Montpellier: France’s Number-Two Town (But Not Mine)

I’m wandering down a side street off Montpellier’s place de la comédie. The marble buildings flaunt ornate windows and balconies. Carvings of statues and patterns detail the contour of each structure like icing on a cake. Slabs of smooth marble are laid out at my feet, too, as I waltz past boulangeries and cafés, expensive jewellery displays, trendy clothing stores, and artsy shops.

I’m in Montpellier, voted the second favorite French city by French people. And yet, I’m not feeling it. I blame Bruno.

My husband and travel partner is not with me. That isn’t a problem in itself– so far this year, I’ve been to Singapore and Istanbul without him. But today, he’s not with me because he’s in the hospital. The knee surgery I’ve mentioned a few times lately – the cause of our crazy-hectic road trip from Turkey to France – has occurred. Bruno is laid-up at the nearby hospital, healing (he’s doing great, by the way!), so my mind and heart aren’t totally present on these Montpellier streets.

Yet, Bruno’s hospitalization may only be half the reason for my lukewarm response to Montpellier. France is Bruno’s home country, and since the day we met over three years ago, he’s had almost nothing good to say about the place. The pace of life, politics, laws, lifestyle… with all the criticism I’ve heard about France from Bruno, it’s surprising I’ve even agreed to enter the country! I can’t help but wonder, as I walk through Montpellier’s old town, if I’m looking at these streets with Bruno-goggles on.

I’ve come to Montpellier to be with Bruno in his time of need. He is priority number one. But as his knee heals and he gains independence – and as I become stir-crazy from being in the hospital night and day – I begin to steal little moments here and there to go out and visit Montpellier. I want to try to see it without my goggles on.

I visit a variety of places over the next few days. I go to Antigone, a newer area of town with a pedestrian plaza bordered by shops and cafés. I visit le jardin des plantes, Montpellier’s biggest and most central green space. I wander down almost every street of the old town, transitioning from the French cafés and trendy shops near la place de la comédie to the more hip and local part of town, with ethnic restaurants, hippy shops, a food market, and health-food cafés. I take it all in, but I can’t help but feel as if I’m just ticking each place off some imaginary to-do list.

I visit the infamous marché aux puces (flea market) in the Mosson part of town. There are loads of knick-knacks – fishing lines, used shoes, rusty tools, old board games, children’s toys, used electronics, heaps of chargers and electronic cords, batteries, vases, kitchenware, tires, handbags, and piles things under the things I saw. I’m not in the mood to search for a hidden treasure; and anyway, the most interesting part of this market is the different types of faces, dress, and languages surrounding me. I hear Portuguese and Arabic. I see Africans and gypsies. I have to listen hard to hear French and know for sure that I’m still in Montpellier.

The tram is just as multicultural as the flea market. I’ve been taking it all week – to the market, to yoga class, to the tourist sites and the supermarket. It’s packed with people from all over the world, from all walks of life. I see people dressed in leather with purple mohawks, nose piercings and bodies full of tattoos. There are piss-drunk people, young and old. And of course, there are crazy people who talk to themselves (or who talk to you, from across the tram car – yep, that happened to me once).

It’s not just on the tram that I see “interesting” people, either. Once, as I walk down a boulevard in Montpellier’s old town, a rough-looking lady walking toward me stops at a natural soap display and begins to load her bag with them. At first I think she’s going to bring them into the shop to pay for them, but then she begins to walk off. The employee comes running out of the shop, right past me, yelling and reprimanding the thief as she empties her bag of the soaps. Naturally, I expect the cops to be called. Imagine my surprise, then: When the thief declares that she wanted soap, the employee gently replies that she should have simply asked for one. Give me one, replies the thief. The employee hands her a soap bar, and off the thief wanders. I toy with asking for a bar myself.

Another day, as I wait for a tram in the tourist part of town, I watch as a young man approaches a couple of tourists with a pad and a pen. He is trying out the deaf petition scam that I learned about in Paris a few years ago. (The scam works like this: A person pretends to be deaf and enlists the sympathy of passersby by getting them to sign a fake petition for deaf-people’s rights. The person signs, after which the “deaf” person points to the top of the page, which asks for a donation from all those who sign.)

I watch as the fake-deaf guy approaches these two friendly-looking older people, and I watch as the woman willingly signs the document. I want to run up to them to tell them they are being scammed, but for some reason my feet are glued in place. And so, I watch as the fake-deaf guy asks for a donation, as the woman shakes her head a few times, as the fake-deaf guy insists by pointing and tapping his pad harder, and as the woman finally reaches into her purse and pulls out a few euros. I watch as the couple walks off and the fake-deaf guy re-joins another fake-deaf friend. I watch as they begin to move their mouths, laugh, communicate with words, and walk away. They’re off to play with the sympathies of more unknowing, kind tourists.

I’m starting to wonder if, perhaps, this is the real Montpellier. If this multicultural-market-tram-full-of-crazies-dishonest-street-people perspective is the true one. If it is, then Montpellier is worldly and colorful, but with a seedy, hard vibe to it. I have to push my way out of the tram or the incoming flow of people will make me miss my stop. I get cat-called from men in cars while I’m walking on busy streets. I stop looking at people lest their eyes reveal a drunk, crazy, horny, or angry person. Is this Montpellier with Bruno-goggles on, or is this just Montpellier?

On my last tourist day in Montpellier, I decide to visit le parc zoologique, Montpellier’s zoo. I think I feel the need, after all these mixed-up adult-like impressions of the city, to experience Montpellier like a child. The zoo is a large park with dry Mediterranean flora interspersed between the animal enclosures. It’s a nice, long walk from one animal to the next amid the deafening chirp of cicadas. It’s also incredibly hot. Since I arrived in Montpellier, the daytime temperature has hovered around 39°C, and nights inside a non-air-conditioned hospital have been excruciating. Once I had to strip down in the middle of the night and splash water on my naked skin to cool down.

I visit the Amazonian greenhouse. I watch the lemurs with uninhibited awe and joy for over thirty minutes. I enjoy my first totally innocent visit of the week. But between the heat, the distance, and the underwhelming experience of seeing African animals in enclosures after having seen them so often in the wild, the Montpellier zoo doesn’t do much to improve my impression of France’s number-two city. Who was I kidding?   A zoo will never help me improve my impression of a place.

On my way back to the hospital, I realize that I’ve run out of trips on my 10-trip transportation card. The machine at the bus stop only accepts debit or credit payment. I find it odd. On the bus, I ask the driver about it. It turns out the city has purposely reduced the amount of transport-ticket machines that accept cash as a method of payment. “The gypsies block the change dispensers so you can’t get your change. At the end of the day, they unblock them and collect the cash. Sometimes it adds up to $100!”

So, Montpellier is a bit rough around the edges. It seems like the type of city that has definite charm, at least once you peel back a few layers. What with Bruno in the hospital, the accumulated fatigue of our eight-country transit, and my impending flight to Canada, I don’t have the time or energy to peel those layers back. Montpellier might be the second favorite city of French people, but I’ve never understood the French, anyway!

Have you ever been to Montpellier? If so, what were your impressions of the city? If not, what are some of your favorite French cities?