The next morning after coffee and some wonderful almond encrusted croissants from the boulangerie, the days work began. I painted the shower room ceiling with the acrylic paint we had bought the evening before, while Mark and Pete emptied the loft of junk which had been left by the previous owner.
By midday we were finished and Mark won the opportunity to drive us to Montpellier for the afternoon and evenings entertainment. After cleaning up and eating some lunch we set off. We used the peage from Narbonne, the journey taking about an hour to reach the Montpellier exit.
The hire car, with Mark at the helm, came close to being written off on several occasions, as the heavy town traffic was negotiated, while trying to follow the signs to the ‘Centre Historique’.
Eventually we reached a suitable underground car park, though some pretty tight maneuvering was required to move down through the levels and into a parking space.
We emerged on foot into a small square surrounded by old buildings and containing a couple of cafes with outdoor seating. The place was bustling with activity, most of which consisted of animated conversations between groups of people, sitting at the cafe tables, who appeared to be students.
We quickly settled down to a couple of beers and watched the world go by. Conversation was light probably because we were all semi exhausted from our decorating efforts. I thought that if I were back in my teens, I would choose Montpellier as the place to receive my further education.
Finishing up our drinks, we made our way along one of the wider streets, down the hill to a very large paved open area, containing various fountains and lines of plane trees. On the North side I spotted the first McDonalds I had seen in this part of France and prayed they would spread no further.
I have to admit, that on occasion I enjoy the reliability of a Big Mac with fries. But this after all was France. The pinnacle of European gastromony. At least this branch had made some concessions to the local palate. According to the menu outside, the cheese burger incorporated a tasty local cheese, rather than the usual bland offering.
Opposite McDonalds was ‘La place de Comedie’, where various street entertainers were busy earning a few francs, by playing music, drawing chalk pictures on the pavement or performing mime. People talk of mime being performed. This variety however required the ‘astiste’ to remain perfectly still. Any performance which resulted in movement, or even a slight flicker of life, would have been deemed a failure. We were now in what seemed to be theatre land, with several cinemas, restaurants and clubs contained in a fairly small area of streets, which led toward the railway station.
After walking for sometime around the remainder of the old city, we returned to this area for our evening meal. The food was a passable steak with fries, but nothing special, presumably aimed at tourists and impoverished students, rather than the local French population.
After eating and some more walking, we discovered a cocktail bar. We were not sure what to expect but decided to try a new experience even if it cost a little money. The entrance fee seemed reasonable at 50 francs each. Once inside however, we discovered, that we were the only people there, other than the staff.
The drinks were not cheap, but by sticking with beer and drinking very slowly we figured we could afford to stay there for some while.
The bar itself was being attended to by three rather attractive ladies, one of whom appeared to be in charge. After ordering some beers, I asked her for directions to the Men’s Room. She insisted on showing me the way.
I was slightly disconcerted when she came into the toilets with me and continued to chat, while I relieved myself in the urinal. It seemed that to her, the excretion of unwanted fluids, required little more privacy than their original consumption.
When we returned to the bar, Mark and Pete were sitting in a corner on leather sofas with the other two ladies. We bought a round of the cheapest drinks we could persuade them to consume and set about practicing our French.
The conversation was very enjoyable, until Mark who was as sober as I’ve known him, on account of him being our designated driver, suggested I should purchase a bottle of champagne at 800 francs. This was to be a celebration of the commissioning of the house in Frasquenet.
Mark’s suggestion was of course enthusiastically endorsed by the assembled ladies and Pete.
Five minutes later we were returning to the first cafe we had stopped at, for a final drink. Meanwhile Mark was telling me that I was tight fisted. However we were soon friends again and returned to Frasquenet. Since it was quite late, the traffic was lighter and so we faced instant death less often.
The next morning we got up slightly later than usual. Over the customary breakfast, which included the now mandatory, delicious almond croissants we discussed our itinerary.
With all the major jobs done I spent another hour, on that Saturday morning, attaching light fittings to wires, before we spent the rest of the day visiting various local tourist sights.
We finished off, by having our evening meal in Gruissan and then visiting “La Petite Frasque”, the only bar in Frasquenet, for some table football, pinball and bier pression.
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