montpellier (france, cont.)

On the morning of July 8, I made my way to the Gare de Lyon via the metro (love the Paris metro) and boarded a speed train bound for Montpellier in the south of France. I sat with a very friendly mother and daughter pair from British Columbia, and we had a nice chat about Paris and the places they were going to visit next. The train ride took only about 3 1/2 hours--not a lot of time considering I was traveling from one end of the country to the other. I became an instant fan of speed trains, and I'm really looking forward to the day when I can zip from Fresno to the Bay Area or to LA on the speed trains we so desperately need in California.

I arrived in Montpellier a little too early to check into my dorm room, so I found a good bakery and ate a sandwich in a park near the train station. I then boarded the TAM, Montpellier's light rail system--which is probably the best public transportation system I've ever used--and headed over to the university dorms. After a few misadventures (I was sent to the wrong floor, given the wrong key, etc.) I checked into my little room, and was thrilled to see that I had my own itty bitty bathroom, complete with toilet, sink, and shower. (I'd been told I'd be sharing a bathroom in the dorms.)

Montpellier is basically a big college town; it is home to the oldest medical school in Europe, and it is a lovely place to visit, despite the fact that other coastal towns tend to get all the love from travel books. In fact, the 17th-century philosopher John Locke once wrote, "I find it much better to go twise [sic] to Montpellier than once to the other world." This, however, doesn't prevent the Lonely Planet guide to France from snidely observing, "Paradise it ain't."

While it may not be paradise, Montpellier is a lovely place to visit. Its history as a hub of trade in the Mediterranean shapes its architecture, its cuisine, and its population. The pace of life is decidedly andante, although it is still a vital and bustling city with its fair share of tourists. I spent my first afternoon wandering about the place de la Comédie and the esplanade Charles de Gaulle, which are pleasant places to meander, enjoy the trees and fountains, and have a coffee. There are lovely examples of Beaux-Arts architecture here, and it's easy enough to dodge the tourists by wandering off into one of Montpellier's many side roads or alleys.

In fact, Montpellier is great for wandering, as the city center is a maze of small roads and alleys and home to a number of 17th-century mansions (hôtels particuliers) that have been converted into living spaces, shops, or museums. Swallows continually circle above the city, often darting downward and swooping through the alleyways. In the early evening, I headed over to Le Corum--the ultra-modern complex where the Enlightenment Congress was being held--registered for the conference, and went to the wine and cheese reception.

In my previous post, I indicated that the French were not at all rude to me, but I will have to say that French eighteenth-century scholars (dixhuitemists) are not the friendliest bunch. I couldn't at all join any of their conversations, and a few practically pushed me to the ground in their mad grab for wine and nibbles. I couldn't find any of my Irish/US/Canadian/English colleagues, so, having had enough of being ignored and jostled by French enlightenment scholars, I wandered off to enjoy a delicious meal of salad with goat cheese crostini, chicken breast in mustard sauce, and crème brullée.

The food in Montpellier was fantastic. The main reason I chose to stay in student housing was that I wanted to spend my money on food, and I'm glad I did, because I didn't at all hold back when forking out for meals. That evening I had my first good night's rest in France, and, after a modest breakfast of bread and coffee in the student cafeteria (a week's worth of these was included in the price of the dorm room), I got ready for a full-day's worth of sessions on such exciting topics as 18th-century law and theories of science in the enlightenment!

Um, not really. It was far too beautiful a day to be stuck in a stuffy room listening academic presentations, so instead I wandered the city again. I came across the Cathédrale St-Pierre, which sports some very large 15th-century columns that create a sort of odd front porch. Inside were some cool paintings, including "The Fall of Simon the Magician" by the 17th-century Montpellier artist Sebastian Bourdon. At lunch I watched a couple of drunks nearly get into a fight, and then went back to my dorm where I had a refreshing nap.

During an outdoor evening concert in the place Royal du Peyrou, I finally found my friends--Sally, Nancy, Katherine, and Caroline, all of whom are bonafide speakers of English, even if they all evince their own peculiar accents. From that point on, we basically became a rogue gang of eighteenth-centuryists, avoiding the conference as much as we could possibly get away with. By the way, the place Royal du Peyrou is another beautiful promenade where you'll find a hexagonal water tower (the Château d'Eau) and the nearby 18th-century Aqueduc de St-Clément. A statue of Louis XIV presides over the place. The Arc de Triomphe, just to the west of the promenade, serves as a gateway to the city center (see above). We got tired of waiting for the post-concert wine reception, so we all went off to dine at Roule Ma Poule, a student hangout with good salads (I had the Roquefort) and festive lights on its patio.

Next: how Sally, Nancy, Katherine, and Caroline avoided attending the conference by taking excursions to the beach and to a fantastical walled fortress!

france, finally

Many moons ago I determined to write some posts about my trip to France. I considered blogging while I was in France, but I didn't always have access to the Internet, and let's face it: I was too busy doing interesting stuff to be wasting my time sitting at a computer and writing about it all. That said, I really didn't mean to wait four months to give this account, but . . . merde happens.

My reason for going to France was to attend the Twelfth International Enlightenment Congress: Knowledge, Techniques, and Culture in the 18th Century. But before you go running off to YouTube to search for something more entertaining, take heart in knowing that I am not going to be saying very much at all about the conference or about the 18th century. (This is mainly because I didn't spend much time doing anything conference related. I was in France, for goodness's sake!) Thus, rest assured that these next few posts will be largely unenlightened. I mean, enlightenment-free.

(If any of these pictures look too small, just click on them, and they should appear as larger versions in your web browser.)

I won't say much about my experience getting there, except to say that it takes a really long time to get from Dallas to Paris. And that I've become a big fan of the international terminal at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport, where you can sip margaritas at a variety of bars and restaurants as you while away your 3+ hour layover.

I arrived in Paris the morning of July 7, and I spent the first day checking into my cosy hotel (it really was called the Hotel Cosy) and wandering about in search of sustenance. You need to realize that I don't speak a lick of French (well, maybe just a lick, and, after having been there for a week and a half, I think I speak maybe two licks now), and so getting myself some lunch proved absolutely futile. I would walk into an establishment and say something like "bluh blah bluh bluh bluh," and, surprisingly enough, this would not cause a plate of those yummy French vittles to appear before my famished self. I also learned (mainly through a series of quizzical looks, grimaces, and pointing at signs) that the French don't do lunch after 2:00 p.m.

So, I did the next best thing, and wandered off to the Cimetière du Père Lachaise. This is a great big cemetery where the remains of such luminaries as Edith Piaf, Molière, Gertrude Stein, Isadora Duncan, Georges Bizet, and Richard Wright are interred. The place makes for a lovely walk, and the weather was beautiful, so I spent a few hours paying my respects to some of the most important folks of the last few hundred years, and was generally thrilled to be standing before the grave site of, say, Oscar Wilde.

When I found myself before the headstone of Jim Morrison--one of the most visited sites in the cemetery--I was surprised to find that I had Jim all to myself; no one else was around. Shortly after this, some cemetery police people pulled up next to me and began to say things in urgent and loud tones. I finally came to understand that the cemetery was closed, and I would have to leave immediately. Good thing they found me, because as charmed as I was by the place, I wasn't prepared to spend the night there. (Not without a Ouija board and some warmer clothing, anyway.) Besides, I was getting really hungry at this point. So after a crypt keeper let me out through the side gates, I wandered off in search of food again.

I finally steeled myself, and walked into the Crêperie Bretonne on the Rue de Charonne. If you're ever in Paris, and you're in the mood for a tasty crêpe, this is a good choice. I recommend the buckwheat galette with ham and cheese. And be sure to try the cidre de Rance, a lovely dry cider that they serve in traditional Breton stoneware.

I should mention here that all those stories I'd heard about the French being rude and snooty proved to be untrue. I never once had a bad experience with anyone in Paris or elsewhere in France. The trick is to make an effort with the language. Even when whatever I tried to say sounded like I was about to spit a mouthful of oatmeal onto the floor, the people seemed pleased that I was taking a stab at speaking in French. And for the most part, I kept trying. In any case, at this crêperie, a young man walked in and blurted out "Can I get a crêpe to go?" My server, who had just recently demonstrated that she spoke perfect English when helping me decipher the menu, merely gave this guy quizzical looks and shrugs as if she couldn't understand a word he was saying. And I can't say I blamed her. The kid came across as insolent. The least you can do is learn how to say "Me wantee!" in French. On the other hand, maybe I just got better service because I was so much more attractive than the other guy.

I then wandered back to the Hotel Cosy (and got really lost trying to find it again) and spent a generally sleepless, jet-lagged night before rising early to catch an early train for Montpellier, the site of the conference.

Stay tuned.