Bullet Points

• The Internet is terribly slow in my room. It takes an incredibly long time to upload photos and posts (and, disappointingly, I can't watch old movies on Youtube — my favourite routine before sleep).  I may begin taking my computer with me to the bibliotheque and doing my posts there. I don't want to stop — I like doing this and keeping a record of my journey, even if it is only for me.
• We began the study of the past tense in class today. The class is really good. We are now four: Jens (from Germany), Ananda (from Venezuela), Christian, our teacher, and me. Jens leaves at the end of this week and we will probably have a new student or more next Monday. Considering that the courses are designed for people to drop in for one week or 10, or however many they wish, it's done very well. I still prefer the teaching methods in the US, but I AM learning.
• After class I went to Flunch for lunch.
• Then, to Sauramps, a huge bookstore ["librarie"] and tried my best in French to ask for a phrase book. I got sent back to the travel books. When I asked the second person she said "une guide de conversation?" "Oui, oui, merci!" Once I found the book, it took me forever to find the cashier, having to wind myself down a few sets of stairs, and then I had to ask for directions on how to get out of the store.
• I'm dealing with the basics of life — drinking water, toilets, and regularity. Once I can solve these problems I can conquer anything.
• So, to the pharmacie, where a very patient woman assisted me in finding the medicament I required for le constipation. After she had explained and rang up one product she said it was necessary to refrigerate it and I lied and said I had no fridge (no way am I using that thing!) and so she kindly found another product and explained the best she could. The entire conversation was in French. I really appreciated her kindness and patience. Please believe me, the French are  very, very nice. I've not had a single encounter with an unpleasant person (unless you count the tattooed guy on the beach, but he was pleasant in his own vulgar way).
• Then to le bibliothèque (library) to do some studying. Now home.
• Ooo la la! I forgot that I had told Jacqueline that I would go to a concert with her on Friday evening. We just had an incredibly long and complicated conversation, because I also bought a ticket to go to Arles on Friday afternoon and we had to figure out what time I was returning, and whether or not I would come "home" and eat here before the concert. Well, I think it is settled. I am going to Arles, returning here for a quick bite, and then off to a concert of Corsican music. (She is of Corsican descent.)
• I brought a travel yoga mat with me. It's a great mat, when I remember to use it. Getting it out now and doing some stretches and downdogs. Although I walk A LOT, I'm really tense and tight. I must do yoga every day. Hopefully more exciting things to write about tomorrow. If not, I have that visit to Arles coming up on Friday afternoon, and then the concert. Stay tuned.

A few shots of everyday life.

Le Tram — how I arrive and depart everywhere
in Montpellier. Unlimited rides in one week
for 15 E. There's always a tram in 5 minutes or less.

Ananda, Christian (our teacher), moi, and Jens

Flunch — a cafeteria in the Polygone (a large shopping center,
where I sometimes have lunch)

My lunch. Good food at a good price about 7E ($7.82 US)
This is a GREAT time to travel in France, money-wise!

Miscellaneous Musings

I don't want to be a tourist — just passing through on a bus and hearing commentary about what one sees. I have enjoyed and will enjoy some tourist-like experiences here; however, seeing the sights is not the key thing for me. For me, a good travelogue on tv, or a good book is much more preferable. One can have some great armchair travel experiences without having to give up any comfort.  Yes, I'd rather sit at home and watch a travel show on tv than to simply be a tourist on a bus passing through.

For me, the ideal type of travel is that of a pilgrimage. And by pilgrimage I don't mean simply something like walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, although that was a great pilgrimage/experience for me. A pilgrimage can be something much simpler and it does not have to have religious overtones, although, for me, there is something sacred about travel.

And then, if not a pilgrimage, then at least a time away that gives me a sense of what life is like in the  place where I am visiting. This is why I like to go and stay in one place for as long a time as possible, and why I like to travel alone. Travelling alone allows me to come and go as I please and it makes me more accessible to others and more likely to interact with others than if I was traveling with a companion.

Usually when I travel I am thrilled and excited, from the planning stages, through the travel experience itself, and then recalling the adventure when I return home. But this trip is different. Although I have dreamed of coming to France for a long visit for many, many years, there was a part of me that simply did not want to come because of an emotional attachment I've had for some time, but from which I have needed to detach myself.

It has become very apparent to me that getting on a plane and putting distance between oneself and one's concerns does not provide an escape. Time, not distance, is the answer; although I do pray that I will return home with a new perspective. Travel certainly does broaden one's mind, and with that must certainly come a new perspective. I don't think I will return home as the same person, but trying to foresee that is impossible. This is part of the adventure, isn't it? To go and to explore and then to return and then reflect. All of this is part of a pilgrimage — exploring one's environment, both exterior and interior and finding something new. Seeing new sights is wonderful, but finding something new within one's self is the ultimate travel experience.

While sitting in the bibliotheque today and doing my homework I felt such a low point emotionally. For a few moments I felt what could almost be described as revulsion at my surroundings. I felt as if there was no refuge anywhere, that there was no place familiar or comfortable or any place where I felt I really belonged. I felt homeless and root-less and as if there was nothing in my environment that held any emotional attachment or importance to me. Mind you, this was just a fleeting few moments, but this was quite a new and different sensation. I've never really felt this way while travelling before. But I did not rush to conclusions or judgement of this experience. I simply had it and let it pass. And now that I'm writing about the experience, I'm actually kind of glad that I had it. Does that make any sense? Isn't this — the novelty and the unexpected — part of the adventure? I think so.

Well, I've been trying to explain part of why travel appeals to me, although some of you who are reading this may think what the hell is she doing this for? This doesn't sound like much fun! I'm not quite sure I've captured just what it is that I want to say, but I'll keep trying.

On a more practical note, we have a new student in our class — Ananda, a beautiful young woman (about 30) who was born and lived in Venezuela for 15 years, and has lived in Florida for the last 15. She has her own software development company, and makes apps for phones. She is travelling the world for six months and managing her company via long distance. She and I went to lunch at a Japanese restaurant and, boy, that was a challenge — trying to understand a Japanese menu in French! We had the most interesting conversation and decided that we were very much alike in our outlook on life.  During lunch, I was reminded that this experience too is why I travel — meeting someone who turns out to be a kindred spirit, and having a common basis of understanding with each other from the get-go.

Ananda went with me to the bibliotheque, so I could show her a good place where there are (free) toilettes, a coffee shop and some nice places to study. She ended up falling asleep (and, unlike home, no librarians came along to wake her up). I nudged her awake to tell her I was leaving. After my little "episode" I decided that I would return to Le Bookshop and find another book to read. I ended up with an Alexander McCall Smith novel (something cozy and light) and then I took myself to an outdoor table at a bistro and had a glass of red wine, while I sat and read.

Also, I'm happy to report that things are a little more settled on the home front. I slept the sleep of the dead last night and Jacqueline tried three times to awaken me this morning, knocking on my door, calling me, and raising the large blinds in my room. I did not hear a thing for 45 minutes!!! I have not slept like that since I was a kid. Jacqueline said something about her thinking I was a little bit dead. Tonight, as I was returning home I had decided to put my best foot forward with Jacqueline and she also seemed in a better mood. She made une omelette de Mont St. Michel for dinner, served with noodles. The omelet was so light and fluffy. It was like eating meringue.

So, now I'm going to snuggle up with an English novel and then to sleep. Good night all.

Wherever you go, there you are

In this morning's class, in response to what is your (astrological) sign, my comment was "I am a swimming pool." I felt quite pleased with myself: pisces = piscine, right? Wrong. I should have said  "poisson" (fish). My comment brought a lot of laughter to the room, and then Christian, my teacher, joked "Je suis le Piscene Olympique de Montpellier," referring to an actual pool here. (And though the joke seems pretty tame now, it had us in tears.) This was the bright spot of my day.

I am loving my class, and my teacher is really, really good. But life has a way…..

There is a saying related to a Buddhist teaching that goes something like "no matter where you go, there you are."As I study and travel and sightsee, I see all through the lens of who and what I am, as well as some attending emotional baggage, which still needs to be unpacked. As I wrote in on a postcard recently, I am doing my best to understand and to be understood. In that regard, life is not all that different here.

When one travels, one hopes for some refreshment and new perspective, and while I have seen some amazing sights, I am finding this journey to be quite challenging. Yesterday, as I sat on the lovely balcony on a lovely, bright Sunday morning, I found myself fretting and feeling quite frustrated with what seems to be an immeasurable distance between what I can do with the French language and what I hear from native speakers. I felt totally discouraged. And then I stopped and said "Hey! You're on vacation! You're learning French for fun, remember????"

And I need to remind myself that this is a working vacation. Very much so. When Jacqueline asked me on Saturday where I was going to go that day I told her that I did not want to go anywhere. She looked at me with surprise. I tried to explain that I had left seven days ago, had two days of travel, and immediately upon my arrival I began French class and have been doing a lot of sight-seeing. I spent the morning puttering around my room and putting things away and, in the afternoon, I took the tram into the centre of town and found Le Bookshop, a little store that sells English-language titles. I have very much felt the need to have a book to read, to give me some escape in the evening. I have lived alone for many, many years, and there are times where I may go for two or three days alone, without speaking to anybody. I really like alone time. A lot. And I have absolutely no alone time here at all. I decided today that, upon leaving Montpellier, I am going to a spot where I can really rest and recharge (a vacation!!) because, once I reach Paris, I am going to want to be sociable and to be on the go.

Jacqueline is a very conscientious hostess. Her meals are really, really good. In the evenings she prepares a full repast — bouef bourgignon, ratatouille, roasted chicken, all sorts of fresh vegetables and salads. One night we had a dish comprised of cod and anchovies laced with tomatoes and pickles. I had never had anchovies before, and I found the dish quite tasty. Another evening we had, what appeared to be, deviled eggs, only these contained sardines. They were served with a fennel salad and a carrot salad and a fruit salad that she had spent a good part of the afternoon in preparing.

Jacqueline is very old school French. Everything in her household runs on a regular schedule. The meal is on the table at 7 pm sharp, like clockwork. No nonsense in this household! The other day she told me she had cleaned house, and when I asked her if she cleaned once a week she looked at me with a look of horror! Mais, non! Trois fois! (Three times!) Jacqueline reminds me of my very proper and correct English mother. The only difference is, my mother had a sense of humor, as well as the capability to bend a little.

I am soon to get another explanation of how to use the toilet. I have followed directions regarding its use; however, well…. there is a problem. Jacqueline is on the phone now, I think possibly with someone to give her further assistance, since her efforts have not been successful in repairing the problem.

And the little fridge in my room is running. Again! Even though there is only a handful of grapes in it, and even though I told her the other morning that I had turned it off because it had awakened me several times during the night. Yesterday I had left the grapes sitting in my room, and when I came home, they were in the fridge and the fridge was running. When I removed most of the grapes this morning I turned off the fridge. I have turned it off three times and she has turned it on three times. Tonight I am turning it off before bed; however, I will turn it back on in the morning, even though there is nothing in it to keep cold.

Last night I felt homesick as my friends were all commenting on the blood moon on Facebook. I would have loved to have walked out in my yard and looked at the moon. I couldn't do it here because, once darkness hits, all the shades go down on the large sliding glass doors. And these are not just your little pull-down items. These are large, mechanical devices, the likes of which I could not have raised without disturbing Jacqueline. So, I did not get to see the moon.

I am in a bit of a state today, having awakened in the middle of the night, and having stayed awake. This afternoon, in order to get out of the apartment and in order to force myself to stay awake, I took the tram down to the Mediterranean. At the end of the line is a bus stop, but, rather than wait for the bus, I decided to walk. It was a little further than I realised. What with having a sore toe and my Crocs (instead of my sturdy walking shoes), it was a bit of a challenge; however I kept on walking and walking, and I eventually made it to the beach.

There were just a few people there on a long stretch of sand and rocks. A fellow approached with his towel and I took the liberty of asking him if he could tell me where the bus stop was. He explained in very, very broken English. Then he proceeded to strip down for a tan, and I began to snap some photos. As I was shooting, he called to me. He was laying on his stomach and made a motion with his hands and a sound that seemed as if he was asking me to put on his suntan lotion. Egads! No, as it turned out, he wasn't asking for suntan lotion; he wanted me to take a shot of all of the tattoos of women in very suggestive positions that were displayed across his back. I accommodated his wish and he laughed and I decided maybe it was time to try to find the bus stop.

Well, I couldn't figure out the schedule, and so I began to walk, now not just with sore toe and Crocs, but with sandy feet, a sore toe and Crocs, and now, unlike the walk out, I knew how far I had to walk to get back to the tram stop. I also had no water and hoped I could get a drink at a place I had seen as I entered the area; however, it was closed. Long story short, I was really, really lucky. When I got to the next bus stop, people were waiting and a bus soon arrived and it was mine and I dealt with a very impatient bus driver whom I couldn't understand and trusted that he gave me back the correct change for my 10E bill and even if he hadn't I wouldn't have cared, cause I was exhausted and the bus was air-conditioned. Thank you.

From the bus, took the tram home to find the toilet issue and the fact that I was locked out of my credit card account and couldn't reach the number they had given me on my cell phone, so had to hunt and search for a number to call from overseas. I finally reached an operator and reset my online access, but have still to go to the bathroom, something I have needed to do since leaving the beach.

And THIS is what it is really like to travel (well, some days, at least).

In case you don't know what water looks like...

And here is some air, with some birds

       

Crocs on Rocks

A Visit to St. Guilhem-le-Desert

Today about a dozen of us went out to St. Guilhem-le-Desert, about 25 miles from Montpellier. What an amazing place! It is truly a unique treasure.

It began with a man — Guilhem — a cousin of Charlemagne who, having been victorious in various military campaigns, including victories over the Moors in Barcelona in 801, chose to lay down his arms and become a man of peace. Guilhem was awarded a piece of the cross of Jesus from Charlemagne (and the relic remains in the reliquary in the Abbey). Guilhem (William of Orange) created the Saint Sauveur monastery, and his legend — that of a great lord, conqueror, monk, and eventually, venerated saint — captured the imagination of people throughout the middle ages.

In the 11th Century, a village arose in the shadow of the monastery and was called Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert. This village was an important stop on one of the southern routes of the Santiago de Campostela Way, and many pilgrims still walk this route on their way to northwestern Spain.

Photos of the Pont du Diable and St. Guilhem-le-Desert

Pont du Diable (the "Devil's Bridge") is one of the oldest Romanesque bridges in France.  It was built in the first half of the 11th century (and has subsequently been widened and raised). It owes its name to an old legend, according to which, the devil agreed to help build the bridge, granted that he would be given the first soul to cross it. After the bridge was built a monk came with a dog, and it was the first to walk across.

Another bridge over the gorge.

The Abbey of St. Guilhem-le-Desert and the surrounding village.

In the cloister.
(An American took all of the abbey's decorations and they are now in the  Cloisters in NYC.)

A typical street scene

The Cardabelle: a medieval weather forecaster. The heart of the thistle closes up in advance of rain.
It is a good luck symbol, and is protected as an endangered species.

Les cheveux, les chevaux and Le Camargue

Notre Dame des Sablons (a statue inside the church of the same name, which is inside the fortified city of Aigues Mortes)

Inside the Aigues Mortes

This morning in class I said (in French): "My son has no horses. He shaves his head." (chevaux = horses; cheveux = hair.)

It is le weekend, and I am definitely ready for a break. My mind is in such disarray that I now cannot think of English words when I want them, and, unfortunately, the loss of the command of English is not being mirrored by a gain in the command of French (or so it seems to me).

This afternoon Jacqueline drove me out to the Camargue. It is a region along the coast, known for its salt, rice, and distinctive chevaux blancs, which are ridden by the gardians (cowboys) who rear the bulls for fighting.  And here are some of the other residents:

The Camargue is also the sight of an incredible fortress — the Aigues-Mortes — a completely intact fortified medieval city, which was  founded in 1240 by Louis IX, who was to become St. Louis. The fortification, comprised of 1,640 metres (5,381 feet) of walls, was built in two phases: the first in the reign of Philippe III the Bold, and the second during the reign of Philippe IV the Fair, who had the enclosure completed between 1289 and 1300.

The city itself is full of shops and residences. I had intentionally left my credit card at home, and it was a very good thing, since the place was full of the most tempting merchandise; however, I treated Jacqueline and myself to a panache, and Jacqueline waited for me as I paid my fare and went up the stairs and into the fortress and along the battlements. I would have loved to have spent more time there. There were exhibits explaining the history of the place over the centuries and I could have easily spent a day there, imagining what it would have been like to have been a resident during the middle ages.

Le tour de Constance

Inside one of the towers

One of the shops inside the fortification.

A la bibliothèque

I went to class this morning and to the library all afternoon, where I was happy as a clam and felt more at home than I have at any time since arriving.

Denim, Diana, and Death in the Afternoon

After class, this afternoon's excursion was by bus — a ride to Nimes, about one hour away, and, if you've read my account of Tuesday's guided walk, I am happy to say that today's experience was much more rewarding. Our guide, Jeremie is tres, tres, gentil et pleasant. He had the most charming and friendly manner about him and his eyes lit up when he spoke and smiled. Most importantly, he understood that he was speaking to French learners and his French was much easier to follow than the speech of yesterday's guide. On the bus ride to Nimes, he spoke of the history of the place — the Gauls, the Romans, and those who followed. When Jeremie asked the group what was the language of Languedoc, prior to French, I knew: Occitan! (Languedoc = langue+de'Oc.) .

According to the French, blue jeans are misnamed. According to Jeremie, when Levi Strauss imported blue jeans into San Francisco and they were adopted by American cowboys, Americans mistakenly called them "jeans," because they had been imported from Genoa. (The Americans thought jeans had originated in Genoa; however, the material had been imported from Nime, and they had only been made in Genoa — a distinction that seemed to be very important today.) The origin of words is something that I find really interesting, and here is the origin of the word "denim": "de Nimes." This may be the most important thing that I learned today.

Nimes has several remaining structures built by the Romans, and among them is the coliseum. We climbed all the way to the very top of the coliseum and were given details of all of the spectacles that took place there. This region of France is heavily influenced by Spanish culture. Spaniards originally came to Languedoc-Rossillion for the grape harvests, and they brought with them various aspects of their culture, including bullfights. Nimes is the bullfight capital of Southern France, and they are held, appropriately in the coliseum.

This evening a young friend, Martine, a researcher with a college came to stay with Jacqueline and we spent a long dinner hour conversing in French. One of the topics was how each region of France has its own pronunciation, and Jacqueline said there are parts of France where her speech is not easily understood. I was told that the people in the south of France are much less likely to speak English than the French in the north of the country (because of the proximity of England). It is surprising to me that even young and very well-educated French people (such as Martine) do not speak English; however, I've seen several statistics that attest to the fact that France has the lowest percentage of English speakers than most other European countries. This is not a criticism. Americans have no room to talk. (Pardon the unintentional pun.)

I tire very easily. I think it's more than just jet lag. This is an experience wherein I must concentrate and focus on every word that is being said to me all day long, and I need to pay attention to every little detail: how doors open, where the tram stops — all of the details of life that one takes for granted. The mental energy required takes a lot out of me, and I also find that I also have a huge appetite. (I believe there is information attesting to the fact that mental work requires at least as much energy as physical work, if not more.) Of course I also revel in the adventure, and all of these things are part of why I came. I'm not complaining, and I know I will adjust eventually. Well, with that being said, here's some photographs of Nimes, and then to bed.

The Cathedral of St. Castor

Le Crocodile — the symbol of Nimes.

When the Romans were victorious in Egypt, Caesar rewarded the soldiers with a house in Nimes. The brought back a crocodile from Egypt to symbolise their victory. In the same square is a palm tree which stands high above and is the symbol of Rome. Tradition is that one must touch the nose of the crocodile, and I reached over and touched it as instructed.

A temple which was not destroyed,
but (temporarily) used as the Hotel de Ville 

The coliseum

From the top row of the coliseum (where slaves and women were relegated to sit).
The goriness continues, as bullfights are held here.

Jeremie, who sang a chanson de Nimes. He entertained us on the bus ride home.
I hope I get to take another excursion with him!
(As you can tell, I was smitten.)

A typical street scene in Montpellier

Mick Jagger, 15 French verbs, and a 12-Century Jewish ritual bath

As I write this,  my hostess (Jacqueline) and I are watching a French quiz program. Jacqueline has some hearing problems and so has the closed caption on, which allows me a little bit better comprehension, since I can see, as well as hear the words. And when this question appeared I was pleased to be able to respond:

Comment s'apple de la chanteur de la Rolling Stones?

Prior to this program was a cooking program and Jacqueline squealed with delight whenever the contestants made a mistake. She would call out to them what they forgot. Oui, en France, cooking is a sport!

This morning, in class, we were given a sheet presenting les verbes fondamentaux. They included faire, dire, prendre, mettre, venir, savoir, devoir, aller, pouvoir, vouloir, être, connaitre, avoir, partir and voir. After reviewing these verbs, along with all of their conjugations for about 20 minutes we were asked if everything was clear. Of course I said "oui." Let it just be said that teaching/learning in France are QUITE different from teaching and learning in the USA. This page of French verbs was just part of our 3-1/2 course. I am going to spend the evening reviewing all of these conjugations, along with doing assigned homework.

This afternoon I joined a tour group and our tour guide, who spoke only in French, took us around the old part of the city.  I parted from the group after a couple of hours and, with the help of a map, eventually made my way back to the city square. Let's just say that I have a sense of humour, a sense of history and card sense. But, as far as a sense of space and direction? Well, It took me quite a bit of walking and figuring out just how to match my route with the map. I finally stopped in a little shop and bought some postcards and got directions from the proprietress.

Did you know that Montpellier has its own Arc de Triomphe?

It was at this point I became lost. But, now I know how to get here from there.

Tomorrow: a tour of Nimes!

At the Mikve (Jewish ritual baths)

At the Mikve — a Jewish ritual bath, from the 12th Century. (One of only four existing baths in Europe.) From what I could understand, this was a bath for women only, and a woman attended every month, after her monthly cycle. We were told that, rather than thinking that women were unclean, the bath was a ritual to honour their role in life and society.

In Medieval times, Montpellier was the home of a very large Jewish community (which significantly expanded when they were expelled from Spain [1500's]). It was also the home of a large Arabic community. Both of these populations contributed significantly to the life of intellect and learning.

We climbed down some steep, narrow stairs to arrive in a small waiting room, which overlooked the bath (pictured above)

The waiting room.

A placard outside of the Jewish ritual baths.

Our guide, who spoke only French at an amazingly fast clip. I understood about one word in every 100. I stayed with the tour group for over two hours and departed prior to the end of the tour. I could only take so much. ;-)

Fortunately for me, this gentleman from Luxembourg was able to follow most of our guide's explications and provided me with some information to supplement my understanding. (What I have written is his account of his understanding of what the guide said.) His hair was the exact colour of the stone, of which most of the town in constructed.

I have arrived.

Lundi, 21 Septembre

I have arrived. The flights were lovely, as were my companions. As I "pretzled" my way into some sort of sleep on the plane, I said to my fellow traveller that I was thankful I had had years of yoga. I arrived on Sunday (yesterday) and managed to walk all afternoon with my hostess, Jacqueline, through much of the old part of Montpellier. (My school. Ecole Klesse, arranged for my room and board with her. She is 77, a retired spa owner, and a lovely cook, who speaks little-to-no English, so I am really getting an immersion experience.) 

This morning was my first French class. As it turns out, Jens, a young man from Berlin, and myself, are the only two students in our class. Our teacher is very nice, and, after having been an English teacher myself for several years, it is interesting to sit on the other side of the desk and to experience learning a language being taught in that language — only French is spoken in the classroom.

The city is very beautiful (as future photos will attest), and I love the sunny, blue Mediterranean skies. As I sat on the large open plaza, eating my lunch — a galette and a Panache ("pan-ah-shay" — 1/2 lemonade, 1/2 beer), a guitarist was serenading everyone with beautiful classical music, and I felt that all was truly perfection.

It is still very early days (well, evening here, actually) and I'm still pretty exhausted. I've had some moments of frustration, having brought the wrong charger for my camera battery and the wrong electrical adaptor, thus costing me $49 Euro at FNAC this afternoon!! Ugh. But, as they say, c'est la vie. It's all part of the journey. Now to bed and, hopefully, more energetic days (or at least the energy required to match my activities). Good night.

A street plaque, honouring the fact that Montpellier was a stop on one of the southern routes of the Camino Santiago de Compostela.

Les Trois Graces (et moi) inside the opera house.

Montpellier has two opera houses. This is inside the Opera Comedie, where we toured on Sunday.

Note the dates of some of the original doctors of the college in Montpellier.

Cathedral St. Pierre, Montpellier