Return to Montpellier
October 20th, 2010 · 1 Comment · Posted in Travel
What's new in Montpellier: the trams
Hard to believe, but it’s been 37 years since I enrolled in the foreign student program at the Paul Valery University in Montpellier, France. It was one of the best years of my life. Unlike the United States, where you sign a lifetime mortgage for a higher education, tuition in France even for a foreigner was only a few hundred dollars for the entire year. For that bargain price, I was able to parlay the three semesters of French language I had taken at school in the states into a year-long instruction in French impressionist painting, French history, politics, demography–the whole schmear, including, of course, reading and writing.
The end-of-semester essay exams gave me ulcers. I seemed to live off cheap bread and canned anchovies. And the room I lived in had neither heat nor hot water nor bath. The toilet was outside in the garden and for a shower I had to hike up to the university swimming pool.
But life was grand. And after my studies concluded, I bought a bicycle and pedaled some 2,500 kilometers around the country. The French people welcomed me with open arms, something I will never forget.
So we boarded the train one morning for a two-hour ride to see what changes the intervening decades had brought to my old stomping ground. Montpellier is a bourgeois city, capital of the Longuedoc-Rousillon region. There’s lots of money here, to go along with the university, the ancient medical school and the law school, the meticulously groomed parks and promenades. But the first thing I noticed were these gorgeous blue trams.
Follow this very narrow alley...
Our first order of business was to find the place where I once lived in Montpellier. My memory was fuzzy. We had to use a map. And it turned out to be a good hike from the central train station. But my wife had heard me tell so many stories, she was anxious to see it as well. We walked right past it. I had to retrace our steps to locate this sign on a stucco wall indicating the tiny alley that led to the house where my room was located. In my memory, the alley was named after someone named “Pierre Rouge.” But now that I look at the sign, I realize that it really means “alley of the red stone.”
We arrived at a big metal door barring the entry. We rang the bell, and after a few moments a woman’s voice from the other side asked our business. In my fractured French, I explained who I was–returning after 37 years to get a look at the place. She opened the gate a bit hesitantly (w0uldn’t you?), saying she couldn’t let me inside the house. But there it was, pretty much as I remembered.
My old room, just off the garden
The old woman from whom I had rented the room–Madame Verges, as I knew her–was long since gone, of course. The new owner had no knowledge of her and explained that she had started renting rooms to university students six years ago. When I explained what my accommodations had been like in 1973, she laughed. “That’s hilarious,” she said in French. My room was on the first floor. Inside was a narrow staircase that led upstairs to a second room that was rented by another American student. Now, the rooms are fully equipped with kitchens and baths.
The woman explained that she had removed several overgrown trees from the garden. Still, it was very much as I remembered. The property includes three attached dwelling units in all, hidden behind the wall and the metal door very much in the usual fashion for this part of the world. Once through the gate, you enter your own little private universe–in this case a secret garden with stone and gravel paths.
Main house with garden
At this point, we were ready for lunch.
Bob was good about ordering salad for lunch
We found a bistro with tables in a small square.
Always popular: mussels with fries
In this part of the world, mussels and fries are served everywhere. Lane likes mayo with her fries.
These fries are way off my low-carb diet
Me, I had a hankering for the classic steak-frites the entire time we were in France. So this was my chance, but it wasn’t the usual. This was flank steak, cooked rare and smothered in a Roquefort sauce with an unusual and very delicious pumpkin tart on the side. Fries aren’t on my diet anymore, but this trip blew my diet all to hell. I gained seven pounds in nine days.
France is all about romance, no?
No French city is complete without a cathedral
Then it was off to the botanical garden, the oldest in France.
Originally part of the medical college
Followed by a stroll through one of the city’s main promenades to view the ancient aqueduct before heading back to the rail station.
The view from here stretches a long way
So long, Montpellier.
Really enjoyed this story, Ed. I’d like to go back 25 years to Dublin myself! Now I see where the connection is to you and your love of good food. More, more!