Bonjour, France!

Chapitre II: Montpellier

April 24

10:00: Already in Montpellier, and already feeling tropical. We head to the Antigone square in search of food. And food we find: paella from the Sunday morning market. I adore paella. The vendor has no forks, but I don’t mind! Scooping rice with mussel shells under palm trees and blue skies – what more can you ask of a holiday in the south of France? 

13:00: Walking through Place de la Comédie and the adjoining gardens. Spring is well and truly here! We continue to the Musée Fabre, “one of the biggest museums in France”. No kidding. I actually get lost – a feat I won’t even manage in the Louvre!

18:00: ZAT! (Zones Artistiques Temporaires) Festival – we see “a man who falls”, as my roommate bluntly puts it, and “a man who washes hands”. The latter may have left me a little perplexed, but the first definitely deserves more credit than that. Not only is he was an amazing trampolinist, he performs to Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G, 3^rd movement. I recognise the piece without needing to read the program, so that, dear reader, should give you a pretty good idea of how much I love it.

April 25

9:00: Sunday morning stroll through the Jardin de Peyrou. Such serenity. I don’t blame my roommate for wanting to live here one day. The Porte du Peyrou (nicknamed l’Arc de Triomphe, for obvious reasons) and the beautiful Château d’Eau...

11:00: I fall in love with the Quartier de l’Ancien Courrier, an old neighbourhood of Montpellier. Wandering down narrow alleyways, stumbling upon cute crêperies... 

 

14:00: A spot of shopping at the Odysseum. Sounds impressive for a shopping centre, doesn’t it? Well, it sure is. I find a shop called Stradivarius...that sells clothes and accessories. No matter, I buy a bag to support the excellent choice of name.

15:00: Sick. Sicker than I’ve been in years. But no details needed here. That’s the last time I try to save money and a bad stomach by buying food from a supermarket though – street vendor next time! How ironic.

19:00: I drag myself out of bed to see the Modigliani Quartet in concert at the Montpellier Fêtes des Luthiers. And boy am I glad I do. One look at them and all sickness is forgotten... Four beautiful men playing Webern, Beethoven and Debussy on four beautiful instruments – I can’t think of a better way to recover!

Stop and smell the daffodils.

Upon reading my “internet” blog, a dear friend suggested that I detach myself from my computer desk and take a walk instead. Maybe with a camera and a notepad. It made sense – I was in Switzerland after all. And now, I have her to thank for a wonderful day. It was also the first day that I had spent alone in quite some time, and I liked it. 

First stop: Musée de l’Elysée, a photography exhibition by Hans Steiner of Switzerland during and after of WWII. Haunting images of Belgian orphans in Switzerland, women wearing the first bikinis by the river in Bern, machinery in a chocolate factory, children learning to ski for the first time...

I recently started a postcard collection – it’s the easiest and cheapest souvenir to find while travelling. I’ve also discovered that most art museums carry postcard copies of the artworks on display. A mini Picasso or Cezanne for two francs? Yes, please!

After that, I jumped on a bus to the Lausanne Vivarium. Or so I thought. But apparently not every bus goes through the city centre... Instead, I ended up in a remote little town called Pully: one of those places that you only know by the name of the train line, but never actually visit. But, determined to make the most of my day, I jumped off the bus and went exploring.

What I found were narrow cobblestone streets lined by beautiful European buildings and colourful flowerbeds already abloom with the first flowers of spring. As I reached the end of a narrow alleyway behind the church, I found myself staring at the most magnificent view of the Swiss countryside, Lac Léman and the Alps. Beneath the peaceful church courtyard, vineyards and country villages sprawled outward in every direction. In the distance, a train chugged along the hillside and disappeared into a tunnel. The birds chirped in the spindly trees and behind me, a church bell began to toll. I just stood there and smiled.

My day didn’t end there. On the way home, I decided, quite spontaneously, to get off one stop early. Why not visit the botanic gardens? Spring was just around the corner and the turn of the seasons was always an interesting time in the plant kingdom. What I found was a world in transition. There were some plants still deep asleep and some emerging from tiny green buds; others were already in full bloom, undeterred by the crisp wintery air. I loved them all. For the next few hours, I found myself on my knees in the soil or stretching out on tip toes, clicking away furiously on my camera. The garden didn’t need to be exploding with life for it to be incredibly beautiful. The process itself was enough to take my breath away.

Dawdling home at my own pace, I vowed to take the wrong bus again the next chance I got. It was time I reacquainted with my oldest friend: me.