Paris to Millau via Montpellier
A France unplanned: Part two
These entries are a few weeks old from August/September visit to France. I'm finally (fiNelly?) publishing them now after a pneumonic pause.
Southbound scents
I recall the zig-zagged trek southward to Montpellier in scented vignettes. The early morning walk to the Gare de Lyon smelled of freshly baked bread as I passed the boulangerie worker hosing off the questionable olfactory evidence left overnight by Parisian revellers. Then came the sticky aroma of sweaty travellers huddled in clumps, stubbornly battling ticketing machines and automated entry gates. When technology failed, a strong citrusy cologne engulfed the finely coiffed head of hair atop the TGV blazer and the human wearing it, who shuffled us hurriedly onto the platform.
The picturesque Occitanie countryside whooshed by, accompanied by the smell of coffee coming up and down the train cart, while the arrival of the train manager was regularly announced ahead of time through the unmistakable presence of sandalwood, which lingered long after he checked and rechecked the tickets.
As we reached Montpellier, the southern French heat was hitting its stride, blurring and muddling street signs. A catalogue of police officers stood across from the main gate and promptly clocked me as a confused visitor. With my linen dress still glued to my back and sweat dripping down my neck, I used my still-thawing French to get directions for the car rental company. "Pas ici, madame. Il faut aller à Montpellier Sud de France," which, as it turns out, isn't a helpful reminder of Montpellier being in the south of France but rather, the new train station built ahead of the Olympics - some 50 minutes away by tram.
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Paz y amor
The outdoor tram platform, which in theory should be expandable, overflowed with families and children off to the beaches with sun hats and sand buckets in tow, market-goers carried totes full and empty, and visitors sat on their wheelies and human-length backpacks fanning away the heat. There was no visible order for the only ticketing machine, with arms reaching from all corners to get their tickets ahead of the trams arriving. As I puzzled out the best angle to occupy and deposit the 2 euros, a suffocation of smoke encircled us, courtesy of a lit cigarette hanging from the side of a mouth belonging to a face that begged to be slapped (the German term is backpfeifengesicht, but you can use the stronger Russian expression "морда кирпича просит" which translates to a mug asking for a brick to hit it). He was shuffled off to the back of the non-line after a proper shredding by the French, delivered with the appropriate and expected exclamatory hand gestures. My outraged glare and eye-rolls didn't go unnoticed by the smiling young woman nearby who, as it turned out, was travelling in the same direction and became my companion for the next hour.
Our conversations were in Franglish and covered a respectable range of topics, from the state of healthcare in our respective countries to the culinary delights of her native Lille and the universal woes of modern dating. We regularly paused to muffle our giggles and take in the unintentional comedy unfolding before us. One of our fellow passengers on this packed tram was an older beachgoer with a substantial circular tent shaped like a turtle strapped to her back. It came complete with legs on both sides, a tail flapping about, and the swooshing sound of polyester. Each time the tram curved or whenever passengers got on or off, she adjusted herself to follow the motion, but in doing so, would inadvertently knock someone down with the tent or, on occasion, slap an unsuspecting passenger with one of the turtle legs. She followed every single one of these assaults with a chirping and earnest "pardon!"
"You study family and divorce law, Innez. It's a little ironic to have "paz y amor" tattooed on your forearm," I told my travelling companion as we approached the station.
"Well, it's good to have peace and love even in disagreement."
Unless you're hit on the head by a turtle tent.