Toulouse: La Ville "Rose"

After PBJ, I had two days of rest and recovery before setting out again for the southwest of France with my choir. We stayed in the village of Finhan, about an hour away from Toulouse, the fourth-largest city in France and regional capital. I traveled with R, a level-headed judge who’s also a bit of a clown, and A, a psychology student in Paris who speaks wonderful English. Upon arrival, we were met by the other choristes at a barbecue which reminded me more of my family reunions in Iowa than of Parisian sophistication. Lots of eating, singing, drinking, and talking set the tone for the week to come. My host family in Finhan was “super cool”: we were free to come and go as we pleased and were offered delicious toast and coffee for breakfast each morning. All of the Nancéins ate at the stadium for lunch and dinner, providing additional opportunities for discussion and sunbathing. The others kept trying to draw me into their soccer games but I explained that while I could appreciate the French national obsession for the sport, I preferred to write and relax. Perhaps it’s a cultural trait, but several friends asked to see what I was writing and wanted to know why it was in English (I spoke French the entire week, so I didn’t feel terribly guilty).

On our free day, we went to a cave à vin for a dégustation of fine wines at 11am. That afternoon, we visited a beautiful little chapelle that had a cost-saving secret: all of the beautiful objects were made out of carefully painted wood instead of gold. To cap off the afternoon, we went to a rum distillerie and gave an impromptu demonstration of our singing talents for the other patrons. We had some rehearsals mixed into the program, but they lasted only an hour and a half and were more for clarification and last minute fixes than for major changes. Le lendemain, we gave our first concert at a small church in a neighboring village. It was a nice test run, but I held back a bit, which is the worst thing to do at a gospel concert. I had run a few miles in the morning for relaxation but hadn’t practiced as much as I would’ve liked to and felt a bit unconfident.

After a brief répétition the next day, we went to the Musée des Métiers d’Autrefois and saw plow and other farm equipment from the area. Upstairs, the curators had arranged dioramas of old professions such as le balaitier (the broom-maker). Most placards ended with the following statement: Il travaille toujours selon la tradition artisinale et assure toutes les étapes de la fabrication (He always works according to the artisanal tradition and assures all of the steps of the building process). On Friday, we had some quartier libre and several of us went to Toulouse. Due to transit time and the search for parking, we only had two hours in the city. We managed to see the basilica, les Jacobins, and the famous “pink” bricks for which the city is known. In the April light they looked orange – perhaps at June 17th at 5:36 pm they’re pink? That night, A and I had a long conversation in English about the differences in university life, relationship culture, and racism in France and America.

On our last day, I went for another nice jog and was then left to watch the children for awhile while their guardians did housekeeping. Like all gosses, they were cute and happy one minute, crying and screaming the next. Thankfully, the most sensitive ones went into the house and their less moody siblings played contentedly in the grass. We gave our second (and my last) concert that night and it went phenomenally. Yes, there were issues with the little children following orders, but at least they were still cute enough to get away with it. I sang with tout mon coeur and had a great time. R drove A and I home right after the concert, and I was able to pass out until 2 pm.