I delivered Molly to the train station and sent her off to Lyon to visit her friend Lucie for a few days on her own.....I could have gone, but I thought this would be a perfect opportunity for her to have some space and independence. I am on my own for three days and will meet her in Lyon, .to travel together to Switzerland.
After our shopping flurry, I realized I hadn't really walked the town much, so that was my goal after she left. And I did. I went through a local market, to the university area, through the old, windy alleys and all over before getting too tired to carry on. I wasn't sure what to do on my own that first night, so I decided I would go to a movie to practice listening to French. I bought a ticket to see "Le PetiteNicholas" which was suppose to be a funny story about a young French boy. I ended up in the wrong theatre room and saw the movie "Divorcees"......which was quite a different movie.
What I realized is, that you really don't have to understand the words in movies to understand the story. By the visualization and the tones of the voices and the actions, pretty much everything is understood. I did pick up some of the talk, but not much...,..they talk so damn fast. But I cried at the end of the movie, regardless of it being in a different language. What I would give right now for a movie in English at the Pickford though.....even French with English subtitles.
Today I chatted with a man from Denmark who came over to me at an outdoor restaurant and told me not to give money to beggers. I had just given some money to a women with a smiling baby, when she told me she needed food for the baby......The first time this happened, I gave the women an apple and some crackers. This time, all I had was money and a latte and I was definitely not giving the latte up. This man told me about the organization of all these immigrants (often from Romania) that beg and teach their children to beg, instead of work. He said he literally saw a Mercedez Benz, black and shiny, pick up a group of these beggars at the end of a work day.....he believes they are working the streets in exchange for housing and food and turn their monies over to the "beggar pimp". I must stick to giving apples and crackers or saying no. He did convince me.
This man also told me about the tram out of Montpellier that takes you to the countryside where you can walk in the forest. That sounded good to me, so I again took his advice, got on this bright orange flowered tram and went to the town of Jaque. It really wasn't countryside like I was picturing, but I made the best of it and walked all through the town, the neighborhoods, the parks, the cemetary and it was definitely refreshing and peaceful.
My favorite part was the empty park, literally no one around. A soccer field, with stands carved in the hillside and a nearby pond with ducks. How quant. Sweet. I went over to take a picture of the sun coming thru the trees on the little pond. The ducks started quacking. I thought how smart they are to send out their warnings to all the other creatures that a stranger was among the hood. They kept quacking, almost to the point of being hoarse. I got close to the pond, they all swam towards me quacking and squaking and making a fuss, thinking, maybe, I had bread.....they were so loud and abnoxious I turned and walked away. It was then I realized they were "French" ducks, unlike the ducks back home.
These "French" ducks were loud, rude and abrasive. They only wanted what they wanted and they wanted it NOW. A distinct similarity to the reputation of the French people.
After our shopping flurry, I realized I hadn't really walked the town much, so that was my goal after she left. And I did. I went through a local market, to the university area, through the old, windy alleys and all over before getting too tired to carry on. I wasn't sure what to do on my own that first night, so I decided I would go to a movie to practice listening to French. I bought a ticket to see "Le PetiteNicholas" which was suppose to be a funny story about a young French boy. I ended up in the wrong theatre room and saw the movie "Divorcees"......which was quite a different movie.
What I realized is, that you really don't have to understand the words in movies to understand the story. By the visualization and the tones of the voices and the actions, pretty much everything is understood. I did pick up some of the talk, but not much...,..they talk so damn fast. But I cried at the end of the movie, regardless of it being in a different language. What I would give right now for a movie in English at the Pickford though.....even French with English subtitles.
Today I chatted with a man from Denmark who came over to me at an outdoor restaurant and told me not to give money to beggers. I had just given some money to a women with a smiling baby, when she told me she needed food for the baby......The first time this happened, I gave the women an apple and some crackers. This time, all I had was money and a latte and I was definitely not giving the latte up. This man told me about the organization of all these immigrants (often from Romania) that beg and teach their children to beg, instead of work. He said he literally saw a Mercedez Benz, black and shiny, pick up a group of these beggars at the end of a work day.....he believes they are working the streets in exchange for housing and food and turn their monies over to the "beggar pimp". I must stick to giving apples and crackers or saying no. He did convince me.
This man also told me about the tram out of Montpellier that takes you to the countryside where you can walk in the forest. That sounded good to me, so I again took his advice, got on this bright orange flowered tram and went to the town of Jaque. It really wasn't countryside like I was picturing, but I made the best of it and walked all through the town, the neighborhoods, the parks, the cemetary and it was definitely refreshing and peaceful.
My favorite part was the empty park, literally no one around. A soccer field, with stands carved in the hillside and a nearby pond with ducks. How quant. Sweet. I went over to take a picture of the sun coming thru the trees on the little pond. The ducks started quacking. I thought how smart they are to send out their warnings to all the other creatures that a stranger was among the hood. They kept quacking, almost to the point of being hoarse. I got close to the pond, they all swam towards me quacking and squaking and making a fuss, thinking, maybe, I had bread.....they were so loud and abnoxious I turned and walked away. It was then I realized they were "French" ducks, unlike the ducks back home.
These "French" ducks were loud, rude and abrasive. They only wanted what they wanted and they wanted it NOW. A distinct similarity to the reputation of the French people.
