Thursday 20 March 2008

Back to Normality

Well, normality for Norfolk, that is.


Having been out yesterday and today, there are really some funny-looking people around here (she says whilst sitting with her head covered in cling film).

It is also quite bitterly cold. This could be a result of having been spoilt by the lovely climate of south France. Yes, I did go to the country of cheese-eaters. And it was very fun and more interesting than my last trip a la France (and a £10 return, incl. taxes warmed my skin-flint heart). This entry shall be sprinkled with French phrases to prove my superior acquisition de la langue (and just to be obnoxious).

Kneece lives just outside Montpellier in Villeneuve-les-Maguelone. It is a tiny village from which one can walk out to the Cathedral de Maguelone; except we missed opening times and so only saw it from the land bridge that goes through the lagoon between the village and the island as the sun was setting. (So, obviously this mandates une autre voyage.)

Montpellier is located in the former Occitan region of France (now Languedoc-Roussillon; langue d'oc means 'language of the Occitan'), on the Mediterranean. Mostly the landscape is rolling but fairly flat, but there are mountains not too far away.

The region produces several appellations of wine. There are caves (wine sellers) vineyards and wineries all over the place. Even on the short walk towards the cathedral island, there was a new vineyard. The red dirt in the freshly-plowed field to the right caught the sunset really cooperatively.

Languedoc is one of the areas where the Cathars and their religion appeared in the 11th century. Cathars are rumored to have protected the Holy Grail. The last known prefect was executed in 1321, although certain groups still claim to be descendants and follow the religion.

On a completely different note: Who knew that des flamants live in France?! (I really thought they lived only in Africa and at Sea World, I am ashamed to say.) They are very loud avians, honking and fussing at each other. When they fly, they are rather ungainly :)

The village of Villeneuve is sleepy and very sweet, and people actually say, 'Bonjour!' in the street. You go to the bakery every day for fresh bread, and to the P'tit Marche if you did not bring enough vin back with you from the city. The thing that I noticed most was that in the towns, there is less green than in British cities, except on the outskirts when countryside begins.

Montpellier is a very pretty city and streets are still on medieval plans, so they are all wind-ey and small. Steps are all crooked-ey. Paving stones are surely not marble, but they are similar-looking and slippery when wet. This is trop dangereuse for clumsy-like persons such as myself. But they are sooooo pretty!

This is one of the murals qu'on trouve around the most innocuous-looking corners. If you look closely, you can see real mixed with picture (hint: some of the shutters are real). In the large fenetre at the right, the reflection is amazingly accurate of l'eglise en face.

It is tragically fascinating as well (due to being with people who live there and point it out) to see notices reminiscent of Occupation, Deportation, and Death. Missak Manouchian was part of the French Resistance.
There are tons of English-speaking expats there -- British, Americans, Canadians, Aussies, etc. -- so it is reasonable to find a place to rest from language fatigue, such as Shakespeare's Pub or Fitzpatrick's Irish Pub. Knowing information such as this is particularly useful if one needs for some reason to watch an international rugby union game. Eamonn sang 'Hymns and Arias' when Wales first scored against France and was congratulated by dozens of lovely French people at the end of the game (Wales won 29-12). Bear enjoyed himself immensely.

Le Place de la Comedie is the central plaza, bordered by cafes and at the end of which is the Opera. It is the spot which made Kneece fall in love with the city :)
I loved so many cultural things: cafes next to fountains; masses of people carrying baguettes at all hours of the day; tall, lovely windows and French doors; shutters and balconies; young people buying vin instead of litres of lager; the fact that one cooks at home when one has visitors; hundreds of cheeses, honeys, and wines. I think I could get used to the South.

People were really kind in response to my butchering of their language (only one bit of confusion when I said 'l'annee du Rat' erroneously pronouncing the 't'), and it was sad to have a flight out just when I was starting to get my memory and vocabulary back.

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