Travel:
Upon my initial arrival to the airport on Wednesday I discovered my name was recorded in reverse, i.e. Bonenfant Jessica, so I was having trouble checking in. Air France was very helpful, and they served a surprisingly decent meal on the flight over: curried orzo, fish with rice, bread, cheese, pudding, cheesecake and a tiny bottle of wine! The flight attendants kept assuming I was French and not American, thus speaking to me in French. The drive to the airport had been a bit stressful – the driver kept turning around to talk to me instead of watching the road – and then being stuck on the tarmac for forty-five minutes before take off made for an exhausting start. Only halfway across the ocean did it dawn on me that the delay might make for difficulties during my brief layover in Paris! After a long walk between terminals I came to a line where our passports would be stamped. I was pretty sure I needed to get in the longer line with my U.S. passport, but asked the woman directing people anyway, and got bumped to the short line because of my imminent departure. After many more maze-like corridors I went through security again, through more corridors, an alleyway of perfume shops, down a set of stairs, arriving finally at the gate. I was dying for a cup of coffee, but having no clock with my phone not getting service (later I started using my i-pod), I was too afraid to search one out. As I descened the stair I saw that people were boarding already … a bus! The shuttle took us to another area where a portable gateway was set up. Upon arriving in Montpellier the busses were on strike, so I took a cab into the city center – certainly an experience! The driver zig zaged all through the narrow streets and on several occasions backed down one way streets when the direction of traffic wasn’t in our favor!
Montpellier:
This place is incredible – I could live here for sure! So many cafes, yet I was afraid to pick one – do you just sit down? Or do you have to ask for a table? Do you go inside first? I finally ended up at a place called “Green Coffee” and orded un café, which turned out to be an espresso. Perhaps “grand café” is like a regular coffee? It’s alright, I’m enjoying the espresso, and the waiter is laughing at me – probably because I look confused and am just smiling a lot to apologize for my lack of French.
I went to the tourism board and requested a map – in French (un plan)! But, I’ve been wandering around for a while and am too proud to pull it out in public. In the evening I finally settle on a quiet café with a kind looking waitress. She recruited two girls at another table, who turned out to be Polish (Agate et Katarina), to translate the menu for me… They also gave me directions to the beach, but I probably won’t have time while I’m here. I had the fish in a citrus sauce, with rice and grilled zucchini. The salad had carmelized onions and olives on top – brilliant! Crème brulle (en flambaye!) for dessert.
So far everyone has been very warm. The waitress kept bringing over the chalkboard menus (most of the cafes don’t have a printed menu). I might have to look for that Irish pub I passed earlier where there were sign in English, to have a beer and write about the show I saw tonight: “Paquerette” by Cecilia Bengolea et Francois Chaignaud.
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