Departing Montpellier
The noises. I retired before 9 last night and was left to accommodate a gaggle of giggling girls tittering in french laughter, but then! Monster of the deep at around four someone violently screaming, shouting and banging something: a door or shutter; thud thud thud. Le insanity of large cities. Someone festering while I was left to sweat on this morning. Well I am up and completely away with a café noir two sugars and pain compagne/pays. Bye bye Montpellier.
If I get the chance to return to France in the future I will start from Estaing and continue the Way uninterrupted, but watch out for the cities: you get burned. Left to find café and pain. Was €20 Now €13.50! Sacred Blue! Finally I've left something behind. My first loss of the trip in a city I felt seldom seen: my right flask! Balls. More outlay from commercial France. The closer I get to the gravity of a city the less I am in control of my destiny as so much challenges any want I had. Now to hope I leave on the train to Cartagena, clipping Girona, semi ready? Can't even have a joke with a femme without it being thought of as an error. She dropped a fag, which I didn't see, I saw her pick one off the floor like a tramp and I tried to tell her she was not the kind of tramp you normally see vagrant and picking up tab ends in stations: she comprend nes pas and threw away her twist. Now she returned to ask me if I wanted to have a photo taken? No. Now she understands. Like a lovers we make up and she visits her Docteur in Paris to formulate her Thesis.
Where did the French Gare decide to put the signs to F voie hidden amongst the broken down part of this greasy and distrustful stain? Finally I find my carriage with little time to spare. Well that was a long drawn out and unexciting place. So Glenn I will see you in September, but I hope you find peace before then? This is where my mental gears slip from hardly any French to Spanish, which I get better, but for an ear hitched towards Latin romance tilted. France begrudges Spain any focus and holds its Roman nose aloft.
Lesson Une: don't think about buying anything near to a station it traps the flying kind with its Venus mouthing parts. Two minutes left. I must've bumped my head in the night as I have one bump forming a singular horn. Right of centre: no unicorn am I. We leave Gare Saint Roch.
I leave my seat to follow the trail of Espanyol to the buffet car to break up the moment. Blue sky shines down as we pull into Beziers and I take a chance on café sin leche con gas and agua minerale. Sinking my gnashers into bread I say ollA to Monserret le femme. Nice to sit bonfide alongside and at ease. The distilled Montpellier has been dilutted and watered down debased and clipped; firm to state I liked it non!
Rattling to Narbonnne la Region Languedoc Roussillon we are beneath the simple blue skies. Some sporadic clouds are banked along the mountains filling the northern horizons. Quai Une beyond and Transcereales. An old lady unable to decide where to sink to die; sit down! And some hydrolic means fighting for escape admist a serenade of flamenco guitar folk. Time for headphones and spotify methinks.
The colours of summer spread alongside the ripples of an inland sea Étang while omnipotent sits a nuclear fission fusion facility. A train swaying delivering another sense. While a snow capped pyrenees sits highly thrown and frowningly white. Is this the first mountain my eyes have seen parallel to the first skies.
Moved forward to the space 4c. 8c is too noisy. The piston plunge of that shafted hydrolic lisp drove me further away and an English gal half planking got a giggle. Pic du Canigou.
Ten am and the train crowds up at Figures the border is crossed with the skies, sea and the pyrenees.
Pauline of DC. Via Nigeria. Finchley North London. Swift kiss and then oh Girona! French girls are too mentally superior, excepting Gala. I am happy to spread my cheeks to fart at Montpellier while my cheeks part to smile miles for mon Girona.
Comments