By Griff
November 2 2006

It's a tough old life as the "cultural" reporter for The Craic. As the match reporter you know you only have to capture the 80 minutes of action for those that weren't there. The Craic reporter needs to capture the essence of the trip from the point of view of those that were there, for those that weren't.

To do this, one has to have an eye for detail, a love for life and a liver the size of Asia. I'll try not to make this a drink-a-long story, there was so much more to the trip to Toulouse than merely the drinking. The problem is it's much easier to describe the levels of incapability and the hangovers than it is to identify what it was that made the trip so special.

This was Irish's second trip to Toulouse, the heroics of 2002 gained us our first trip but sadly work commitments meant I missed out on that one. I've always thought the larger towns and cities of France wouldn't be quite as welcoming as the smaller ones but the travelers from then insisted that it had been a momentous trip. I can now understand why.

Toulouse, as a city, certainly managed a welcome to rival Agen and Montauban. While it is much larger it lost none of the atmosphere for it. The people are a big part of this, the Toulousain are justifiably proud of their town and seem to relish welcoming travelers to it.

My tour arrived later than some, I landed at 2300 on the Friday so as to avoid taking time off the day-job (and, obviously, to avoid the early drinking). By the time AngeB, Aardvark (Martin) and I had sorted the Blagnac baggage handlers out and I'd made it to the Ibis it was very nearly midnight and most were out.

Toulouse Blagnac baggage handlers were on form this weekend. Ange & Martin's bag was one of 5 missing from our flight (it magically appeared when we reached the front of the customer service queue, more than could be said for the others). Along with theirs at least one other LI couple (Hello, Paul and Vicki) had had theirs go missing - this was worse as it contained their money and credit-cards. Of course you know the LI support rallied round and helped them out while the airline worked out which exciting destination had been the target for the bag. It finally arrived Saturday afternoon.

I decided to have a quiet beer in the bar and then hop off to bed. There were a few others doing similarly but it wasn't long before the torrent began - party, after party of "happy" Irish returning from various hostelries to have "one last one" in the Ibis bar. These included a disgruntled Gagging4aGuinness, an apologetic Cheffy and Finnegan, incapable with laughter - victim, perpetrator of and witness to a "drive by fruiting"...

Saturday arrived as warm and sunny as the Friday and we spent the usual tour morning trying to see cultural high spots and avoid the inevitable first beer. Having bought the cheap-seat tickets we'd planned, I popped into the incredibly impressive Stade Toulouse shop near the Ibis.

I'd heard about this shop previously but didn't fully appreciate the scale of the place. There is nothing "Stade Toulouse" that you can't buy - from Shirts through towels and even Stade boxer shorts. Malcolm Ball would've loved it. Next year is the club's centenary and they've already got a reasonable supply of commemorative goods - 2007, one hundred years of fighting spirit. Top stuff.

There then followed a momentous moment. Brian, Giles and I met in a restaurant for lunch. The casual observer may not realise this but we co-eds rarely meet each other, let alone socialise. This was the first time Brian (or anyone else) can remember a social meeting between all three eds - that doesn't mean it hasn't happened though... Glen and Mary joined us too

After a long lunch which consisted mainly of rosé some headed hotelwards for a siesta, some, including me, headed towards a bar just off the Place du Capitole to watch the other HC games and "have a little drink". During the afternoon we dragged locals off the street, chatted with them, drank with them and challenged them to a singing contest. Fairly standard tour fare, I'm not sure who won the contest but I'm guessing it wasn't music.

During the course of this fine afternoon of cultural exchange I contracted some kind of narcolepsy and had trouble staying a) awake and b) upright. O.K., it's a fair cop, I got old-fashioned hammered and had to beat a hasty retreat to the Ibis for a "lie down".

So some stuff must've happened to the Irish support during Saturday night but I can't report it, I was unavoidably detained. Fear not, though, gentle reader, this wasn't the end to my Saturday. I'd promised GWaGG company as his fellow travelers had backed-out at the last minute. I hate to fail in a promise and so when I awoke from my stupor at 2330 I, factoring-in the extra hour afforded by the clock-change, got the hotel to get me a taxi and headed to the Killarney bar to meet-up with Dermot.

I liked the Killarney, sorry Donaghadee, it may "just" be an Irish bar but it had great staff (including, would you believe a Looby from Clonmel - no relation, so far as I know), the hardy few who'd made it to past midnight there were great value and the stout was a welcome change to the fizzy lager (and rosé) of earlier. The music was good too.

We departed, having sung everything from Ireland's Call, through Snow Patrol to The Marseillaise, at around 0400 and the place seemed to have no intention of closing - someone mentioned the time 0630 the following day - quite some stamina!

So to match day. Determined not to get too drunk as I had the 0725 flight to catch on Monday I obviously joined BrianC, Fatboy and partners (along with Dermot of GWaGG fame) for lunch (with the obligatory rosé) at the restaurant above Victor Hugo covered market. Folks are right that this is a real gem of a place to eat, great food done inexpensively. That it's well supported by local diners is all you need to know. If you didn't go this time, make this a port-of-call next Toulouse visit.

Post lunch we hopped in cabs to make it to the stadium with plenty of time to soak up the atmosphere and make new friends in the Toulousain crowd. The set-up at the stadium is typically French. It's not flashy but the BBQ food is fantastic and the beer was cold.

I won't mention the match itself (other than to say "Well done" to the lads for a spirited fight) but I will enthuse about the stadium atmosphere. Stade Ernest Wallon is every bit the concrete carbuncle that the MadStad is but filled to the rafters with 19,000 enthusiastic supporters it has an atmosphere to rival any sporting venue of legend. The hair is standing up on the back of my neck simply remembering - it was a truly special experience.

Toulouse was the initial spur in the creation of our drum corps. We had taken only small arms (bodhrans) which was a wise move. Any amount of drums that we could have got there would have been drowned-out by the Toulousain batteries (stationed above every main exit) and their horn-section. Even so Brendan and Cheffy did their best by travelling, with bodhrans, to the nearest battery for a bit of sport.

After the final whistle we mingled with the happy home support, some got to play the legendary Toulousain drums. The BBQ was still fired, the beer was still cold and, as Ernst Wallon is plagued by the same traffic problems you find at any large stadium, many hung-around to socialise. A truly excellent day-out to round off a fantastic weekend.

Sunday evening was a more sedate reflection of Friday and Saturday. My party found a nice curry-house, a pub-quiz (not easy in French, believe me) and, inevitably, a good time.

I made the 0725 homeward flight along with quite a few other fools, for whom it had equally seemed like a good idea when we booked it. The Blagnac baggage handlers, though, had the final word. One of them was unfortunate enough to injure himself in the plane's hold whilst loading the bags. We had a bit of a wait while the paramedics made him comfortable and, ironically, unloaded him before we could take-off. I sincerely hope he's O.K. because, in case you hadn't noticed from the above, I like Toulouse.