Au revoir Hutes, bon voyage!

Tuesday was our last big bike ride with the Hutes. We rode out along the tram-line path to Pérols, a bedroom community south and east of the city (towards the sea, not far from Palavas, the place we went the first time we rode to the Mediterranean). Pérols is situated on the 'étang de l'Or, a salt water lagoon separated from the sea by a spit of land. It's about 9 or 10 kilometers of pretty easy cycling from the apartment.

Pérols

When we got to Pérols, we rode down first into an area referred to on signposts as the Port, at the edge of the étang. It appears there is some commercial fishing here or was. There were nets piled on the shore, fishing boats as well as pleasure craft in the small marina, and poles sticking up out of the water far out, suggesting some kind of mollusc fishery, I think.

Pérols

We dawdled around in the port area while I took some photographs. The light on the mirror-like water of the lagoon was quite lovely; it was hard to tell where water ended and sky began.

Pérols

We started the ride back on a path on the other side of the highway from the main bike path. It at first followed the shoreline of the étang. We were trying to find a way to get closer to the water so we could maybe see the flamingos visible in the distance from the Port. It was not to be. We rode down a couple of lane ways but came to places where there were Privée - Entrée Interdit signs and dogs barking wildly from every property, so we didn't go any further. Well, Pat and Ralph, not noticing one sign, did go further; luckily, nobody shot them.

We kept following the path along the highway towards Montpellier and finally came to a place where it looked as if it would take us over the roadway to pick up the main bike path again. But it didn't. It dumped us at the side of the highway and we had to scuttle across when there was a break in traffic. We went back to the Lattes turn-off and rode the way Karen and I had ridden a couple of days before. This time we made all the right turns and quickly made it to Port Ariane, where we had a picnic in the sun by the little bassin: baguette, cheese, cookies, apples, beer.

Port Ariane

By the time we got back to Montpellier, riding the rest of the way along the river path, and turned in the Hutes VeloMagg bikes and put ours away, we'd been out over four hours. My bum was sore.

The Hutes, whose turn it was to cook, declared it my unofficial birthday dinner. It came complete with a very silly card, and two welcome gifts - a giant bag of jujubes and a book of Sudoku puzzles. Thanks Ralph and Pat!

Wednesday was their last day here. Ralph was agitating for another bike ride - the man is obsessed -but we held out for meandering around the city. It wasn't completely aimless, we did head first for the Carré Ste.-Anne, the contemporary art gallery housed in an old church. It's a beautiful and beautifully restored building, and a fantastic place for showing art. The exhibit was terrific too: large, romantic/surrealist (my description) canvasses by a young Swiss artist, Léopold Rabus. Many are disturbing, some downright gruesome, all slightly perplexing - altogether a very striking exhibit.

Montpellier, Carré Ste-Anne gallery, Léopold Rabus exhibit

Montpellier, Carré Ste-Anne gallery, detail of Léopold Rabus painting

We wandered on, through the Place de la Comédie, at least once, and ended up at a little restaurant near the St. Roch church, Toast' Tea. This was the warmest day so far - it got up over 21C - and it was very, very nice to sit in the sun over lunch. We kept going in the afternoon and checked out the Jardins des Plantes again to see if anything new was blooming, or any other paths were open - they weren't. Then through the cathedral area, checking out the courtyard of the attached Faculty of Medicine building, back to the Place de la Comédie for a drink in a cafe, then  home.

Near Ste.-Anne church

Cathedral

Cathedral

Layers of History

Spring comes to the Esplanade

Look up! Place de la Comédie

In the early evening, we came back to Comédie so Pat and Ralph could see what it was like in the twilight with all the activity. Quite a scene.

Place de la Comédie, le bubbleiste

The Opéra - Ralph goes for a ride

In the morning, I helped them drag their luggage down to Place de l'Europe and waited with them until the navette came. Bon voyage PnR, enjoy Paris!

That afternoon, Karen and I took a long walk down to Port Mariane where they had told us at the tourist office we might be able to see the construction site of the first of Montpellier's Architectural Folies of the 21st Century, a series of buildings commissioned by the city in a competition to attract top international architects. There hasn't been much written about the first one, which was awarded last year. Nor was there any obvious sign of its construction down at Port Mariane - although there are all sorts of other interesting-looking buildings being built.

Port Marianne

The modern follies are named after a handful of outlandish, suburban palaces built around the city in the 18th and 19th century. The second of the 21st century projects, the Arbre Blanc, designed by a consortium of firms, including Sou Fujimoto Architects, Nicolas Laisné Associates, and Manal Rachdi Oxo Architects, is truly wild - check out the artist's rendition below. It will be built right on the Lez River between Port Mariane and Antigone apparently. We can't make out where exactly, but it appears they will have to take down some existing buildings to make way for it. It won't be finished until 2017, and hasn't broken ground yet.

Arbre Blanc, artist's rendition

Port Mariane, quite aside from the folly that will eventually be built there, is an interesting place, a public/private planned development sponsored by the city, like Antigone, but with strikingly modern architecture. There is nothing as wild-looking as the White Tree, but it's still a pretty cool place. We also stumbled on an interesting scultpural project, again commissioned by the city, by the French artist Guy Ferrer. The theme is "tolerance," and it consists of eight 1.4 meter high bronzes, most with figures and faces, but forming the letters of the word "tolerance." They stand at the edge of a park - quite striking.

Guy Ferrer sculpture, detail of letter 'L'

Guy Ferrer sculpture, detail of letter 'T'

We walked home by the new city hall - it was a real architectural tour - and went into the centre of the building. It's gorgeous. One wonders, though, why a city this size needs such a massive city hall. According to the French Wikipedia, the entire "agglomeration" - the metropolitan area - only has a population of 400,470. But we do know that Montpellier is the fastest growing city in France with, according to one source we were reading, 1,000 people moving to the city each week.

Montpellier, new City Hall

And so home for a quiet evening in.

En auto avec les Hutes

Wednesday was a bit of a down day here in Montpellier, damp and cool. We walked the old town again in the morning, and Pat and Ralph went out in the afternoon by themselves, shopping - an activity in which we paupers declined to participate. Karen and I went for a non-shopping walk of our own, but the Mistral was up, especially bitter on the perimeters of the old town where there's little protection - in the narrow streets further in, it wasn't as bad - and the temperature was falling. We didn't last long.

Later that afternoon, back at the ranch, we looked into renting a car. Ralph wanted to take Pat to Avignon to see the Palais des Papes (Pope's Palace), something he had done ten years before and been impressed by. And we had suggested a couple of other possible outings, including to a Camargue-style bull fight.

We used EasyCar again, the UK-based online broker that supposedly finds the best deals from a bunch of different rental agencies - or perhaps negotiates special deals with the agencies, not sure which. Ralph decided to rent for four days, starting the next morning. We should have known that the price quoted, which appears to be a complete, all-in price - including unlimited mileage, taxes, insurance, etc. - would not in fact be the final tally. As with our rental when Caitlin was here, there were extra charges: additional taxes and a premium for picking up at the train station (which is only a few blocks from us).

At least Ralph was forewarned and knew to ask for clarification. Our extra charges just showed up on our Visa bill. In any case, Ralph was not best pleased. The rental cost him $70 or so more than originally quoted. To be fair, it was still a pretty decent deal, but it's the principle - it seems like bait-and-switch.

The service, from Europcar was also atrocious. The car rental parking is hard to find - down a long flight of outside stairs and along narrow lanes through a construction site - and there was no attendant on duty this day. The person was supposedly away sick. We were sent off with barely adequate directions, and told to check the car for damages, beyond those marked on the rental contract, and call the office to report any we found. We did find some, or Ralph thought there were some not noted, so we had to phone.

All in all, it was not an auspicious start to the day. Plus the Mistral was howling. The high was forecast to get up to 11C or 12C, but with the wind, it felt like closer to zero, or it did in Avignon.

Avignon is about an hour and a half away by motorway. By the time we found our way from the train station in Montpellier to the highway, it was late-ish, and it was after noon before we got to Avignon. We tried driving into the centre, but couldn't find any street parking there, despite the city appearing pretty sleepy.

At one point, Ralph got to an intersection and wanted to turn right on a narrow street, but had already gone too far into the intersection to make the turn. So he tried to reverse - but couldn't. To get into reverse in this car, a Renault Megane, you have to pull up on a little ring around the shaft of the gear shifter. We once ran into the same design with a European rental car we had, but had completely forgotten about it. So poor Ralph kept trying to jam the shifter into the reverse position, with idiot French drivers behind him honking with impatience. Finally, he figured out how to do it and got around the corner. We beached the car in an underground parking garage by the city wall and walked into the Palais.

Avignon, Palais des Papes, main courtyard

Karen and I had done the Palais 26 years before when we came with toddler Caitlin. We also came to Avignon ten years ago, but skipped the Palais that time. Since our first visit, the place has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage site (in 1995), which I'm guessing resulted in money being pumped into it. I don't remember it being as compelling or well organized a site when we came before. The entry price was not unreasonable (given that it's France): €9 (seniors), plus €2 for an audio guide.

Avignon, circa 1991

The audio guide was well worth the price. The commentaries are consistently interesting, very well translated into English, and spoken by native English speakers. The story they tell of the relatively brief period in the 1300s and early 1400s when the papal see was moved to Avignon before shifting permanently back to Rome, is fascinating. Why did it happen? It had to do with church politics. The first Avignon-based pope started building the castle-like structure in the 1340s. It was meant to double as palace and fortress. The complex was added-to and changed by each successive pope over the next 100 plus years. The result is an asymmetrical architectural hodge-podge. But it's very evocative, and visually powerful.

Avignon, Palais des Papes

As interesting as the tour and exhibits are, it was not an entirely pleasant experience this day because of the cold. The rooms are not properly sealed (deliberately, I think - makes it more authentic) and there appears to be virtually no heating except the occasional space heater plugged in to keep staff on duty in the exhibition rooms warm. And it was bitterly cold - the Mistral was whipping through some of the rooms. Talk about draughty. Pat's feet were numb with cold before we were half way through. Karen's fingers started going numb. I didn't think I'd ever be warm again. At one point, we climbed up to the top of the highest tower and walked around the parapets. The wind was so strong, there was a real danger of being knocked over by it.

Avignon, Palais des Papes

The exit passes through a heated gift store. We spent an uncharacteristically long time browsing tourist knick-knacks, just to get warm.

By the time we got out, it was heading for 4 o'clock and we hadn't yet eaten. Most of the places still open were on or near the main square, which we remember from previous visits when it was much more inviting and summery than on this day. (I have a photo of our little blondie on the carousel that is still there - or one very like it.) The place was almost deserted, but we did find a little bistro open with a limited menu: we could order pizzas or salads. The pizzas were surprisingly good. (We were famished.) The waiter was charming, and complimented Karen on her French accent.

It took us a while to find the car because the pedestrian entrance to the parking garage was just a door, almost unmarked, on a shopping street. We walked right past it once. The French don't really get signposting sometimes.

For Thursday, Karen and I suggested two activities, broken by a return to the apartment for lunch. The first involved driving to Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone, 15 kilometers or so away on the sea, to look at the Cathédrale de Maguelone, a 12th century church in a desolate spot on a sand spit. It was left more or less on its own after Cardinal Richelieu (one of the villains of Dumas' Three Musketeers) ordered the destruction of the surrounding (protestant) community during the religious wars of the 16th century.

It took us awhile to find the place because it's tucked out of the way, and the book we were using gave only sketchy directions how to get there. At one point, using GPS, we got to the end of a lane where we could see the cathedral across a narrow channel - but couldn't get to it because there was no bridge. We had a somewhat comical conversation with a rough country gentleman who spoke a patois that made me think he might be a native Occitan speaker. His pretty teenage grand daughter (I'm assuming that's who she was) helped us out with her surprisingly good high school English. The upshot was that to get where we wanted to go, we had to drive 15 minutes to another part of Villeneuve-lès-Maguelone on the other side of the lagoon.

Cathédral de Maguelone, front entrance

The cathedral is a fabulous spot. It's no longer used as a church but much of the original architecture remains. The exterior was built with a particularly hard limestone called cold rock. The stone blocks look too perfectly preserved, and too perfectly fit together to be so ancient, but they are. Inside, some sections were built using much softer rock and it has been badly worn away by the salt air. It looks much more ancient, but isn't. The church is a very austere place with little in the way of decoration beyond some stone relief carvings over the main entrance and a few gargoyles at the tops of columns.

Cathédral de Maguelone

We paid again for audio guides, which were very good. I particularly liked the tale of the beautiful Maguelone, for whom the place is named. She was the daughter of the King of Naples and fell in love with a knight named Pierre of Provence. Because both parents forbade marriage, they ran away. Soon after setting out, they become separated. According to one version of the legend, it's because Pierre goes haring off after a crow that has implausibly swooped down and stolen Maguelone's necklace while they were sleeping. (I'm wondering if Pierre just got cold feet, and ran off, the cad.)

He gets captured and imprisoned by pirates. He tries tries to find his Maguelone when he finally escapes, but cannot. Maguelone, rather than pining for Pierre, devotes herself to caring for the sick - at the place that is named after her today. Years later, when they are both old, Pierre turns up at the hospice and comes under her care. She recognizes him and reveals herself. They marry, old as they are, and live happily (if probably only briefly - it is the middle ages) ever after.

It sounds like one of those increasingly common stories about old boy friends and girl friends finding each other on Facebook years later and getting together after their spouses have died (or before).

Vineyards at Cathédrale de Maguelone

Maguelone is a pretty, tranquil spot with vineyards, operated by the lay group that runs the site, which also offers a refuge and work for handicapped people. There are peacocks on the property too, including a very friendly white one.

Cathédrale de Maguelone

The afternoon activity was climbing Pic St. Loup, the high ridge to the north of the city that is ever present on the horizon in Montpellier. It's about 15 kilometers from the apartment. The path up is very rough and rocky. The round trip up and back is supposedly 10km, with an altitude difference of 440 metres - although I'm not absolutely convinced that's accurate.

View from Pic St. Loup

Attempting it was probably not a good idea for Karen, given her wonky knees, but she was a trouper and made it almost as far up as everybody else. Pat and Ralph went a little further toward the summit than I did, but they didn't make it to the top either. Coming down was more difficult for Karen, so slower. We had set out too late in the day to do the climb to the top and back in good light. As it was, the light was beginning to fail as we came down.

Pic St. Loup

Saturday was bullfight day in Vauvert, a market town just west and south of Nimes. This is the Course Camarguaise, the southwest France version of bullfighting, in which the bull is not harmed, just intensely annoyed. Karen and I went to one 26 years ago and thought Ralph and Pat might enjoy it. The plan was to drive to Vauvert in the morning and buy tickets, then drive back to Aigues Mortes so the Hutes could see this lovely little seaside walled town, then return for the 3 pm. bullfight.

We had some difficulty finding the arena in Vauvert - is this beginning to sound like a theme? - and when we did, it turned out the ticket office didn't open until shortly before the 3 p.m. start time. The arena, a very modern facility - quite different from the lovely old-fashioned place we had gone to 26 years ago - was open and there was some kind of practice session going on so we got a brief flavour of what we had in store.

Lunch in Aigues-Mortes

We drove back to Aigue-Mortes and had lunch on the main square, which was abuzz with activity - quite a contrast to the day Karen and I came, when it was cool and dead as a door nail. Today, it was mild and sunny. The meal was a prix fixe luncheon - €11.90 for a main course and dessert. Two of us had steak frites with salad, the other two had a boneless chicken breast with a cheese and cream sauce. The desserts were French-style apple tart or chocolate mousse. Everything was good and, given the price, pretty good value.

Central square in Aigues-Mortes

We spent a little time wandering around in Aigues Mortes, long enough for Karen and I to buy a very nice Provencal table cloth, quite different from the one we bought ten years ago at the market in St. Cecil. This one has bright pinks and blues (and other colours) with a floral pattern. Pat, on a separate shopping mission with Ralph, also bought a table cloth and some gifts for her grand kids. On the way out of town, we went in to a big cookie and candy store and bought some - you guessed it - cookies and candies. (They were good - if  over priced.)

Aigues-Mortes

I enjoyed the bullfighting again this time. In the Camarguaise event, which takes place in a ring more oval than a Spanish bull ring, there are two teams of raseteurs, agile young men who lure the bull into chasing them. The object is for the raseteurs to reach back as the bull gets close and grab a paper rosette and other bits and pieces off its horns, using a claw like comb clutched in their hand. Then they vault over the barricades around the ring and up on to rails around the outside to escape the horns. It's hard to picture without seeing it. I think it's very athletic and entertaining.

Pat didn't like it. She thought the bulls were being abused. I suspect the bulls were mildly abused before entering the ring, to get them fighting mad, which they all seemed to be. I'm not sure, though, that it isn't in the their nature to be mad and spoiling for a fight, just as it's in the nature of race horses to want to race. The raseteurs, of course, do not oblige the bulls. They are will-o-the-whisps, always just out of the bull's reach. Sometimes the bulls are so intent on catching the raseteurs, they jump over the wooden boards around the ring and into the outer track. This causes great excitement and consternation - all part of the fun. The portiers, the door keepers, deploy gates to guide the bull back into the ring.

Vauvert, Course Camarguaise - right into your living room

We had missed the opening ceremonies and left before the closing ceremonies but I felt it was a pretty decent €5 worth of entertainment. Ralph concurred, Pat was a dissenting voice. Karen kept her counsel. We drove straight back to Montpellier and had a late dinner again.

Vauvert, Course Camarguaise - running away

On Sunday, the Hutes drove by themselves to Carcassonne to see the Cité. We had just been there a couple of weeks before with Caitlin so stayed home. They said they enjoyed the place and the day immensely, and also had a nice lunch in the Cité. They didn't get back to Montpellier until almost eight.

Montpellier, near our apartment - note trompe l'oile painting on building

I ran in the morning, after which Karen and I walked down to the Sunday market near Antigone and bought Lunel apples, spinach, broccoli and a beet. In the afternoon, we decided to bike out along the path we were supposed to return on the day the four of us cycled to Lattes and back. The map shows paths intersecting, making a big loop around Lattes. We couldn't find the return route that first time and had to improvise.

This time, we went out as far as Port Marianne on the main river path, then turned down a short section that took us over to the other path to Lattes. It follows the No. 3 tram line and a main road that passes suburban shopping malls - yes, the French do have them - and commercial zones. The map is still wrong. The intersecting path petered out very quickly, and we had to guess on a road to go down. We guessed right as it turned out and got some of the way to where we wanted. Then the bike path disappeared again. In the end, we did find our way to the river path, which was our objective. We got to it via Port Ariane, which has a little man-made lake, canals and a marina, surrounded by pastel-hued apartment blocks. It's a real planned community.

Porte Ariane (Lattes)

Today, Monday, Ralph and I took his rental car back, stopping to fill it with gas first. Then the four of us went for a bike ride around the city. We had a plan based on what we could see on the not-very-reliable bike path map, but abandoned it after awhile and just followed paths wherever they led. We ended up back at the apartment a little before one. After lunch we went for a walk around the old town. Pat wanted to see the fabulous card store we'd told her about - where we spent a half hour or more. Then we headed for the Carré Ste-Anne gallery. It was closed for Monday. We walked up to the Place Royale de Peyrou, then back to the square across from the Prefecture for cocktails. Then home.

I've discovered that to really appreciate the architecture in this city you have to look up. Today, I'm launching a series of pics of roof lines. Here's a sampling so far.

And here's one final picture that Ralph particularly asked me to post.