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fWhen thinking about article ideas for the eagerly anticipated first edition of journalIST, I was at a loss. My inspiration was about as dry as the Sahara desert. The lovely editorial team of this issue were happy to help me luckily. By bullying me into writing this article.
Let's start with hello, my name is Zachary Simms. This is my first year at IST, having lived previously in Dubai, UAE. I enjoyed all the luxury that Dubai had to offer; for me, it was just so lavish and divine! Top end shopping experiences and cuisine designed to lighten the wallets of some of the world's wealthiest gourmands contributed to a life of air-conditioned ease.
I grew up accustomed to life in the city, so of course many people have wondered why I haven’t hurled myself into the whirlwind of Toulouse's high life! The editors were outraged and ordered me into a pit of vipers: "Go and experience Toulouse first hand!" What follows is an account of my first steps in "La Ville Rose".
It was raining… My old umbrella had sprung a leak, my thin jumper did not prepare me for the harsh conditions I was about to face. My first journey into this myesterious place began when I told my dear father that I must go to Toulouse. He was somewhat elated at the opportunity to get away from his wife, 2-year-old son, and 6-month-old baby girl. To describe my household as chaotic would be an understatement. We packed the bare essentials, entered our car (one begrudgingly, one overjoyed; me being the former) and buckled our seatbelts with that distinctive Click noise that ensures our safety (always wear your seatbelts, kids). The drive from my house to the center of Toulouse took exactly 26 minutes and 45 seconds. I know. I counted.
“Record speed,” my father told me.
Now of course, upon entering the Capitol, I was surprised, to say the least. The architecture was nothing like I had seen in Dubai; everything was so old, rustic, and… pink! And there were trees!Compared to Dubai, this was cultured and had an air of sophistication that I can’t describe. After living in a desert for two years, you get used to barren landscapes. We parked the car next to a meter and paid 2 euros in order to stay 1 hour to eat lunch, have a gander at the sights, and just take in all that Toulouse has to offer.
Upon exiting the car, the first word that I uttered was an expletive. The weather conditions were far from favorable. The winds pushed my umbrella from one direction to the next and finally after a gruelling battle, succumbed to the onslaught of Mother Nature’s wrath and perished. All I had left were my hopes, dreams, and an inadequate sweater. The rains poured down upon me as I narrowly dodged an oncoming cyclist who wasn’t watching where she was going. Another expletive under my breath, as the oblivious cyclist continued on her merry way.
My father and I found ourselves at a lovely little bistro which I seem to have forgotten the name of, so I can never go back. The menu was of course written in French, thus with my limited vocabulary, I ordered. My father asked for the salmon burger. It was their special, so I did too. What can I say? Scrumdiddlyumptious! If I were reviewing food I would easily give it 9 gold stars. I still dream about that fish. I would marry that fish if I had the opportunity.
Anyway, back to the rest of the visit.
After paying the bill, we left with our bellies full, our clothes still soaking from the rain. On returning to the car, we found the worst possible thing had happened. Under the wiper, we discoverd a ticket: the meter had expired. A fifty-euro fine, and my father was swearing too.
We left Toulouse with our souls shattered, hearts broken, and the beginnings of a cold. Although it wasn't a grand adventure of epic proportions and certainly no journey to Mordor or Narnia, but it truly was memorable. But my appetite for exploring the region had been whetted.
But where would Zach attack next?
Where should Zach go next? Email us your ideas at [email protected]