Month: November 2023

Happy Turkey Day, Back in the USA

We’re back in North Carolina, but my body clock is still on European time. That means I’m struggling to stay awake past 8 p.m. and usually up by 4 a.m. John doesn’t have the same problem. He’s back to his night owl habits.

Speaking of John, the last week in Europe was not so good for him. He came down with a nasty bout of food poisoning just before we left Narbonne, and it wiped him out through Barcelona and the long journey back to the States.

So we didn’t see as much of Barcelona as planned. About the only thing John felt like eating was soup, so we had more pho and ramen in Barcelona than tapas. Maybe next time.

Ramen, Barcelona-style, to soothe John’s tummy.

We mostly explored Barcelona on foot. Not far from our hotel was a park with a Miro sculpture and a large community of noisy parakeets.

The Miro, upper left, is titled, “Woman with Bird.” I don’t see it, but I was a woman surrounded by birds at the park!

Out of habit, I kept trying to speak French in Barcelona. That thing where you know you have to communicate in a language not your own, so you default to your second-best. Eventually, I remembered I needed “por favor” instead of “s’il vous plaît.”

After nearly six weeks of espresso every morning in France, Barcelona’s coffee of choice — the café con leche – was a welcome change. Many counter-service shops in the city offered a combo of café with pastry for 2 euros. What a deal!

Yes, breakfast for two, a total of 4 euros.

Now I’m back in the U.S., where a single croissant starts at $4. I had a craving for something French yesterday, so I drove 2.5 miles to La Farm Bakery for a loaf of bread and a pain au chocolat, grand total $14. I miss France!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Au revoir Montpellier; Bonjour Narbonne

We’re now in Narbonne, a small city I’ve been dreaming about for five years, when we spent a delightful half-day in May here.

Leaving Montpellier was difficult, and only the prospect of going to Narbonne stopped me from sobbing all the way to the train station.

À bientôt, Louis XIV. The Sun King bids me farewell.

Narbonne is a mere hour’s train ride from Montpellier, and friends we made in the larger city advised us to live in the larger city and visit the smaller one. I see the wisdom of that.

Narbonne’s population is about 1/10 of Montpellier’s. It offers all the standard urban amenities, including a TGV (high-speed rail) station. It’s compact, walkable, and I get the sense that if we stayed here long enough, we would recognize our neighbors when we’re strolling along the banks of the canal. Housing is also cheaper here than in Montpellier.

But it lacks the vibrancy and energy of Montpellier’s youthful demographic.

Observationally (I’ve not looked up statistics), Narbonne is older and less diverse than Montpellier. It’s not a senior retirement community; we see plenty of children and people of all ages. But definitely, the elderly population here is more significant, and we also see fewer people who may have relocated from Arab or African countries.

Aside from the lower cost of housing, the primary logistical benefit of establishing a French home in Narbonne instead of Montpellier is that it’s closer to an international airport. Barcelona is just two hours by TGV, which we’ll be taking on Sunday to spend a few days in that Catalan jewel city before flying back to North Carolina.

Narbonne is lovely, relaxed and mostly basking in the Mediterranean sun. As I write, we have a chilly, dreary day, and we plan to take advantage of it by finally going for a cassoulet (a hearty baked bean and duck dish) for lunch.

This city is older than Montpellier in another sense. As we learned, Montpellier is rather young as French cities go, only being established about 1,000 years ago. Narbonne was Rome’s first capital in Gaul. Yesterday we toured the Horreum, which is an underground network of storage rooms built by the Romans some 2,000 years ago.

Where the Romans kept things, including their wine.

And, some other photos from Narbonne:

À bientôt !

Dogs of Montpellier (and a Cat!)

The French love their dogs. They don’t love cleaning up behind their dogs, which is why it’s advisable to keep at least one eye on the pavement when walking in France.

Leashes seem to be optional, and even in a busy city, most dogs are not leashed. However, they are very well-behaved and responsive to the voice commands of their human companions. Also, for some reason, they rarely bark.

All of Montpellier is basically a dog park. These two are greeting each other on the promenade near our apartment.

Dogs are allowed in restaurants and the waiters often provide them with water bowls. Once, in Paris, I saw a dog sitting on a chair at the table and eating from a plate on the table.

But here in the warm south of France, dogs usually dine outside (as do most humans!):

And finally, the cat.

Near our apartment, we pass a house with a window box in which a large gray cat is nearly always sleeping. We love saying, “Bonjour, le chat!” each time we go by.

One day last week, we were passing as a couple on bikes arrived at the door and unlocked it. We greeted them with a “bonjour” and then asked, “c’est votre chat?”

“Non, c’est un chat sauvage. Il est libre!” said monsieur. (No, he’s a wild cat. He is free). They then told us the chat sauvage hangs out there because they have a cat and he likes to be visit. They feed the cat. Perhaps others do as well.

We will miss le chat sauvage!

We leave Montpellier tomorrow for a week in Narbonne.