Hostellerie du Grand Saint Antoine ★★★★

Announced by a curious looking metal sign swinging in the wind, which was beginning to pick up, I found myself at last at the door of my lodgings for the weekend, the Hostellerie du Grand Saint Antoine. I was in the Languedoc region, steeped in history and mystery, this very town was the first to sympathise with, and offer refuge to, the Cathars. The enveloping secrecy around the illusive subject, the suggestions that they were the guardians of the true Holy Grail, a pregnant Mary Magdalene and their tragic and dramatic persecution by the Catholic Church has allured and fascinated many over the centuries. Here then, was I stepping on streets, amongst antique walls that had watched the truth of all our speculations and now guard the secret in their age-old stones. Nowhere more perfect to stay than one of the oldest hotels in France, run now by five generations of the same family, famous for their hospitality and genial warmth. This I experienced as soon as entered the establishment, as the staff, all following the principals held by the owners, were wonderfully kind and welcoming. A young lady rushed forward to help me in with my luggage as I struggled in the door and together we made it safely across the threshold - I have as yet to master the art of light packing!

The heavy suitcase finally hauled upstairs and deposited safely in my room in order to spill its contents onto the bed, I was home and dry. Just in time, as outside it began to rain and the light patter on my window pane lead me across the wooden floorboards to inspect the view outside. I saw a lush green garden, full of flowers, their petals already beginning to droop under the weight of the water that fell on them, which was beginning to gain momentum by the minute and soon obscured my view almost entirely. Fascinated by the silver light, I stayed, hypnotised, watching the greens and smudges of colour dance in the rivulets that ran down my window for some time.

I was at last shaken from my reverie by a loud clap of thunder bringing me back to the present with a jolt, and switching on the light I proceeded to explore my bedroom. It was elegant and cosy, with light, feminine décor, antique furniture and beautiful little touches such as the vase of fresh flowers and the stylish standing lamp, which was lending a warm glow, belying the cold outside. Pulling a jumper over my head as I went to inspect the bathroom, my crazy summer packing that was so mocked by my partner as I left, no longer appeared so foolish after all! I smiled to myself smugly as I saw the gleaming bathtub and thought of what he was missing, he would have loved this. I relished the thought of a steaming hot bath before bed as I listened to the rain beyond my snug little nest.

The sky was dramatically dark by now and feeling the first pangs of hunger, I was glad I had to go no further than downstairs to find the fine local French meal I had been dreaming of all the way here. I was informed that it was a little too early to dine as yet, but was shown the lounge and offered something to pick on while I waited by the splendid open fire, lit especially for the occasion as the storm howled outside. Lost in my book, I could have spent hours there, but suddenly found myself being gently tapped on the shoulder and told that the chef had arrived and was happy to take my order. I imagined the raggle taggle wayfarers and travellers from future kings to merchants who once gathered here to eat bacon soup, as I sampled my own finely cooked dinner of classic French cuisine done with traditional local flair. I enjoyed myself immensely, as I deemed it appropriate due to such foul weather, to indulge in a couple of glasses of local wine to warm the cockles and I finally wended my way back to my room and tumbled into the comfortable bed, bath forgotten.

The morning dawned gloriously sunny and I flung open the windows letting the sweet smell of freshly washed air, flowers and damp earth rush into my room and sweep away the night’s air. Not quite ready to face the rest of the world yet, however, I made the most of the option to order breakfast in my room and twenty minutes later I was feasting on hot bread rolls fresh from the oven and thick homemade yoghurt with honey and delicious fruit from the market. I spent an idyllic morning of relaxation and by the time I finally ventured forth from my peaceful haven to explore the rich history, architecture and art of Albi, I was bounding with energy, ready to take it all in! The age-old streets and charming squares, the many exquisite little restaurants tucked away to be discovered, the magnificent surroundings and majestic Tarn river, and, of course, the stunning castle, now a museum dedicated to Toulouse Lautrec. You can see the largest collection of his paintings here, including those iconic images that immortalised the Belle Epoch Moulin Rouge and its girls in silk stockings. This is truly a French gem fit for any Duchess or hopeless romantic, such as myself, and the Hostellerie du Grand Saint Antoine, right in the centre, embodies all that made me fall in love with Albi.