being there for their summer holidays, I didn't find it that crowded or crazy.
I think I should get some form of honourable mention for being able to find my hotel on a back country road, in a small town I’d never visited before, in the dark. And after a harrowing 14 hour trip trying to get there from Barcelona.
My troubles started really the day before when the baggage handlers at the Barcelona airport went on strike. I wasn’t planning on taking the plane, but thousands who were headed off to the train station bought up every available ticket to Montpelier. This left me with the slow train to Cérbere (on the Spanish border) instead. There followed two more train trips (one sizzling hot) before I arrived in Toulouse. Being late, I decided to rent a car to get to Sarlat (my destination), but had another shut down with my credit card (see previous entry), phoned VISA and finally got the car at twice the cost (the other car was now gone so I had to take the last ginormous one with seating capacity for eighteen. There ensued a madcap drive though Toulouse and onto the French equivalent of the Autobahn (toll booths and all) all the while me not knowing how to put the car in reverse (should I need to). Finally, I stopped at a rest stop and asked some kindly Frenchman if he could show me how to put the car in reverse. Can you Imagine? Moi, ¨Escusez-moi Monsieur. Est-ce que vous m’aider? Je me sens trés stupide.¨ Humility 10: masculine pride 0.
The Dordogne Valley deserves at least three weeks of my full attention - it's so beautiful AND tasty. Had the best lunch of my lifetime at a café underneath a medieval castle (pictures to follow). There is a good reason why French cooking is considered the world's best.
I think I should get some form of honourable mention for being able to find my hotel on a back country road, in a small town I’d never visited before, in the dark. And after a harrowing 14 hour trip trying to get there from Barcelona.
My troubles started really the day before when the baggage handlers at the Barcelona airport went on strike. I wasn’t planning on taking the plane, but thousands who were headed off to the train station bought up every available ticket to Montpelier. This left me with the slow train to Cérbere (on the Spanish border) instead. There followed two more train trips (one sizzling hot) before I arrived in Toulouse. Being late, I decided to rent a car to get to Sarlat (my destination), but had another shut down with my credit card (see previous entry), phoned VISA and finally got the car at twice the cost (the other car was now gone so I had to take the last ginormous one with seating capacity for eighteen. There ensued a madcap drive though Toulouse and onto the French equivalent of the Autobahn (toll booths and all) all the while me not knowing how to put the car in reverse (should I need to). Finally, I stopped at a rest stop and asked some kindly Frenchman if he could show me how to put the car in reverse. Can you Imagine? Moi, ¨Escusez-moi Monsieur. Est-ce que vous m’aider? Je me sens trés stupide.¨ Humility 10: masculine pride 0.
The Dordogne Valley deserves at least three weeks of my full attention - it's so beautiful AND tasty. Had the best lunch of my lifetime at a café underneath a medieval castle (pictures to follow). There is a good reason why French cooking is considered the world's best.
posted by J a s o n | 11:38 a.m.
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