Montpelier

Top of the mont in Montpelier, which in reality isn't on a mountain, but a pile of rocks

The original plan was to zip over to Spain to spend a few nights with Mary in Sitges, but when we did the math, the time spent on the train exceeded time there, so we put it off until February. But still I had the traveling spirit, and as the train to Barcelona was going to stop in Montpelier, it seemed the right direction to head. 

Sometimes we just don't realize how much we know. Lately I've been thinking about this in relation to booking travel, and this old dog has been doing slogging through learning some new tricks and it's taking a while. There's a helpful app called Omio which provides here to there quotes for whatever ways are available, and I've taken to doing what it tells me, which is book a round trip, which has to be at a particular time, even on the local train. As with Lyon, I got tossed out of shelter at 10 and had until 5 on a cold day. Hopefully next time I'll remember to wait on the return....  Can't, like in NYC, commit to the round trip and then decide later which return to take. I suppose it's much more organized here, with assigned seats and all. 

The non-TGV, i.e., slow train, was clean, had wifi and a funny little cart that came banging along, selling of all things, M&Ms. We were all, for some reason, crammed in next to each other on the same side of the train, the other side empty. I waited to see if anyone would move, no one did. There's something peaceful about being on a train, with nothing that needs to be done, so I watched an agrarian world go by, mostly vineyards. The walk from the Montpelier train station to the center of things was short, but windy and my new version of bone chilling (high forties), But palm trees greeted me, asking why I hadn't chosen a locale to live where they were as well. I could smell the sea air coming off the Mediterranean nearby. though never caught a glimpse.

Jardins des Plantes

Entrance to the old city, Tour de la Babote, built in the 1200s, with one of the hyper modern trams that scoot about,

A quick wander round brought me through an attractive ancient town with curvy and hilly "streets" that held shops and restaurants, many signs that life had been existing here for a very very long time. And funnily enough, it's called a young city because of the population. According to Wikipedia "Since the 1990s, Montpellier has experienced one of the strongest economic and demographic growths in the country. Its urban area has experienced the highest population growth in France since the year 2000. Numbering 70,000, students comprise nearly one-fourth of its population, one of the highest such proportions in Europe. Its living environment, with one of Europe's largest pedestrian areas, along with its rich cultural life and Mediterranean climate, explains the enthusiasm for the city, which is nicknamed the "Gifted".

Steps and a lamp at some very old civic sort of something or other

Aqueduct view from the very old  civic something or other

After a fine meal of the Korean Kafe's best clumped up box linguine doused in a sweet "chili" sauce that tasted like burnt wok meat doused with artfully zig zagged mayonnaise on top, I returned to my monastic but perfectly nice Airbnb with an English language book!! (gold) I'd picked up at Le Bookshop and cracked open Mighty Red by Louise Erdrich. Meh. 

Weirdly awake for a lot of the night, I slept in, only just hauling my ass out by10, in search of caffeine. I think it unkind when Airbnbs provide Nespresso machines and no pods. Who knows why we pick certain things over others, for there were many cafes I walked by, but L'Arca called out and I answered, walking into an almost empty cafe that is going for a 50s diner meets 1970s plants vibe. I sat down and ordered a cappuccino and a pain au chocolat in a peaceful room from a young bearded man. The only other patron, a lanky man with beautiful silver hair sat nearby, I believe reading. While my coffee was being made in front of me, I sat still in the silence of the cafe, paying attention to the details of his movements,  the spider plants, the overhead lights that look like fans, and then the woman who appeared, first putting her frizzy hair up in a ponytail, then washing her very white hands with a simple gold wedding ring, tying on an apron and stocking the small glass cabinet with croissants. It was an intimate feeling, the four of us being in this silent room together, making me think of tumbleweeds rolling across the desert. The other patron turned to ask my name, and when I told him, he told me his (I've forgotten) got up and gave me the French kiss (not that kind!). We chatted about life, the lack of importance money has, what we like to do and his daughter, a professor of Ecology who makes only €2700 per month.

When we finished up, he invited me to have another coffee at his apartment nearby, I demurred easily. He asked if I'd like company wandering the city, I again, demurred easily, he held no offense. I asked if I could take a photograph of him as I might mention him in my blog, he came in for a selfie, kissed me again both sides and then on the hair, paid for my breakfast and left. All day long it felt as though there was a shawl of affection and kindness on my shoulders, the day was brighter and kinder. 

My friend thecomedian/poet/Indian jewelry seller

It was that bright sun you only see by the sea, and as the Jardins de Plantes didn't open until 11, an uninformed wander was in order, leading me to the oldest medical school in the world, where should you desire, you can peruse exhibits at an anatomy museum. The building is attached to St. Peter's Cathedral, which though only built in the 14th century, is at a most staggeringly large scale. The turrets and moat were exciting, conjuring up visions of Black Death and heretics. Sadly, the tower, which visitors are sometimes allowed to climb, was closed.  

Further along, I got stuck behind a recycling truck, which contrary to working with mechanical arms that lift up the bins and dump, instead hold a man who gets out of the truck, closes the door,  takes his wee bin the size of a basket, knocks on a door and is handed bottles. Chatting does happen.

Bespoke recycling

Oldest Medical School, 1200 or so

Inside the oldest medical school 

Turrets of this monstrous cathedral, moat down below

Inside the Cathedral, looking towards the back at the organ

And then it was on to les Jardins, which was beautiful enough that I put a reminder in my calendar to come back in May, when the immense camelia tree will be in bloom. It was only on my way back to the train that I saw a contemporary art museum which looked interesting. And when reading something about Montpelier after I got home, realized I had missed the big tourist square and the water tower. Oh well. Je reviendrai.

And it turns out I busted out right in the nick of time. As the train from Bordeaux pulled in for those of us heading east, it disgorged about 50 very pale, dirty blonde haired young people in conservative clothing, with large suitcases. There's something a bit skewed about American people of faith coming to tell the French about God. 
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A PS of sorts. Thank you to those of you who leave comments, I appreciate them, but don't reply because it's public and complicated logistically. 

Le Jardins des Plantes

Metal work, gate at the Jardins

Fountain at the contemporary art museum

Back in Aix,  Christmas just got switched on