Grèves (strikes) and Grafitti
48 hours in Toulouse Town - 25 March 2023
This is not a good time to travel to France,
which is gripped by protests against Macron and his government, but I was determined to get to Toulouse to meet Valentin.
Two days, a quick escape from England, yet the moment I booked the ticket Macron passed his radical bill through the parliament. All hell broke loose. Strikes and violent protests, almost the entire country in arms. Even the new British King Charles cancelled his pre-coronation visit as there was going to be no red carpet business or fanfare for him. He was promised fire bombs. They are, the French, after all, a republic!
Two weeks later and the protesters have no desire to stop. It gets worse
The protest movement against raising the pension age from 62 to 64 is the biggest domestic crisis of Macron’s second term, with the strikes on Tuesday affecting refineries, bin collections, rail transport, air travel and schools. Authorities in Paris and several other cities were braced for clashes between police and protesters.
“The social state and the social safety net is disappearing,” said Françoise, a social worker, who was due to retire in three months at 63, and was demonstrating in Paris.
Yves, a former teacher and factory worker, who retired at 59, said: “People are demonstrating on the street because citizens aren’t being listened to. We’re afraid of being teargassed but the police should be protecting us.” (Angelique Chrisafis in Paris for the Guardian - Tue 28 Mar 2023)
Most flights were cancelled last Thursday, yet I refused to go home and waited it out at Stanstead Airport, the home to radical Ryanair (I will soon dedicate an entire post to this airline).
“Typical French! Always striking.” A woman speaks loudly down her phone. They are inconsiderate, especially as it’s last minute and chucks life upside-down." However, the man next to me who has worked 37 years consecutively certainly understands why they are protesting. He was about to plan his retirement with his partner but now has to probably wait another 2 years. “At least we do something. We have to do something.” He will fly back for the planned protest on Saturday.
Ours is the only flight out to Toulouse,
the sun screams haha through the windows and I think of the people who gave up and went home like the woman on the phone.
Time is taken by the wind. Lots of it as we come down into Toulouse, warm and lively, proudly the world's aeronautical capital, la Ville en Rose, the pink city, and the capital of Occitania in mid-west France.
I adore Toulouse, pink lady
Pink because of its warm and gentle pinkish terracotta bricks. The clay used to make the bricks had deep concentrations of iron oxide which changed the colour to a pink hue while being fired in the oven. It was also cheap, cheerful, ecological, hard-wearing and glamorous. So the entire city is blessed in pink. I often think this is what gives it a gentle touch. By night a pink glaze smears the skies and dips with the electric lights, and in the morning a light mist of pink hovers over the body of the city itself. I even seem to smell roses when I am here despite the fact Toulouse has another flower attached to its name, the Violette, my granddaughter's namesake and the symbol of the city. The romantic story told is that a Napoleonic soldier brought some back for his Toulousian lover from Italy in 1854. Most of us can never leave sensual Toulouse without perfume, violet sugar, bonbons or pomade. Interestingly, the perfume, Violette de Toulouse was created in 1936 by Berdoues one of France’s Perfumery. I have always felt it has a sort of film star smell.
Planted in violet fields around Toulouse and sold by weight in small bundles, to travellers and locals in its infancy. Today there are many outlets selling Violette products. The most famous is the La Maison de la Violette - bateau boutique on the Canal du midi.
Toulouse is a city to amble in
with its bodegas, and wine from the abundant grape vines surrounding the city. Once the centre of the Cathars, Toulouse is still Troubadour, it is art, it is Toulouse-Lautrec, home of the famous cured fresh pork Toulouse sausage, it is Pissaladière, the pizza-like flatbread made with onion and capers. The Victor Hugo covered market, the canal du midi with its long, slow boats and La Garonne, which mumbles it way for 500 kilometres, finally flowing into Spain where it is called Garona (Occitan pronunciation.)
However, I am not that keen on tourist sites or museums. I like to get lost down back alleys, find the local bars, chat with street performers and city-watch.
There was a protest planned for the afternoon
so I wander down to the river where once les pecheurs du sable - sand-fisherman - tilled the riverbed for soft sand silt to make cement with.
La Garonne, busy on its journey, stops in Toulouse where the bank has always been the place for lovers, dancers, skaters, singers, homeless people, fire-throwers, the clandestine, marginals, refugees, immigrants, musicians, gangs, the elderly, the young, children, parents, non-parents, street workers, street livers, dogs, cats, and water rats.
Here there is dignified joy. I spend two hours basking in the 18-degree sun.
The only way for me to finish my Toulouse moment was to visit the graffiti in Arnaud Bernard, the Arab and Gypsy quarter. Hip Arnaud Bernard has medieval alleys lined with pastel-colored townhouses that are overlooked by the soaring, 11th-century Basilique Saint-Sernin. Roman and Celtic antiquities are on display at the Musée Saint-Raymond. Students from Université Toulouse 1 Capitole gather in terrace bars around Place Saint-Pierre on the Garonne River, and in late-night clubs with DJs and live music. Indie shops dot the streets. Google
So here I present Toulouse: Graffiti et Grèves.
PLEASE NOTE: The word ville is spelt with three lll’s, and I simply can not bare to change it!
Thank you for stopping by.
If you enjoyed this post, fly to magical Toulouse. Flights with Ryanair, London Stansted Airport - anything from 12.99 - 100 euros! Or else where in Europe
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Thank you so much.
JEANNE
With love
filmmaking info
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Today is my parents wedding anniversary. 67 years ago Papa asked Mama to marry him. Felt a need to share this lovely photo of them, young, in love in Luba’s Bistro, London. UK.
How lovely. — What? — Every tiny thing on this page.
The sensory exposition in the pink lady paragraph-->comme c'est excellent! And the
Violette de Toulouse perfume reminds me of my grand-mere. It has been ages and maybe just euphoric recall but I want to believe she had a bottle.