Albi

Not my photo, but this is the most common shot of Albi, a town an hour from Toulouse by train. It straddles the River Tarn and the big building is Saint Cecile-- the largest brick cathedral in the world.

Albi is a romantic's dream!  Not an uncobbled street can be found in the center of town; brick paths wind down steep wooded banks to the river, which is spanned by arched bridges and aqueducts; heavy bows of purple wisteria hang over the alleys.  Follow narrow flights of stairs to tiled terraces and you'll soon find yourself dead-ended on someone's back porch, with their potted flowers and clothes line.  Turn off the main street, mount a few steps and you'll discover this courtyard, quiet except for the incessant cooing of pigeons:

The Cloister of Saint Salvy

The Palace of the Berbie offers this view of the Tarn, complete with gardens, a vine-covered promenade, and the orange-shingled roofs of the stacked houses across the river:

I spent Saturday in Albi, arriving around noon when the sidewalk and terrace cafes were filling up.  It was sundress weather.  Kids ran through fountains and the homemade gelato shops were doing good business.  With so many picturesque alcoves, it was hard to choose where to eat mine.  The heat made the fragrance of flowers hang in the air and the atmosphere felt like summer vacation, without lots of tourists.  Albi isn't huge, but in addition to its charm, it has a few attractions that draw crowds-- the Cathedral Saint Cecile and the Toulouse-Lautrec Museum (I visited the museum--of the French artist by the same name-- but I'll spare you the details).  This weekend there were only a couple coaches worth of tourists so there was an agreeable array of people (no one likes walking around a deadbeat town unless it's supposed to be that way).

I went inside the enormous Cathedrale de Saint Cecile and it was 15 degrees cooler inside-- out of the sun, surrounded by all that stone, the familiar smell of candles and old wood.  Cathedrals first impress with their size and grandeur, and after a few minutes of taking it in, it's the details: the decor and the carvings.  Put the two together-- such elaborateness in so much space -- and you could spend days in there and not see every intricacy.  Saint Cecile stands out from the rest in that every foot of it--the walls, the bays, the ceilings-- is painted:

France has a lot of towns with cathedrals and quaint streets, but Albi turned out to be one of my favorites.  A smooth train ride through the country and back and an afternoon spent wandering through this treasure of a town-- it was a Saturday well-spent.

First Spring, Now Summer!

This week has been a string of shining days, days that beg to be spent outside, days with surprising, new-found longevity-- 8:30pm and it's still light?  Winter is over!  80 degrees, not a cloud in sky.  The birds sing so loudly that I can hear them over the rush of wind as I ride my bike.  Cut grass, dandelions, all of a sudden the trees have leaves again-- it feels like summer in Boston or New York. I shop at the best street market in town where I can get 10 kiwis for 1 euro; apples for 80 cents/kilo; oranges, strawberries, mushrooms, avocados...

I spend hours in the long afternoons enjoying Toulouse's parks-- lying on the grass reading with my new Kindle and listening to the music circle of some students next to me.  One guy even had a trombone.  Katie and I had a picnic by the Garonne downtown-- tomato and goat cheese sandwiches, olives, fruit, and wine-- trying to "bronze" our ghostly legs. (I learned that wine doesn't do much to quench your thirst; I should've had some water in addition).  She strummed her ukulele and I tried to remember "Let it be," which I learned on the ukulele this summer...  I rode my bike in a sundress carrying a baguette-- with this weather, I can ride my bike anywhere, so I spend less time on the metro. I've been trolling the streets for an unclaimed lilac bush where I can poach some flowers.  Being so residential, though, all of the lilacs are well secured behind fences.  Until this morning! On my jog in the green zone behind my apartment, there by the road was a whole bank of lilac bushes; I returned with a bag and a knife and now my room is full of my favorite fragrance!

Ode to Spring

April... such a pretty month, especially following March.  Even after living in Austin where March was the loveliest month of the year, I still connote it with dirty snow and dreary countenances.  April, though, is springtime!  And it feels like it in Toulouse.  The first two days of April were the sunniest, prettiest days anyone could ask for.  Flowers--daffodils, tulips, pansies, and poppies-- cover the roadsides and the parks.

A patch of flowers that I pass on my bike on my way to work.  The picture doesn't do it justice-- it's painfully pretty.

 Yesterday, in celebration of the glorious weather, I rode my bike along the canal to le Jardin des Plantes (Toulouse's "Central Park," if you will), where I wrote and read and observed the Mallard ducklings and all the picnickers. 

I'm well aware that ever since graduation, I've been on a paid vacation-- first Alaska, now France.  I have so much free time, it's almost a crime, but instead of guiltily trying to fill it, I've chosen to accept the blessing.  There is a season for everything-- a time to run and a time to rest, a time to work and a time to play-- and all one can do is enjoy it as it comes.  So during these lengthening days, I'm relishing my last weeks in Toulouse.   It's hard to believe I leave in less than a month!  Besides the usual reading and writing, I occasionally try my feet at the slack-line and frequently research the next steps of my European adventure (a month on the rails, but you'll hear about that when it happens!).  Praise God for spring and all the newness it brings!