Waking up without an
alarm is now second nature. An all senses organic experience
starting with the operatic birds’ songs, an impressive luminosity,
followed by the sweet aromas of my balcony plants (rosemary, mint,
lavender and basil) with a hint of eucalyptus from the nearby park
carried by a sweet breeze. A sigh of contentment, the fridge is right
there, a glass of iced coffee and a cigarette, perfection. That’s when it hits
me, my sweetheart is not here to share that moment of bliss. Gosh
did Wayne love his morning coffee and first puffs. A tear or two
followed by a good earthy wholesome out-loud curse: FUCK YOU! And as
to pretend it matters, a look at the ceiling with a whispering I love
you and a kiss. It has been a year and a half, yet it feels all
surreal, it should not have happened to us, to me. Being halfway
around the world did not change the fact I have a half missing. The
other half seems to weigh a ton now. So here I am, with my lit cancer
stick on one hand, a perfect iced coffee on the other, it’s a
beautiful day in a beautiful town, so lets shout another FUCK YOU and
try to make the best of this “new normal” life I so heard about.
My neighborhood is
what one wants it to be. Mostly populated by students who make it
their home for few years before heading to their future “real”
lives, careers, crying babies, etc… A bit like being around NYU
with its pseudo bohemian feel A final playground before stepping
into adulthood and all it intakes.
Bars are plentiful,
so are consignment shops, “cheap” eateries, late night opened
squares to gather, meet, sing, dance and be merry and get stoned.
Two blocks away the vibes become more mature, a micro center with its
food markets, hairdressers and barber shops, semi high-end
restaurants and high end clothing stores. Locals mixing with tourists. A West Village feeling.
The gay movement
started one block from my apartment at the “Place du Marche aux
Fleures.” The “Cafe de la Mer” was the original gay artistic
and intellectual gathering place, it has since change owners. The
“old queers” still live in the neighborhood and thrive with their
antique shops, hair salons and interior decoration businesses, a
cliché, but true. Just around the corner there are now two gay
bars; one established for sometimes, “The Heaven,” and the
newbie, “The Up Bar,” a little more upscale, imagine the
difference between Cherry Groves and The Pines on FI. I do enjoy the
latter one and the company of its owners, Parisians expatriates. Not
unlike New York, Montpellier is mostly populated by non-natives, yet
unlike New York, being accepted by a Montpellierain is not easy, they
say one cannot call oneself Montpellierain before having been a
resident for at least 6 years. The French I tell y’a! but I
regress...
As I enjoyed a beer
at Up the conversation turned into places to go, see, etc… I
mentioned I was a fan of “Plage de l’Espiguette” unfortunately
a little far away (it takes a tram, a bus and 30 minutes bike ride, a
good 2 hours.) Beaches near Montpellier are plentiful, I am however
very particular when it comes to beaches. They have to be secluded
from buildings. not overly crowded, NO CHILDREN, no loud music, no
this and no that either. Mostly untamed natural havens of sand, with
birthday suits allowed. Sorry to be such a New Yorker: my NY
references would be Fire Island or Sandy Hook, NJ. So of course ask
the gays, mind you I am not looking for A gay beach, but usually it
comes with my unorthodox demands… So “Plage de Maguelone” was
mentioned, along with directions, tram (no. 4 Garcia Lorka stop,) bus
number (32, stop Pilou,) and the turn to take once at the beach after
passing the Cathedral de Maguelone (right, then 800 meters.)
So it’s 9 AM, I
said my last FUCK YOU, took my umbrella, hat, and all the beach
accessories needed, well my bathroom towel actually (mental note: buy
a beach towel.) Halfway way down to the tram I realized I did not
make cigarettes (I am “|tubing” now for economical reasons, does
say the stupid idiot instead of trying to quit…) Anyway a day at
the beach without fags, the smoking kind, would be like a day without
sun or worst. A pack of Elyxir 100s later and a bottle of cold
Perrier I am on the tram, so far so good. 9:30, looking for the bus
stop, there are two, none mentioning no. 32. I am now sweating, I
have ten minutes to find out where to go, my heart is pounding, I am
running around like a headless chicken. I have a condition I call,
nonsense panic when not knowing where to go with unknown public
transportation. As if my life depended on it. Just a non
comprehensible fear of missing THE bus, and it is not like there
wouldn’t be another one twenty minutes later! Finally there it is,
the infamous no. 32 bus, passing right by me not stopping! What to
do? I am starting to run after this driving beast, am I supposed to
bark to it as well? When suddenly it makes a U-turn and stops by
the bus shelter right across from where I am standing. I must make a
run for it through the upcoming traffic, my hat is about to fall, I
don’t care, I’ll buy a new one, all I need is to catch that bus.
Sigh of relieve, I made it, I won, I tamed the beast… I am good!!!
Yet, as for my infamous win it was the terminal, the blue large
vehicle will idle for another five minutes before departing. All
sweaty, with my heart pounding a hundred miles per hour I sat,
wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.
