We had a busy day...

The ancient walls of Aigues-Mortes

In our last blog we spoke of the opera we attended (the simulcast of AKHNATEN from the Met we saw in a theater in Montpellier). That was in the evening. We’re gonna back up in time a bit here and take a look at what we’d done earlier…

The opera came at the end of a long and eventful day. In addition to the evening performance at the Met, we’d been invited to a birthday party at noon. We’ve been attending language exchange events, intercambio, that are intended to bring people with differing language backgrounds together. Never mind that the French generally wind up talking to other French, and the Anglophones to other English speakers, these events are a great way to pick up some practical language skills, and to make new friends. And one of our new friends, John from Cornwall (and he is very clear he is from Cornwall specifically, not from the larger landmass known as Great Britain), put together a surprise party for Franҫoise, his new French girlfriend, and invited us.

We were happy to attend! Except, they live in Aigues-Mortes, a small ancient town about a twenty-minute drive away. And, we don’t have a car, and public transport is problematical (i.e., there’s very few buses and they don’t leave until after noon, for some reason). But Debra, our American ex-pat friend, had a solution: a rental car. She’s been here in Montpellier for the better part of a year and had discovered that the municipality of Montpellier, in addition to operating the tram system we love so much, also offers rental vehicles (cars, trucks, and bicycles). For this event she had reserved a car for the three of us.

The forecast was for rain, rain, and more rain. But on this day, while the streets were saturated from the storm that had passed during the night, the clouds were thinning. We had blue sky showing as we made our way out of the city and towards the swampy land around the mouth of the Rhone River, a famous region in France known as the Camargue.

It’s an area worthy of significant exploration, and Paula and I have spent many days there on past trips. But today we were just driving through, as a quick overview before heading to the party in nearby Aigues-Mortes. We caught a few glimpses of the famous black bulls, and saw the other iconic image of the Camargue, the white horses. The pink flamingos were harder to see, and, sadly, Debra missed them all together, as she was driving. But we’ll come back again, in the spring, when the weather is nicer and the days longer.

A tower in the walls seen from the marina

Aigues-Mortes is a sweet little town today, but was apparently a pretty miserable place to live when it was built in the 13^th Century. King Louis IX wanted a port on the Mediterranean, and in spite of the swamps (the name of the town derives from the old French for dead water), this was the spot. Louis used it as a jumping-off point for the Crusades he led (the Seventh and Eighth). What makes the town really worth seeing (apart from our friends having a party) are the walls, still well-preserved after all these centuries. (As we were walking around after the party, John was pointing out to Franҫoise and me the marks left by the masons on each stone, probably a signature showing who had cut which.)

Arriving at John's boat

Done with our quickie tour of the Camargue, the three of us arrived at the boat to mild sunshine and a dock full of people. And a very surprised Franҫoise! John had done an excellent job of keeping the surprise, no mean feat on a 30-foot catamaran.  He’d had some help from his boating neighbors, most of who were there. We sat around tiny tables set up on the dock of the marina, looking across the canal to the ancient walls, sipping sparkling wine and chatting in various languages (some of John’s neighbors are Dutch, and fluent in both French and English).

Another view of the walls from the marina, with the 13th century Tour (tower)
de Constance on the left

We had a fine time, and much of it, at least for Paula and me, was the familiar joy of gathering with fellow boaters on the dock. (Or the beach, or in someone’s cockpit!) It’s been 15 years since our boating days in Mexico, but it felt good to celebrate with boaters again!

Inside Notre-Dame des Sablons Church

A fountain in the main square

Inside the town the walls are never far...

Oh my, two blogs in one week! Time is getting compressed, as our date for departure draws near: we will be spending Christmas and New Year’s (and Kings Day, Jan 7!) in Seville, as we have done for the past two years. But we’ll be back in Montpellier in February, moving to a new part of town where we’ll stay through the Fall (and who knows, maybe longer). Meanwhile, we’re hosting a Thanksgiving Day event for our foreign friends. Stay tuned…

Old walls of Aigues-Mortes, with another view of Tour de Constance

We Go to the Opera

Akhnaten approaches his god, the sun (a promotional photo for the opera AKHNATEN)

We are not opera fans. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever been to an opera (well, excepting some Gilbert and Sullivan stuff). Yet, yesterday we went to the opera. And not just any opera, the Metropolitan Opera in New York City (the one in the USA). Well, we weren’t there physically, but we took advantage of the Met’s HD Live program, where performances from the Met are simultaneously telecast at theaters in some 70 countries around the world.

We saw AKHNATEN, by Philip Glass, the story of the ancient Egyptian pharaoh who established a monotheistic religion worshiping only his sun god. The story did not end well: Akhnaten died at an early age and the city he built was destroyed. His son, Tutankhamun, reverted to the old religion (and got a lot more press than his father).

The performance was remarkable for several reasons. The technology—and concept—of simultaneous telecast is amazing. The opera house in New York was packed, and while that audience was watching it live we were watching it on a huge screen in Montpellier, France. Our friend Karla was watching it in Oaxaca, Mexico, and friends of Debra, another ex-pat American sitting with us, were watching it in Salt Lake City, UT. Tens of thousands of people around the world were watching the exact same performance, at the exact same time.

But what I’m really having trouble getting my head around is the performance itself. It was stunning. Surreal, incomprehensible; as unimaginable as it was imaginative. I often saw no sense in the actions on the screen; all I could do was stare and let the powerful images flood through me. The costumes were overwhelming; Akhnaten’s robes were golden, and covered with tiny doll faces with jewels for eyes (?).

During an intermission interview the designer talks about Akhnaten's costume. (these are photos of the screen in the theater)

Every aspect of the performance aided the sense of unreality: the rhythmic and hypnotic music of Philip Glass; the slow, effortless movements of the performers; the voice of Akhnaten, sung by Anthony Roth Costanzo. He sings in a register (countertenor) I’ve never heard before, high but not falsetto, maybe something like a castrato (although there’s not so many of those around these days). His co-star, J'Nai Bridges, playing his wife Nefertiti, sang in a different, lower register, making for some interesting and mind-spinning duets.

And… juggling. Really? Every member of the chorus held a ball or three, and most scenes were punctuated with balls flying in the air. The juggling clubs were particularly effective in the battle scenes, where they doubled as, er, bows and arrows? (I'll note here that during the intermission it was pointed out that jugglers did appear on some Egyptian tombs.) The whole three hours flew by in a flood of emotion-stirring audible and visual imagery that made sense to me only in retrospect.

WTF...? I think these three, backstage for an interview during intermission, represent the priests, the military, and--the guy with the skull glued to his top hat--economic interests.

Each of the performers’ movements was calibrated and precise. Nothing happened quickly; everything flowed slowly, yet powerfully, like lava. Everything was in slow motion. The pinnacle for me was at the end of the second act: Akhnaten mounted the stairs of the temple to approach his god, glacial step by glacial step, to finally stand embraced and engulfed by the massive golden orb of the sun. We were not just speechless, but totally emptied.

One scene from the third act (there's a lot going on!)

Close up of the stage, also during the third act

The three of us left the theater in an altered state. It was as if in a dream we mounted the tram and rode back in the dark, under the rain. We rarely go to this part of town, and we almost never ride the tram at night, adding to the sense of unreality. I was happy for the clang of the iron gate of our apartment building behind us, and the familiarity of the trek up the four flights of stairs to our comforting apartment.

The next day, Sunday, we were curiously reluctant to let go of the sense of unreality we had achieved the night before. We just did not want to let go of that powerful, surreal, ethereal alternative we had been drawn into…

Click HERE to see a short video excerpt from the 3rd Act...

Try this link for a trailer of the televised opera ...

Akhnaten (Metropolitan Opera) Bande-annonce VF

Montpellier Ville

            The Streets of Montpellier

Montpellier is a medieval city. I know this, its part of the city’s heritage (patrimoine). But wandering the streets, with their modern, brightly-lit shops, cafés and restaurants overflowing with patrons, and, increasingly, the tattoo parlors and CBD shops, it’s easy to forget its medieval beginnings.

The photo on this poster shows that this is no new town. The narrow streets, the red tile roofs, the very layout of the city make clear its ancient origins. In the lower left is Sainte Anne’s (no longer a church, now a community center) whose tall steeple we often see rising above the surrounding buildings. We regularly pass through this area, but until I saw this poster I really didn’t get how long this city has been around!

My photo of a poster showing a fantastic aerial view of a neighborhood in Montpellier

Since seeing this poster I’ve been paying more attention to the streets of le vieille ville. Here’s some photos of streets we pass through every day…

Ok, so this one is just outside the the city center. That's the steeple of St. Anne's on the left. While Napoleon's Droits de l'homme guarantees freedom of religion in France, the impact of traditional Catholicism is still evident.

Yup, St. Anne's again, from within the city

Let's take a stroll through some of those narrow streets and see what we find...

This one is a real treat!

And here's a great shopping street

There is a some very quirky art in the streets of Montpellier. I don't know where these tiles come from or who puts them up, but it's fun to find them on the corners of buildings!

Ah. What else would you expect on Street of the Swan?

...and some funny little mosaics!

Some funny little characters on tiles...

My favorite, though, is at the top of our street, Rue de la Merci or Thank-you Street...

Because de rien—it’s nothing—is the perfect reply to "Thank you"!

             Morning Bells

Every morning we hear the bells. Oh, it’s not obnoxious. In fact, it’s pretty nice. Charming, even. We can see the belfry from our window, less than a hundred meters (ok, yards) away. We can’t actually see the bells—it’s an enclosed belfry—but we know they have to be in there!

Paula's watercolor of the belfry, seen from our bedroom

At first we thought maybe they rang at sunrise. Either that, or 8 AM. (Yes, sunrise at 8 AM in October!) It wasn’t until the time change (the Daylight Savings Time change which happens at the end of October here) that it became clear: every morning at 8 AM.  And then again at 7 PM.

These bells have a very distinctive pattern (making me wonder: do different churches have different patterns, so listeners will know which church to attend? Kinda like lighthouses, each with its own flash sequence?) First, a deep bell; then a smaller, higher bell just lays into it, with a steady stream of tintinnabulation (such a lovely word, and so few opportunities to use it!).

We occasionally hear the bells while lying in bed, although more often awaken after they’ve finished. (I do recall, once, hearing the bells after having lain awake in the darkness for some time; I remember the beginning, but not the end. It seems the reassurance of the bells allowed me, finally, to fall back asleep.)

Just this morning I was able to capture the sounds. Click the link…

Morning Bells

(And if that doesn't work, click here!)

Morning Bells

Our Month in France

            Van Gogh in an Abandoned Quarry
Last spring we visited a sound-and-light show in Les-Baux-de-Provence (about an hour east of here) called Carrières de Lumières, with images of Van Gogh paintings and Japanese art projected onto the walls of an old quarry. (I wrote about it in a previous blog here.) It was extraordinary, and we were very happy to re-visit it.

It was every bit as good the second time around… and this time I brought a better camera.

The projections on the multiple walls, and on the floor, where mesmerizing. Here’s a little video Paula and I put together including some of the music used in the show:

And if THAT doesn't work, click here!

And, a few still images from the exhibit...

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

             The Gazette Cafe

After our first two weeks overcoming jet lag and getting settled into our new life we have begun to explore the many cultural opportunities available here in Montpellier, which is, after all, a college town. We’ve met people through cultural meet-ups, we’ve reconnected with friends we made when we were first here. Paula has started watercolor lessons taught by a wonderful young woman who has only recently arrived in Montpellier herself from the east of France (the Alsace region).

On previous visits to Montpellier we discovered the Gazette Cafe, a cafe and performance venue an easy walk from where we live. We’ve heard some good folk, jazz, and even blues there in the past. So we were ready to go last night when Paula found that Djamel Djenidi, an Algerian musician, would be playing with his orchestra, El Djamila.

Now, given France’s former colonies in North Africa—in Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco—an Algerian musician living in Montpellier is not unusual. What caught my attention was that he would be playing the music of Georges Brassens, very much a French musician. How would that play out, I thought: mixing Algerian / Arabic music with French folk? Certainly worth checking this one out!

We were met at the cafe by another American ex-pat, Debra. The three of us ordered a bottle of wine and prepared for some serious listening. The eight or so players on the stage started easy, with some popular French songs, some of which had been translated into Arabic. But it wasn’t until the break, half-way through, that things really got swinging.

Given Montpellier’s proximity to North Africa it is no surprise that there are a great many residents from France’s former colonies. Most of those in attendance that night had come expressly to listen to Mr. Djenidi, a well-known musician… and, they knew all the words! By the end of the evening most of the room was up, dancing and swirling to the compelling Arabic rhythms.

But there was still a surprise in store. Mr. Djenidi, announced he would play the most popular French song ever. We were waiting for... La Vie en Rose? Je ne Regrette Rien? Frère Jacques?

No, it was Autumn Leaves. What?

“But I miss you most of all my darling / When autumn leaves start to fall”. That’s not French! No, that’s the English version written by Johnny Mercer (who wrote an astonishing number of hit songs in the US, and sang a good number of them; his version of Autumn Leaves is here). But the song originated in Paris, written by Joseph Kosma, a Hungarian, with the title “Les feuilles mortes” (The Dead Leaves). The original French lyrics were written by Jacques Prévert, well-known poet and screenwriter. (A young Yves Montand does a fine job of singing it here.) While the lyrics of the two songs are quite different, they share the theme of a lost love, with the falling leaves of autumn a powerful metaphor.

Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle,

Les souvenirs et les regrets aussi

Et le vent du nord les emporte

Dans la nuit froide de l'oubli.

The dead leaves we gather with shovels

Along with our memories and regrets

And the north wind carries them

Into the cold night of oblivion

We walked home at midnight through the still boisterous streets of Montpellier (did I mention that it was a college town?), stunned, yet buzzing with the melodies, the spirit, and the adventure of the evening!