"It's time for the good times, Forget about the bad times, We need a holiday"... Well, my parents needed a holiday, so they came to visit moi!

I've been a little absent from the blogging world recently so I feel its time to catch-up... The main reason for at least a week of my absence was that my parents came to visit. Yep, that's right, dearest Mummy and Daddy Hunt drove all the way from Germany to Montpellier just to see me! They had been working in Germany, and in the usual Hunt manner, decided that a mere twelve hour drive covering several hundred miles was the only thing separating them from Montpellier.  So, laden with a box of Weston's finest organic cider, several boxes of cereal, countless cartons of soya milk, vegetable stock cubes, Whittard's hot chocolate, Marks & Spencer's Earl Grey, Twinings Everyday and half the contents of our local Boots store, they made their way to the South of France...


They left Germany on a Saturday afternoon, and with the help of Frank Turner (those would be the Frank Turner CDs that I had purchased from amazon.co.uk and asked them to bring down for me), made it all the way to Dijon.  A swift one night stop-over at "Camp-a-nilly Did-jun", and they arrived in Montpellier by Sunday evening.  For those not familiar with an English Garmin sat-nav, "Camp-a-nilly Did-jun" is sat-nav speak for the Campanile hotel, Dijon.  It would appear that the sat-nav is completely incapable of speaking French.  Or German for that matter.  Nonetheless, sat-nav woman does provide some amusement when your lost in Montpellier's roadworks at eleven 'o' clock at night, and she's there spewing utter, incomprehensible gobbledeygook at you, that in no way, shape, or form resembles the road names that she is attempting to pronounce



I still had to go to 'work' on the mornings that my parents were here, but as I finished at twelve, it merely meant that my parents had a leisurely lie-in and met me at twelve for some lunch.  Lunch would then be followed by the afternoon's events.  The first afternoon, I planned a 'Keta Mystery Tour of Montpellier', aka a walk around all of the interesting bits that I had found in Montpellier so far.  This ranged from the pretty side-streets of the old town, to the Arc de Triumph and its park, all seasoned with my Dad's complaints that the beautiful sunshine and thirty degree heat was "too hot", and that he was on holiday and therefore wanted a beer at four in the afternoon.  Oh how I had missed family holidays!  To my Mum's delight (and my Dad's dismay) this was largely also a tour of the best shops I had found since moving to Montpellier.  For anybody who's interested, the Hippy Market on Rue de Petit Saint-Jean is quite the treasure trove of 60s/70s/80s vintage goodies.



Another afternoon was spent visiting Ikea.  It wasn't the whole afternoon - I just needed some more hangers (new wardrobe, lots of clothes, no hangers), and saw this as the perfect opportunity to show my parents the delights of the large modern shopping centre at Odysseum.  Cue my Dad grumbling that he'd come all the way to Montpellier only to end up in an Ikea... I think his exact words were, "I might as well be in bloody Bristol".  Incidentally, he said that just as an elderly English lady bustled past complaining that she had no space to drain her pots in the kitchen, which did some-what confuse us all.  After the thrilling trip to Ikea, we went in seek of something a little more picturesque and wandered from Place de l'Europe, past the fountains, to Antigone.  I didn't just magically develop my penchant for photography; it has most definitely been inherited from my Mum, hence the whole week of their visit was really just one big opportunity for the both of us to wander around glued to our cameras.  I have hundreds of photos from that week, some of which really will make it to Facebook at some point.  Having said that, I'm sure my Mum has hundreds more.  It wasn't a visit, more a week-long photography competition!

My parents didn't leave until the following Saturday, so the other three afternoons were filled by two trips to Aigues-Mortes (all will be revealed on that in another post - it really does deserve a whole explanation of its own), and, in true British fashion, the other was filled with a trip to the seaside for an ice cream!  The evenings were spent enjoying the hospitality of the Francis and Marco household, but again, I feel as though this is something else that deserves a whole post of its own.


That week really did fly by and before I knew it, it was Thursday night and my boyfriend was arriving at Montpellier train station ready for a weekend of Montpellier-seeing and French Patisserie-tasting.  Having not seen him for over three weeks, he was a welcome addition to the Dorset reunion that had struck-up in the South of France.  I think the thing that I enjoyed most about the time with my parents though, was that it was a chance to actually wander aimlessly with people.  I'd done a lot of wandering aimlessly by myself, and it was nice to finally be able to share it with a set of fresh eyes.  That, and of course the copious quantities of cheap soya milk that they brought over, as well as the €30 dress that my Dad bought me in an attempt to get me and my Mum out of the shop quicker! All round, I'd call it a week well spent.

"Working 9 to 5, what a way to make a living"... Or rather working 9 to 12, not getting paid at all

This week, life in Montpellier really began... I started my work placement.  But, as seems to be the pattern recently, things haven't exactly gone smoothly.  In fact, I'd deign to say that this is officially the aspect of life here that has given me the most grief.  And yes, that does mean that it has been even more frustrating than finding an apartment, opening a bank account, having a wardrobe but no hangers, or discovering that they sell Heinz Spaghetti in the Casino Géant for €1,50 a tin.


For those who don't know, I didn't decide to live In Montpellier for four months just for the fun of it - I came out here with the purpose of taking up a work experience placement for a mere twenty hours a week at Paul Valéry University.  When I was offered the placement back at the start of June, I was sent the following job description...

Most of the job will be related to the organization of the Master Degree in “International Cooperation” within the Politics department, and will involve:

• Following-up on students and alumni;
• Promoting the degree (website, leaflets, etc.);
• Helping organize meetings and events;
• Helping students develop their communication skills (presentation of their project, interviews, etc.)

On the face of it, this looked like a great opportunity for me to gain a bit of experience in a vaguely relevant field, given that I want to work in Events Management after uni.  However, somewhere between that email, and me travelling 900 miles for that job, the outline of my placement magically transformed into the following:

• Library work: helping the students in the library of the Department of Political Science find relevant information, helping organise resources, and assessing the quality of the bibliography offered as regards courses (for instance, international cooperation).
• Archive work: reading, selecting and organising relevant dossiers from online resources (to be used by Master’s students); press reviews on particular topical issues.
• Elaboration of bibliographies on specialised research themes.
• Data collection: location of the internships offered in the International Cooperation Master’s Degree.
• Helping students present and enhance their individual career projects.

Its funny how that happens really, isn't it?  When I was presented with this 'new' job description, having been in Montpellier a mere week, I thought that I would give the whole situation the benefit of the doubt.  I signed the 'Training Agreement' needed by both Holloway and Montpellier University, hoping that somehow it would all work out.  So it may not have been the placement that I travelled 900 miles for, but I was here now and as they say, "Everything happens for a reason".

In hindsight, my 'optimism' was probably just 'blind stupidity' as things took somewhat of a turn for the worse.  I arrived at the Politics department at 2pm on Monday the 3rd all prepared to meet the librarian who would show me around and explain the 'library' aspect of my placement.  I'm pretty sure that 'lost in translation' can't surely even begin to excuse the fact that the Politics department mistook a room with four bookshelves in it as a so-called 'library'...

In the 12 hours that I spent in that room this week, a sum total of six people came into the library, and two of them actually came in at the same time!  My vocabulary didn't stretch much beyond "Bonjour" and "Merci, au revoir", which I'm 99.9% certain I could have coped with before spending two years at university studying French.  With no sign of the three other riveting tasks that I had been assigned making an appearance, I decided it was high time I should see if I could get some clarification on the whole situation.  However, this is the part where it gets really complex... There are three universities in Montpellier: the inspirationally named Montpellier 1 and Montpellier 2, and Paul Valéry (aka Montpellier 3).  Each of these universities supposedly run as separate institutions, but have agreements on certain things such as sharing sports facilities.  The work placement was offered to me by Paul Valéry, but I am actually working in the Politics department of Montpellier 1.  This means that I have a work experience 'co-ordinator' at Paul Valéry, and a work experience 'supervisor' within the politics department at Montpellier 1.  Just to really put the icing on top, I am also being overseen by the gentleman in charge of the library at the politics department.  To keep things simple, and so as to allow them to remain anonymous, these people shall be known as the following:

Work experience co-ordinator at Paul Valéry - Madame Mécontent, aka Mme M
Work experience supervisor at Montpellier 1 - Monsier PetitGraveetChauve, aka Mr PGC
Library manager for the Politics dept at Montpellier 1 - Monsieur FontaineD'Information, aka Mr FDI


Mr FDI is in general a lovely man who appears to have visited the South West of the UK before and takes great delight in commenting how lovely it is every time he sees me.  He is also the one who encouraged me to speak up and see if I could revert my placement back to what it was once supposed to be.


Mme M is most unhelpful.  I went to go and see her to ask why everything had changed so much, and she seemed convinced my placement hadn't changed at all!  She was under the impression that Mr PGC still wanted me to help his students with their projects, and that collecting data on internships counted as 'following up on students and alumni', which I couldn't really argue with to be honest.  However, she sarcastically commented that I can't help organise events if there aren't any to organise (well why put it on a job description if its not actually going to be a regular feature of my job?!) and had no real answer as to where the activities involving promoting the degree had disappeared off to.  She claimed that I knew that the intern's tasks could vary from the start, and the addition of a load of library work, archiving, and creating bibliographies apparently counts as 'a little variation'.  In short, "c'est la vie".  Well merci bloody beaucoup.


I've saved the best for last though; the delightfully charming Mr PGC.  So delightful in fact, that he even gives Pete the Creep a run for his money (see post number 4).  A meeting with him today finally gave me an explanation for why everything has changed so drastically.  Apparently the intern who was in the department last year was much better at French than I am, and therefore had the opportunity to help the students with the many events that are apparently taking place within the department (surprise, surprise Mme M's sarcastic comments weren't even founded on any solid knowledge of the politics department or my placement).  Sadly, my French isn't good enough, so I have to work in the library.  In a couple of weeks I (might) get the chance to help some of the students with their projects etc, but that depends on how much my French improves whilst I am sitting in an empty room with four bookshelves.  He of course explained all of this in French.  The fact that I was then justifiably a little upset and not fully capable of focussing on what he was twittering on about, meant that each time I didn't understand something he re-itterated the fact that this is the problem - my French just isn't good enough.  Lovely.

So, for the foreseeable future I shall be sitting in the library doing some kind of research work.  I'll keep everyone updated on the headcount, but something tells me it wont be anything to write home about.  By the end of this week, I was half wishing that perhaps even a stray cat might wander in to keep me company.  By the end of next week something tells me that I'll even take the odd lonesome mosquito for companionship... Perhaps I could accept it's constant blood-sucking tendencies as a sign of affection?!

Every cloud has a silver lining... This is the outside of the wall that runs along the front of Rue de l'Université and the Cité International de la Danse (above), and the archway that leads to Rue de l'Université (below).

"The days go slow and then the evenings fly... I'm going out with my mates, I'm hanging out in the sun"... Well, only for a couple of hours thanks to public transport!

Having spent nearly two weeks in Montpellier (only two weeks??!! It feels more like two months!) I still hadn't been to sample the mediterranean sea and sandy beach that lies just South of Montpellier.  On Sunday, a couple of English girls also here on ERASMUS said that they quite fancied soaking up some sun, so we agreed to meet at the tram stop at Port Marianne in order to catch the half two bus, that would in theory get us to the beach for 3 o clock.  I say 'in theory'... Nothing ever seems to run smoothly around here!

So at twenty past two we arrived at the bus stop, along with at least fourty other people, who joined the other fourty people already waiting at the bus stop.  Unsuprisingly, we didn't get on the bus, although a good sixty people did.  By the time the bus left it was less of a bus, and more of a sardine tin on wheels.  Somebody had asked if they would be able to send another bus to collect the rest of us, to which the driver replied that of course they would be able to, in an hour's time, when the next bus was timetabled to arrive anyway.  So in reality the answer was no - they would in fact only send buses when they were timetabled to arrive.  Helpful.

We settled ourselves down for the hour wait, determined to fight our way onto the next bus.  After some careful queue tactics involving forming a defence line, then deploying one person clutching all of our fare money to the front, we managed to board the bus.  A quick head count before the bus had even finished letting people on came to at least fifty people, hence personal space very much went out the window, along with health and safety and seemingly the desire of the driver to drive with care.  Admittedly, no french bus drivers take any care when travelling; only the other day, I was nearly thrown sideways clean out of my seat on a particularly precarious trip back from the supermarket... I did consider that no broccoli and cereal was really worth risking my life for!

Half an hour later we hopped off the bus to be greeted by palm trees, sand, and the meditterranean sea lapping at the shore.  Within about five minutes balance had miraculously been restored to the world: bikini on, towel out, ice tea plonked in the sand, having a good old munch on some 'tarte aux pommes' (albeit, apple tart that had probably seen better days... The sardine tin effect of the bus hadn't really done the poor thing much good).  This is the moment I had been waiting for - the moment when I could happily admit that I was quite content in the South of France, and the moment that I know that anyone reading this in England, with the drizzle dampening the distinctly palm tree-less garden outside, will be deeply envious of!  This is (probably) going to be the one and only time I rub this in your faces... Honest!

The return home was once again marred by the ridiculus French public transport system, but hey, I suppose you can't have everything.  Although we only got a couple of hours of tanning time in, there's a very strong chance I'll be back there a few times over the coming weeks... I'll perhaps just aim for an earlier bus next time, in the knowledge that I'll probably just end up on the one after!  I can't deny that the sun-drenched sandy beach and cool crystal clear water is worth the effort (OK, so THAT is the last time I go on about it...)

Bullfighting - Liza the Matador and Jenny the, er, bull...

"Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world"... La première semaine

OK, so the list of things to do in my first week here was mostly taken up by 'find somewhere to live', amongst other smaller tasks like 'buy a French SIM card', 'find a supermarket' and 'meet my work experience co-ordinator'.  It all sounds relatively straightforward but those seven days were probably amongst the most stressful, emotional, scary and exhausting days of my life.  You might think I'm exaggerating (even I'm beginning to think I'm exaggerating), but I'm fairly certain I'm not.

On my first day I managed to buy a student tram card, buy a SIM card, and attend a meeting with my work experience co-ordinator.  Pretty productive!  And really not bad considering the fact that I was finding my way around by taking photos on my phone of Google maps, and then writing down the directions in my little purple filofax (<3 Google Maps so much). I might add though that this first day hadn't been without its hiccups.  I am beginning to discover that the French are technologically and organisationally quite backwards by comparison to the UK.  The tram card that I bought is very similar to an Oyster card in London, allowing you to travel on all of the trams and buses.  To obtain said card, I had to queue for over an hour and a half.  No, you can't buy it online.  Yes, you really can only purchase it from one office in the whole of Montpellier with six cashiers, of which only four were open.  My meeting with my work experience co-ordinator went reasonably well - he told me what my placement would entail, but he had no idea which twenty hours of the week I would be able to work.  We could sort that out next week.  I mean, its not like he'd been aware that I would be arriving in Montpellier in September for approximately six months or anything...


This brings me to apartment hunting.  I had read many blogs written by year abroad students that insisted that it would be so much more profitable to live with French people than to go into halls.  So, I dutifully followed their words of wisdom, and armed with nothing but grim determination, went on the hunt for a "colocation" (aka flat-share).  For the most part I relied on appartager.com - a website where those with rooms to let and those looking for rooms can create profiles and adverts.  Each profile consists of age, gender, occupation etc, and those wanting a room can narrow their searches based on those criteria.  Members are then able to message eachother and exchange contact details.


The first flat that I managed to organise a viewing for seemed fairly good on the face of things.  According to the profile, the guy was a twenty-five year old student named Pierre, living in a three bedroomed flat, of which one bedroom was available.  That was a lie.  Pierre was a sixty year old man with a two bedroomed flat, of which one bedroom was his.  Creepy doesn't even begin to cover it.  The whole place smelt weird.  He did some bizarre palm reading on me, and then refused to let go of my hand/arm after that.  Luckily, I had set up a 'get out of jail free card' and ten minutes after I had arrived at the apartment I got a phone call from England. Swiftly following that I was able to make an excuse that I really had to leave immediately; 

"Je suis désolée mais il y a une problème avec l’hôtel et il est nécessaire que je rentre à l’hôtel immédiatement!"  

Despite his pleas for me to stay for dinner I fought him off with the weak claim that I had already eaten, and got out of there sharpish.  Following that ordeal we repeated the precautions we'd taken when I'd gone off to meet Creepy-Pete each time I saw an new flat - I prank called my parents when I was just about to go in, they'd launch the offensive at Dover ready for 'D-Day Deux' should things not be quite as they seemed, and then they'd phone ten minutes later to check I was OK.


By Thursday I still didn't have anywhere to live, the ERASMUS office at the university had offered me a place in halls with lots of other UK year abroad students, and yet I remained downright stubborn/stupid and persevered.  By Friday afternoon it had paid off.  I had sent countless messages on appartager, to which only a handful had actually replied, and was really losing hope when I found myself messaging Marco - a 25 year old shop assistant living with his partner.  By this, I mean I was looking at living with two gay guys and their cat!  I went round to visit and he was just as his profile had said.  The room was perfectly adequate, they were lovely, and at €350 a month including all bills, it really was a steal!  Problem finally solved.  On Sunday, Marco's partner Francis came to collect me and my oversized suitcase from the hotel, and on Monday I arrived, key in hand, with the rest of my belongings.


One stressful week; bucket loads of tears; two parents who nearly flew to Montpellier to drag me home; many considerations that I should accept defeat and turn-tail back to Dorset; several microwave meals; countless emails; tens of photos of Google Maps; some well deserved Saturday night drinks with some RoHo girls who I didn't realise were here; a disturbing ordeal; and at least three sleepless nights later... I was finally somewhere I could call home.

Saturday night, out celebrating having somewhere to live!

The Year Abroad

The Year Abroad.  The phrase that has been thrown around for the past two years of my degree with a mixture of excitement, trepidation and all-out terror.  One year of your degree.  Abroad.  Sounds simple, right?!  Well I'm about to find out as I embark on the third year of my European Studies degree.


This is for anyone who knows me, wants to keep in touch with me, wants to find out why they haven't heard from me, or simply wants warning on when I'm coming back to England!  Its also for anyone who doesn't know me but wants to know what a year abroad in Montpellier might be like.  I can't guarantee that I'll be able to give you any great words of wisdom, or provide you with quick-fix answers to all of your worries and doubts, but I can be honest.


They claim that your year abroad is the best thing that you'll do in the entire of your academic career...  We'll see about that.