Provence and Occitanie: Day 11
- lendroitheureux
- Oct 17
- 14 min read
Updated: Oct 19
Montpellier: A Pouty Server, a Creepy Magician, an Expelled Nostradamus, and a Unicorn
The final leg of our epic journey through Provence and Occitanie brought us to the large city of Montpellier, near the Mediterranean Sea coast and standing as the prefecture of the Herault department. What is a “prefecture” and what makes a “department?” Let’s just say that a “department” in France is an administrative entity, smaller than a “region” and larger than a “commune.” Akin sorta kinda to states and counties in the U.S., and a "prefecture" would be akin to a capital city. SO Montpellier is the Madison, Wisconsin, of Herault, France. That explanation does no one any good, and I am sorry. No one should ever say that Montpellier is the Madison of France. Suffice to say, Montpellier is an urban area with a somewhat important governmental role for the region.
After saying “au revoir, mon ami Avignon,” we returned the rental BMW to the TGV station just outside the city center. After assuring the quality of BMW was mint condition and having a nice chat with rental person, we went inside the station, drank coffee, people watched (I may have spilled an expresso all over a table), and enjoyed some relaxation. Honestly, train stations in France have always been relaxing to me. They are not only aesthetically pleasing but also indicators of more travels. I like them. And they always also feature pigeons, and beggars. And travelers. I am not averse to any.
As an aside, we have not any ill encounters with any rental car folk in Europe. I am not saying there aren't asswipes wiping people's wallets and hand purses, but to a person, each and every rental clerk (we have used Sixt) has been kind and helpful. I don't know if it's our luck, my perfect language skills (HA!), or Lani's good looks, but every single car rental clerk has been friendly and personable, upgraded us (with no charges), and also told us about their lives and have been generally kind, helpful, and welcoming.
After ditching our rental ride we took the train south, snapping pictures of church steeples and chateaus on hills in the various cities and villages we rolled through and past. I, of course, made note of the prettiest of these places and decided we must visit each during a future trip to midi. But that would be a matter for later vacation planning. Montpellier was on the horizon and there was no need to pine for future fantasies.
I have heard it said that Montpellier is “the Paris of the South of France.” I don’t like this. Not only because Montpelier bears little resemblance to the city of lights, but there is no need to always compare areas, regions, and cities to one another. Montpellier is marvelous, boasting that splendid French Renaissance-style architecture in its old city center that I have come to adore while also offering a top-tier art museum, a large university, gorgeous parks and fountains, and some excellent restaurants. There is no need to compare it to any other city in France, because Montpellier is the Montpellier of Montpellier, and the memories we have of this city are beyond compare.
We stayed at Hotel Aragon, a 10-minute walk from Gare Saint-Roch (the central train station) down palm tree-lined streets, bustling with pedestrians and motorbikes. Great pleasure can be found from the initial walk from train station to hotel when first arriving in a city. The new, unfamiliar cityscape, different smells, a new urban vibe and the exciting anticipation of exploring a new place; it all combines to give unbridled joy. The fact that there were more palm trees up and down the rue than any place we had visited as we walked from the train station may have contributed to the elation I felt as we took our first steps in Montpellier. The gorgeous palms and the brilliant blue-sky sun reminded us that we were indeed on the Mediterranean and ushered us toward our last few days in Southern France.
Hotel Aragon is situated on a tight street corner in a residential neighborhood densely packed with apartment buildings. The unique aspect of Hotel Aragon is that they don’t use numbers on their guest rooms, opting rather for names of famous artists and writers who spent time in Montpellier. We were in room Merimee, named after Prosper Merimee, a serious intellectual and Renaissance man if there ever was one (although, he lived during the Napoleonic eras, so decidedly post-actual Renaissance). Of most interest to my inquiring mind was his role as “Inspector General of Historical Monuments.” For 20 years in the mid-19th century he was central and instrumental in preserving thousands upon thousands of French historical sites. Thus, the inquisitive-minded tourist (hey, that’s me!) should tip the chapeau and thank Monsieur Merimee.
After checking our bags, we set out to the central plaza in old Montpellier: Place de la Comedie. Place de la Comedie is a blocks-long, rectangular plaza lined with such perfect examples of French architecture that one might be tempted to say, “Nah, that’s just a stereotype. Show me the real place.” It’s really pretty. Yet, while it may be aesthetically pleasing, it’s not a cozy place. It’s sprawling, long, and also wide. It is the center of a lot of action in Montpellier, with a tram stop, abutting the large Esplanade Charles De Gaulle (a city park), and only about 200 meters from Saint-Roch Station, the central train hub. The understated, but perfectly formed and gorgeous, Fontaine des Trois Graces (Fountain of the Three Graces) sits at the western edge, depicting Aglae, Thalia, and Euphrosyne, all daughters of Zeus and known to be goddesses of seduction, beauty, and all things lusty and lascivious.
The plaza is lined with a few touristy cafes and restaurants. I usually wouldn't recommend sampling the gastronomic wares from establishments directly situated on the main tourist spots but this afternoon we did exactly that. We had about 2 hours to spare, it was midday, we had to return to the hotel to check in and couldn't wander too far, so we decided to plop in place and sat at an Italian eatery smack in the middle of the plaza. I opted for a large salad with pasta, and Lani got a whole-ass pizza all for herself. It was fine. Nothing to write home about (but, oddly, worthy of blog writing). The greatest part of our meal was the people watching under the blue sky and just relaxing in France. The other greatest part was the cute non-binary/queer server who spoke only in French and when they asked if we wanted dessert and I declined (in perfect French, of course. Ha!), they stuck out their lower lip and called me a mean person. “Vous n’est pas gentil” they exclaimed, twice, then stomped their foot, turned on their heel like a tiny French server soldier, still sticking pouty lip, and marched away. Sometimes the French are wonderful. I left a tip, which I rarely do in France.
The other greatest part of the meal was the entertainment to which we were treated throughout our midday repast. About 20 feet from our small outdoor table stood a man who looked as if he spent the entire previous night at a casino, didn’t sleep, and was still out looking for a good time. He wore an ill-fitting tuxedo, had a ruddy, red face, and didn't utter a word. He was doing magic. He had a cart with all the accoutrements one would imagine a street magician to have: flowers, cards, boxes, buckets, balloons, rings, balls, containers, and pouches. He was pulling bouquets from his sleeves, stuffing ribbons in his hands and making them disappear, and pulling coins from behind ears. He was creepy. He had the awkward mannerisms of a slightly inebriated relative at a wedding who was on the verge of total embarrassment or serious social faux pas. He worked it though. What he lacked in charisma he made up for in skill, albeit the kind of skill that played on a street corner or plaza and not a large theater, but skill nonetheless. Some children warily approached him and allowed him to do some harmless pranks, but for the most part, adults tactfully ushered their young in a direction away from the incomprehensibly interesting illusionist. We enjoyed the show, and truth be told, I can think of worse ways to while away time on a Sunday than to watch a street magician while eating a pasta salad and pizza in France. Our time in Montpellier was off to a grand beginning.
We sauntered a short, slow stroll around the plaza, soaking in the sights, sounds, and soaring sonatas performed by street musicians gathering a small crowd near the aforementioned Fontaine des Trois Graces. As with so many of these French plazas, the architecture of the surrounding buildings is a lesson in splendor and audacity. We took in the Opera House (“Opera Comedie,” thus the name of the plaza), the Grand Hotel Midi, and the carousel. There is always a carousel. In every city. Each one! Without fail: Marseille, Aix, Avignon, Arles, Nimes, Aigues Mortes, Saintes Maries de la Mer, and now Montpellier. We rode nary a merry-go-round. I hereby pledge to ride the next Euro carousel I happen across. This is my promise to you, dearest readers.
After our circumnavigation of the plaza, we headed back to the Hotel Aragon to check in and transfer our bags from the bag stash room to the real room named after Merimee. We got situated and enjoyed the minimalist view from the window balcony consisting of narrow streets, neighboring buildings, and wrought iron balcony rails. It was nice, if unspectacular. If you yearn for a view and peace and quiet, perhaps eschew Hotel Aragon. If you want wonderful service, an ideal location, and splendid rooms then do not eschew.
We headed back out to do our first exploration of the old city center, of which there was plenty to behold. The first location we were beholden to (due to it being the first item on that day’s itinerary) was Place des Martyrs-de-la-Resistance. Apparently, this is the site where Nazi collaborator and Vichy leader Philippe Petain first met with Spanish fascist leader Francisco Franco. The plaza was also used as the gathering point for political prisoners prior to deportation during Nazi occupation. Thus, it is currently a memorial for those lost and for those who heroically resisted the fascists in the mid-20th century. From my previous Marseille Day 1 and Arles posts, you may remember my extremely low opinion of fascists and recognize that I try to make an effort to stop by, learn about, and absorb the meaning of these sites and memorials. I was actually a bit stoked to see this plaza, if only to take it in and pay some silent homage to previous freedom fighters. So of course, the Place des Martyrs-de-la-Resistance was under construction and closed off with fencing. This has happened at multiple sites in multiple cities on our travels. So much so that I am going to dedicate an entire blog entry to the places we went that were inaccessible or just goofy to visit due to construction. C’est la vie, I say! We stopped by and this just gives me further impetus to revisit Montpellier.
As our promenade proceeded, we came across a medallion in the cobblestones, similar to the ones we saw in Aix-en-Provence and Nimes. This one was gold with the words “Camin Roumieu Montpellier” around the outer part of the circle with what looked, at first glance, to be a sun in the center. In fact, the central image depicts a scallop shell because this is a marker for the Arles Way (Voie d’Arles) on the “Camino de Santiago” or the "Pilgrimage de Compostela,” a century’s old pilgrim path that leads to Galacia, Spain. In Galicia, one will find the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela and inside that the reliquary that holds the remains of St. James, one of the Twelve Apostles and thus an early and important Catholic saint. Scallop shells are found all around Galicia and have become the symbol for the pilgrimage. Road maps of early medieval Europe were most often guides for pilgrims, as most people did not venture too far from their home village or town without good reason, and pilgrimages were often the only reason for common folk to take long treks. This pilgrimage is one of the more vast, storied, and important. It has branches and routes stretching throughout Western Europe, and Voie d”Arles passes through Montpellier. There are 300 medallions in Montpellier with the Occitan term for Compostela, “Camin Roumieu,” and the scallop shell. I am pleased we literally stumbled upon one of these local relics.
Our personal pilgrimage prance progressed down Rue Foch where we glimpsed the grand, gorgeous Arc de Triomphe which pre-dates its more famous Parisian cousin by well over a century. We also walked by a medieval Mikveh, a ceremonial Jewish bath. Seeing these exciting relics of days gone by served as teasers, hors d’oeuvres if you will, for a main course on a later day when a tour of both was slated in the itinerary.
We continued our France prance to Place de la Canourgue, the oldest park in Montpellier. It’s lined with gorgeous architecture dating back to the 1600s and has a pretty fountain called "Fontaine des Licornes" or the Unicorn Fountain! It’s a fountain with unicorns. It was created by French sculptor Etienne d’Antoine in 1776 and commemorates the Battle of Clostercamp, which everyone knows about so there is no need to go into detail about that monumental historical event. In the corner of the plaza, one will also find the “Croix Sur Stele” or “Cross on Steel” which commemorates the destruction of a church during the quite violent religious wars of the 17th century.
Speaking of churches under siege, Cathedral Saint-Pierre sits just down Rue Saint-Pierre from the Unicorn Fountain. And when I say “just down” I mean down, as there is a large stone staircase and then a rather severely downward sloped cobblestone street toward the old church. Saint Pierre is a grand gothic fortress of a church whose initial construction began in 1364. It sits tightly tucked into the end of a city block with the magnificent, if unadorned, facade.
As the Protestant Reformation sprouted in the 16th Century, religious strife and sectarianism spread throughout Europe. Religious Wars wreaked havoc and Provence and Occitainie were not spared. In 1561 Protestants put Montpellier, including Cathedral Saint-Pierre, under siege. I have read that somewhere between 8 and 800 people were slaughtered, but histories written by the vanquished or the conquerors often skew toward their respective biases. Regardless, people died, and records were destroyed. In 1567, Saint-Pierre was besieged by iconoclasts who believed that images had no place in worship and holy buildings. These fanatic faithful fighters managed to knock down one of the church towers. Which is a shame, since the remaining towers are quite striking to see in person.
The interior of Cathedral Saint-Pierre is a virtual treasure trove of art: paintings, sculpture, statuary, stained glass, lighting fixtures, bas reliefs, and architecture. The vaulted ceiling soars and the whole place seems extremely vast compared to the footprint it occupies. Saint-Pierre is monumental. Highlights include a wonderful sculpture of St. Roch (patron saint of dogs, the falsely accused, and invalids). His is the namesake of the central train station as he was born in Montpellier. There is a side chapel with a marvelous painting of Sainte-Marguerite standing over a slain dragon while holding a quill in her hands (we will see her again in Musee Fabre) and an equally striking painting of The Descent From the Cross by 19th century French artist Eugene Leygue.
Another outstanding relic is an exceedingly creepy “Maria Bambino” doll laying under glass and staring hauntingly out toward the congregation and tourists, evil doers and faithful alike. This doll is similar to the adoration doll of the Baby Jesus we saw in Cathedral Saint-Sauveur in Aix-en-Provence (Provence and Occitanie: Day 5). “Maria Bambino” refers to the adoration of the Baby Mary (Blessed Virgin Mother of Christ) and is traditionally strongest in Central America, Poland, and Italy. But here she was, in Southern France, laying on her side, staring softly while wrapped in her swaddling clothes. Again, haunting, kinda creepy, but fascinating. The sheer number of artifacts and relics inside Cathedral Sant-Pierre could account for an entire 3000-word essay quite easily, but I am not going to be a lingering linguist, because we must move along.
In the immediate neighbor of the cathedral is the world’s longest continually operating medical school. Founded in 1220, the Faculty of Medicine in Montpellier has been proctoring and providing practitioners for longer than Montpellier has been French. The building, along Rue de l’ecole de Medicine, is a former monastery. It is grand with a cool sun dial on the facade.
There are numerous busts of medical luminaries throughout history (exactly 0% of whom I recognized) and one really great painting of a lecture from the 13th century in which a man in an academic robe wields a large club in a menacing manner behind the person delivering the lecture. I am quite pleased to have laid eyes upon this artistic masterwork with my own eyes, and yet so many questions remain about the image. Perhaps someday I will attempt a deep dive into what exactly is going on in the picture.
Just off the main entrance of the Faculty of Medicine, there are rooms that may or may not be classrooms, assembly halls, and seminar chambers, and we could hear voices coming from within. There were definitely “ARRETEZ! NE PAS ENTRE!” signs up on the doors and at the base of the stairs. This is indeed a still functioning medical school. It was neat to poke our heads in, and yet even neater that the large, robed fellow with the skull-crushing club wasn’t around to enforce the “none shall pass” policy.
Apart from the fine statuary, timepiece, and cool painting, there was also access to a courtyard with an entrance to a building referred to as the “Theatrum Anatomicum.” It’s pretty cool to think that people such as Francois Rabelais and Nostradamus passed through these hallways and doors and watched as instructors dissected the recently deceased in the name of medical science.
As for Nostradamus, this wasn’t our first encounter with the wise 16th century seer and apothecary, as we visited his birth home in Saint-Remy-de-Provence and saw a fountain in his honor there. We also found out that a misreading of one of Nostradamus’ texts was responsible for the near destruction of the Magne Tower in Nimes. (See also Provence and Occitanie: Day 8.) Thus, you might say that this trip through Southern France was somewhat Nostradamus-centric. I find great joy in researching historical figures before our trips and then coming across their presence during our voyages. Michel de Nostredame was one such person whom we encountered frequently, and, in fact, Nostradamus was expelled from the Faculty of Medicine in Montpellier sometime around 1529 for being an apothecary. Apparently doing such work was beneath the dignity of medical scholars and the future famed forecaster had to hit the bricks.
Directly behind the cathedral and medical school is a garden park called “Square de la Tour des Pins” or “Square of the Tower of Pines.” The eponymous tower here is one of two remaining towers from the medieval defensive wall surrounding old Montpellier. It was so named due to the pine trees growing at the top. There are still pines up there! Top-notch spot to tour around a tower with trees at the top! The park is very small and quiet, with a brick walking path and a few statues of what are surely luminaries of the medical college. I recommend stopping by the bucolic park and tower if you happen to be looking at the other more renowned sites in the immediate area.
One of the renowned sites, sitting just across the street from Square de la Tour des Pins, is the Jardin des Plantes, the oldest botanical garden in France. It was created to cultivate medicinal plants for the Faculty of Medicine. It is littered with more busts of important dudes from the medical college (in case you hadn’t seen enough at the college building and other park) and has a neat old noria water pump. Even in the month of March, the park was vibrant and gorgeous. It’s free to visit but closed on Mondays. We wandered about for quite some time and probably could have lingered longer in languid lush relaxation.
There are so many more sites, sounds, smells, meals, art, and architecture to explore and talk about in splendid Montpellier. And discuss I shall. With you! Soon. In the next blog post wherein we visit a large promenade with an aqueduct and water house, watch dancers dance in the Sunday sun, and enjoy a labyrinth. Stay tuned!
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