Amazing Albi, Part 2

Bertrand showed us to our room, called the Fleur de Lys (see picture from his brochure here, and the photo from our window in the last blog). Wow!

After giving us free entry to the Toulouse Lautrec museum, and agreeing that we needed to see the inside of the cathedral in the afternoon, he told us to meet him back at the Tour at 12:00 and he would show us where to have lunch.

Toulouse Lautrec comes off looking really good in his museum set in the old Archbishop’s palace. Who wouldn’t? His family donated all the work left in his studio to the city, and they have done it proud. All the famous posters are there, including pre-sketches, along with some wonderful seldom-seen works. Since I’d lost my free pass somewhere on the street, they let me in for half price, amid a plethora of apologies. What does plethora mean? Ah, I was right. Thanks, google. An overabundance.

Outside, there was a plethora of tulips in all colors, it being a perfect spring day (see photo).

Then Bertrand walked us to the restaurant. It’s good we arrived early because by 12:30 the place was packed. And no wonder. The food is excellent. Our choices had been decided by Bertrand and the waitress, Rosille – then he left.

The salad was tiny spinach leaves and sesame seeds over chevre (goat cheese) and a pate of mixed veggies including eggplant, very light and smooth, on tomatoes, on crumbled shortbread cookies sprinkled with balsamic and oil. The main dish was savory slices of turkey with perfect vegetables and penne pasta. A+. Rosille said that dessert was “rice cooked in milk.” The reality was rice cooked in very creamy milk with a banana/apricot sauce flavored with lemon and ginger, sprinkled with chopped pistachios, and topped by a delicate flower of whipped cream. Not like any rice pudding I ever made!

Each dish was eaten very slowly to savor every tiny bite, not my usual “chow down or it will go away” style.

We left, fully satisfied and ready to take on the cathedral.

As powerful as the outside is, the inside is equally amazing. Paintings done in the 1500s have not lost their luster. The trompe l’oeuile is baffling [see photo]. The statues, big and little, have personalities. Go. See for yourself.

Just inside the entrance was a notice to all visitors that touched me deeply. Here it is, first in French because it’s so beautiful in the original language, then I’ll translate:

“En admirant la beaute du travail des hommes, puissiez-vous trouver la presence de Dieu. Que cette visite rest en vous comme un moment de Paix. »

English : In admiring the beauty of the work of men, you might find the presence of God. May this visit remain in you as a moment of Peace.

It is the most beautiful way of describing why great artists through the centuries have welcomed the chance to work on these buildings. Their love of God inspired them to heights they could not have achieved on their own. And now we, living in a crowded, tempestuous world, see their work and feel a moment of peace.

After exploring the town some more, it was time for dinner. Bertrand showed us to another specially-chosen restaurant where we were treated, thanks to him, like honored guests. More elegant than the lunchtime place, the food was excellent but not quite so excellent as that other. However, the dessert, oh my. Fondant (I’m not sure what flavor that was) glace (ice cream) with a thick perfect raspberry sauce.

It was quite late when we arrived back at the hotel, but Bertrand was waiting for us. We explained that our train left very very early in the morning, 6:00, I think. We would have to rise even earlier, probably 4:45 (because of Mary and makeup) to walk there in time.

He wouldn’t hear of it. No. He himself would drive us in his Peugeot to the station. We protested, but he insisted. So before the sunrise, he was at the gate with his little car, perfect for the narrow streets of French towns. He took our packs, loaded them in the back, and off we went, me in the back seat and Mary in front.

I am not imagining this – he had been flirting with Mary all this time. She denies it, but I am sure of it. She’s a widow of only a few years, so may not recognize the signs yet. I found it charming of him.

At the station, he carried both packs into the waiting room, then stayed with us until the train pulled in. He then carried the packs onto the train, which was crowded even at that hour, and gave each of us the little French kisses.

Waving to us from the platform, we waved back, knowing we would never forget Albi and Bertrand.

Amazing Albi

Albi is an hour by train from Toulouse. Three stars from Frommer’s France means it’s one of the best. I went online and found a hotel with good reviews, less expensive than the others in town, and booked one night. How could I know that La Tour Sainte Cecile would turn out to be our most exceptional stay in all the five weeks?

Let me explain --

We arrived about eight in the morning and found ourselves at a small deserted train station on the outskirts of town. Near the street was a large framed map of Albi, so we studied it, trying to figure out where we were and where we were going. There was no “Vous Etes Ici” mark to get us started. After about five minutes of confusion, a middle-aged woman ambled across the street to us and said, in French, “Don’t look at the map. It will get you lost.” She then pointed us in the direction we should go, saying, “Keep to the right, go across the bridge, always to the right. When you get to the cathedral, ask anyone for directions.”

Hoisting our backpacks, we started walking, not knowing how far we might have to go. We went down a hill and came to a cross street where turning to the left seemed to be the better-traveled way. While we stood there pondering, up trotted the woman again to help us out. She’d been watching us, caring about us! She is one huge reason why we loved Albi. Another is Bertrand, but that comes later.

Even though the walk wasn’t easy (the backpacks seemed heavier and heavier), it was along a lovely flower-bedecked and tree-shaded street that passed a school where children were just arriving. The small bridge didn’t span water, just a chasm, and then we were trudging uphill into the town which was still hidden by curves in the road and trees.

Rounding a corner, I stopped in amazement! At the top of the street was an overwhelming sight – the Cathedral of Sainte Cecile. Look at the picture! The largest all-brick building in the whole world, it has a commanding presence that simply knocked me for a loop! Right there in the little town of Albi!

Built in the 13^th Century, it is – once again, overwhelming. I must quote from the booklet I bought there (the only one I bought during the whole trip). Oh, never mind. You weren’t there so it might be boring to try to imagine it. Go there! You’ll love it!

We didn’t stop to go inside since we still had the backpacks, but instead went in search of our hotel. The street was easy, Rue Sainte Cecile, right off the main square by the Cathedral. The number presented a problem, though. We found 8, 10, 12 and 16, but no 14. Dismayed, even wondering if I’d been duped, I went to the hairdresser shop across the way and asked if anyone knew where No. 14 was.

Laughing, the owner set down his tools and walked us across the street to the ornate wrought-iron gate and pointed down a narrow private walkway between Nos. 12 and 16 to a heavy old wooden door.

Amazed, I asked, “Vraiment?” “Oui. 14.”

I worried that we were arriving too early, since it was only 9:00 and arrival time should have been around 11. The door was locked, but there was one of those communication thingies so I pushed a button and heard a phone ringing inside. A man answered and I apologized for being too early.

“No problem,” said he, sounding delighted that we were there. We heard the lock on the door open, then climbed up two narrow flights of stairs (later finding the elevator) to meet Bertrand, the charming host of La Tour Sainte Cecile.

It’s not a hotel, but a “Chambre d’Hote,” which I gather means that a private person is opening his home to visitors. What a delight for these two scruffy, inelegant women to be lodged in the 13^th Century home that Bertrand grew up in.

He and his two sisters inherited the family home when his father died, and partitioned it into three separate areas. Rather than keep his section to himself, Bertrand decided to share it with visitors so he could meet people from all over the world. He loves people of all kinds -- and I tell you, he’s adorable. When you meet him, you’ll see I haven’t exaggerated or used the wrong word.

The next blog will go into more detail. Don’t miss it! Our one day in Albi was a day of fairytale enchantment (but not at all like Disneyland).

The photos are my first view of the cathedral, Mary and I in Bertrand's living room, and the view out the window of our spacious room.