Montpellier Pt.1
Merry French revellers, Spanish bongo drummers p/assing the windows and such clacking thunder of snores: in Montpellier I sleep in an ancient pilgrimage halt for a night but most of the noises kept me alive in that dark. Even at six this morning people verily singing and shouting as they travel back to where-ever they live. But so inconsiderate at dawn to call so vigorously. The young do not know what happens around them; just between their ears and legs. I was never a carosering choruser. Oh snores of fin.
The destraction to destruct all notions of sleep on this Sunday morning. I don't have to quit this donativo at all until ten. Back to struggle with sleep a while, I feel, now the partiers have vanished and the snorer will awake soon. I retired again but the death rattle of magpies kept this away. Eventually I turned over and all the beds were vacant and the sky shone through my unshuttered windows. Rise and attend to petit dejourner somewhere.
I hung out for a few halves before returning via Saint Roch later. As a consequence of meeting Neil from San Francisco earlier I popped in the Irish pub next to decommissioned Saint Anne. I thought he'd said he worked therein, but he was not to be seen. I justified this particular approach of mine, I rarely ever entertain 'Irish' themed pubs because they are always faux Irish; same as British pubs: and why would you leave your landscape to paper all your visits with the very same bland woodchip? I normally vector straight back the way I came, but Neil had enticed me like a cunning red fox to this den of doubly reenforced pricing: €7.20 for a pint of Guinness! I am not that sort of genius. I got burnt for sure. It's all I had in my pockets. Another unconnected American tried to justify the price due to the weakness of the pound! Bollocks I said. That ain't nothing but faux Irish greed! That moment of low fall will sit in my mind linked to all monsterous acts of infamy man played upon his fellow man!
So this is le place de la comedie; wind and rain on the agenda. But first Caffe Noir grand if you please. Accordian player accompanied by terrible James Last drum machine. Refreshingly bad. Le Café Riche on a drenching day between fleeting clouds and badly timed discordant musician and humourlessly €3 a petit café créme. Just one more day of commercial nihilism. Monday to the beach to camp out of this crowded crime.
After a promenade amongst the livre stalls vending authors handicrafts: stylish typesettings and such. I arrived at Fata Morgana whose simple clean styles appealled most to my inner inclination for my discussions to be writ large and forever.
Appalled by the expense of the prices of a plot of simple soil to pitch my sleep for the nights to come I have travelled beyond the suburbs along a tramway and highway out to le plage and my first view of the Meditterean since 2010.
Visited the coast walked from the east of Carnan Plage, some sardines and other nice diner after two. Missed a bus back to Montpellier so necessary to wait in this resort. The camping site was 18€ including tax per night which feels like cripes! extortion when the only real option is the Auberge Jeunesse. Nice area for a day on the beach, but hardly aimed at the pélerin sort. Back at the youth hostel and I'll hang around here while Glenn etc are in town then I will sort out transport to Pamplona to get back on the Camino. France is simply too expensive to hang about between Cahors and Saint Jean Pied du Pont. An amazing dry Muscat sec Le Pot VdP cleansed those fishinesses clear away! House wine tres bon too.
It is a good job that friends are coming here tomorrow. I think I would freak at this city very soon. It's alright if you're seriously plugged into the matrix, but I was in Cahors becoming more less and less more. The brain doesn't need this town. It's just too Leeds. Party is not the Way.
Very much the end of one adventure and now Sunday I await the start of the extravaganza of Montepellier with friends. Today my happiness of Cahors has waned; this might just be an accumulation of lack of sleep and constant traveling, doing and being. I'm sure it is temporary like the brief thunder storm. I don't feel like engaging so much. I'm definitely more tired than required. My eyes are really dry; a change of lens might be a need. I'm more than a month into this pair. Off to bed. Eyes out. Shower on the morrow. Up and at them. Basic end of day: cheap urban Kebab.
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