theatre du capitole

This morning I went along with my wandering spirit (or pretended to have one long enough to get me out the door), and found my way to the bus downtown, and then all over the itsy bitsy part of downtown I mapped out in my head yesterday.  Four hours of walking later, I was finally tired enough to make my way back, just as the rain started to lightly sprinkle.

I wound my way through the brick buildings and streets to the Place du Capitole, where the beautiful brick and gold-guilded theatre lines one whole side of the square block plaza that marks the cultural center of Toulouse.  In the archway connecting the left side (mayor's office?) and the right (the theater) there was an exhibit on Antoine de Saint-Exupèry -- a famous Toulousian who shares his name with the family with whom I'm staying, who was a pilot and author of Le Petit Prince.  It was a little more aviation-focused that truly could hold my interest for long (yeah, WWI plane lingo in French isn't exactly one of my strong suits), but for the AirBus crowd, it made sense.  It was still fun to see a little more about his life, and made me curious to read his other books, closer to memoirs, as far as I can tell, than children's books.  And oh by the way, this is where I will perform:

Not such a bad place to park myself for the next year :)  Granted, we perform at some other theaters throughout Toulouse as well, but the Halle aux Grains, the other theater I've seen, is equally beautiful, if slightly less awe-inspiring. Eventually, I continued on, though not until I'd had a few mostly failing attempts at containing gleeful giggles, to find the Garonne River.

I walked up along the river, cutting back over through the University (on accident), popping in to a little patisserie to get my first pain au chocolat of my stay.  It's amazing how good a pain au chocolat feels deep in your soul, though I suppose you should expect nothing less when its first three ingredients are butter, chocolate, and flaky warm fluffy air pockets.  Pretty much amazing.

I finally managed to get to the flea market at the Basilique de Saint Sernin, at the base of the beautiful church which had bells tolling every 15 minutes as vendors hawked their wares.  I got some of my essentials -- nut bread, olives, kitchen knives, bamboo spatulas, a bath mat -- and just walked, circling the market (and church) twice, taking in the sights and smells and sounds of a French market.  Around 1 pm, I let myself get shot out from the market's vortex in some direction, took a stab at which street would lead me back to somewhere I recognized, and found myself back at the Place du Capitole.

There I sat, making conversation with the Parisian man on the bench next to me, and wondering at the cafes across the plaza that all too soon will be familiar.  It almost feels like it's actually going to happen, it's not just some crazy dream that I'm going to get jostled awake from, or some joke that has a punch line hovering just as soon as I fully commit.  I'm here. It's done. On y va.