Bad news – most of the performances I wanted to see in Montpellier are sold out. Good news – I could get tickets for Kader Attou, who has agreed to an email interview. Montpellier has plenty of free installations and film screenings to supplement the live performances so my days will still be packed. Also, tickets for all of the shows in Marseille are secured.
Montpellier is filled with summer cultural festivals. There one setting up street fenders right now, and a band that is a dead ringer for the Gypsy Kings is sound checking. The opening notes sound exactly like their cd you hear in so many NY restaurants.
It’s after 4pm (16h) and I am finally eating: a ham & cheese crepe, served flat and rectangular with just the edges folded over. And un café. i.e. an espresso. How do you order a regular coffee? Or is that not even an option? The food is reviving me - salt & protein. Surefire ways to keep my spirits up.
Some things I do not see in France:
- coffee shops with coffee to go, i.e. no one is walking around with 20 oz of coffee in a paper cup.
- Laptops in public (rarely – it’s hard to find free wifi, pronounced “wee-fee”)
- Personal space while standing in line (looking forward to England for that – the Brits know how to queue!)
- Dogs on leashes
Some things I do see: scooters, narrow streets, linen clothing, rollerbladers (hello nineteen ninety-what?), sandals, people saying “voila!” a lot and “ice tea” is not translated into French. Nor is the word snack.
I keep having to tell myself it is okay to relax. I’m exhausted – I slept much later than I wanted to this morning – and still was blinking my eyes open in the William Forsythe exhibit today. Jet lag?
My language brain must be working overdrive because I keep trying to speak in Spanish.
Fench for the day: Je ne comprends pas. I don’t understand.
Later: Jessica vs. the tram, round one. Okay, you win this one ticket machine speaking to me in Fench. Don’t take my credit card. I went to get some ice cream (un glace) so I could change a large bill for the ticket machine. Jessica vs. the tram, round two. There is an “English” menu, brilliant. Coffee flavoured ice cream drips all down the front of my dress as I struggle with the machine. Awesome. I succeed in wrangling a round trip ticket. I need to go one stop, and then transfer lines. The tram finally comes and, hark, the transfer point is a whole two blocks away, with my hotel smack in the middle of the two blocks. I could have just walked to Tram Line 2! AND after the travails of getting a ticket it turns out that punching it is one the honor system – there are card readers near each door in each car.
Even later: Did I just spend the equivalent of $8 on a Guinness?!?! The folks at Fitzpatrick’s, the Irish pub, are quite nice.
Agora Cite de Danse, the place that houses the festival and Montpellier’s dance training facility, has a seven month program/residency in choreography. I want to do it. I’d have to greatly improve my French.
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