After the long journey half way round the world, followed by a much-needed night’s sleep – well half a night’s sleep at least – we were ready for the trip South from Toulouse to the Pyrenees. 

First up, breakfast! There’s nothing like a French breakfast, especially when it’s of the ‘all you can eat’ variety at just 5 euros a head. Coffee, juice, yoghurt, compote, breads and spreads – and croissants for those who can get them. Can’t complain. We’ve now stayed in the ‘Premiere Classe’ hotel two or three times. First class it may not be, but these basic airport hotels are cheap, convenient and excellent for an overnight stay.

Revitalised after food and a further short nap, we packed up and headed out. Toulouse to Quillan is only two hours (or less) by car, but our trip by public transport would take us most of the day using tram, metro, train, bus and rental car.

First, we had to trundle our suitcases back a kilometre or so to the airport terminal. This is much more straight forward in daylight. Note for next time we arrive in the middle of the night that it is not necessary to take a circuitous route round the car park if you exit at door D3…

From the airport, it’s the T2 tram route, then a change to the A metro line in order to get to the main train station. This is quite straightforward, but an extra challenge with five people and three heavy suitcases. Waiting in the long queue at the machines for tram tickets, we were approached by a man heading towards the airport. “I have five trips left on my ticket, you can have them if you want,” he said as he passed the ticket over and walked off. Being the sorry experienced traveller I am, I suspected a scam but no, it was just a genuine act of human kindness. Saved us the queue and the cost of tickets. Nice one.

The change from tram to metro is at Arenes. Trap for young players – don’t get off at the similarly named ‘Arenes Romaines’ stop. That’s not the one you need. I’ve made that mistake before in a jetlagged state. Not this time. At Arenes the interchange is straightforward and the lifts and escalators accessible for suitcases. As always, the metro is difficult to get on to with a large group with gear and we were separated. Fortunately we’d anticipated this likelihood and made sure everyone knew which stop we would be getting off at.

Toulouse Matabiau station is surrounded by construction and roadworks, and there aren’t many places to sit, but we were there in plenty of time before our train departure and managed to poach a few adjacent seats progressively. The Paul cafe chain is perfect for stocking up on coffee and lunch supplies. There was time to buy a mobile phone top-up and load that to the French SIM. Given the current state of agitation across France, it was no surprise that at one point three fully camouflage-attired French soldiers cruised through the station, automatic weapons at the ready, eyeing up the waiting crowds with a steely eye. Not quite the friendly police officer experience of Wellington airport.

A 5-minute delay to the scheduled departure time of our train had us slightly nervous, as our itinerary allowed for only a 6-minute turnaround from train to bus at Carcassonne. Fortunately we are familiar with the layout of the Carcassonne station. With a minute to spare, I lept off the train and ran to the bus stop to hold the bus while the others followed smartly behind. As it happened there was still a queue of people waiting to get on and the driver noted that he had been advised that our train was delayed. Like a well oiled machine!

This was the point in the journey at which we thought we might be disrupted by the current ‘gilets jaunes’ protest action, blocking roundabouts and major retail intersections. Not so. The first and only sign on this leg was at Limoux, right at the main roundabout where we were dropped off to collect our rental car. Etiquette seemed to require much tooting and waving. A yellow vest displayed on the dashboard sufficed to pass, and vehicles were being let through every few minutes, so it was no great inconvenience.

Arriving at the big Leclerc hypermarket from where we had organised to hire a car, we were greeted by three smiling ladies behind the information desk. Yes, your car is ready. We had arranged with our tenants to leave our car seat with the desk a week ago – yes, that was waiting for us. So easy! So welcoming! Loaded up, we were ready to head off but… the car wouldn’t start! After a bit of to and fro, and various muttering and checking of the instruction manuals, it seemed no clearer what was the problem. They (and we) were concerned that there were no other cars available for rental. Some discussion was had about alternatives. A minivan? No, that was booked. A courtesy car from their insurers? How far are you going, we were asked. When we explained we would be based locally, the woman behind the information desk observed that yes, we live in the same village as her… Ah! No wonder the welcome was so friendly! Classic. Love this place.

Finally, roadside assistance was called and ascertained that it was a flat battery. So, after a jump start and a drive round the block, we were back en route. This is familiar territory now and the closer we get to Quillan the more it feels like we are coming ‘home’. Approaching the outskirts of town, we encountered another band of gilets jaunes blocking the roundabout at Carrefour supermarket. The requisite fire was burning, palet barricades up, and even the fish had been dressed in a jaunty yellow outfit. No violence or nastiness here. Just merry banter and much waving, cheering and tooting as the traffic was slowly let through.

Finally, at 5pm in the afternoon, we are ‘home’ – for the next few weeks, anyway.