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The most Toulouse of all the hotels is where, since three generations of hotelier, welcoming our guest has the accent and the warmth of a Nougaro’s song.
It is the hotel which, like the pink city, draws its size from its simplicity. The hotel where eating is a festival, not a need, where one grows languid in the Spanish patio, at the time when “the Saint Sernin Basilica illuminates the evening of a coral flower that the sun sprinkles”. Where, like everywhere in the Gascon city, to the rhythm of work and rest adds the rhythm of words and silence, shades and the sun. The hotel which knew nights who rolled like stone torrents, when the musicians had a feast there of a rib steak at four o’clock in the morning.
The hotel which kept its spirit, between the green water of the Canal du Midi and red brick of the Minimes: Today, Brigitte and Céline Hugounet, the grand daughters of the founder, still make of Orleans the beating heart of Toulouse. “I still hear the echo of dad’s voice, my only singer of blues at that time” …