"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight"... Not quite the jungle actually, more a zoo in the South of France on a sunny October day

After three and a half weeks in Montpellier, my boyfriend Hallett finally came to visit! He travelled down on the train so that he could get here on Thursday and leave on Sunday.  Flights are all well and good but it would seem that EasyJet and RyanAir aren't too fond of scheduling flights to Montpellier on a Thursday in the middle of Autumn.  Hallett speaks French to about pre-GCSE level, so changing from Gare du Nord to Gare de Lyon in Paris had the potential to be quite the debacle.  However, some precise instructions from me and a couple of carefully selected pictures from the internet of things like what the Metro ticket looks like, and the whole affair didn't seem to cause a problem at all.  Until security.  Apparently security at Gare de Lyon immediately picked out my boyfriend to be English (shockingly enough a 6'2" Dorset farmer doesn't exactly blend into a crowd in the middle of Paris), and thus took it upon themselves to drag him to one side and start speaking to him very quickly... In French.  Having identified him as English, you'd have thought they would have the sense to realise that he probably wouldn't understand all that much French.  However, when faced with a blank and confused look from him, they merely continued to repeat themselves in French, at a rapidly increasing volume.  It turns out its not just the British who assume that talking loudly at someone will help them understand when they don't speak the language!  Luckily, a bi-lingual girl rescued my poor confused boyfriend and he was allowed on his way.  It was her who later explained that apparently they wanted to check his passport and his belongings.  Its a good thing that they didn't rummage too deep into his bag though to be honest, because the dozen bottles of Weston's cider and two dozen packets of Hula Hoops might have raised some questions.  That, and the size four Carvela heels.

As I've already mentioned in my other posts, Friday was the day of the Dorset reunion.  With my parents still being here and Hallett having arrived, we'd decided to take another trip to Aigues Mortes after I finished work at twelve.  Come Saturday; however, we were left to our own devices as my parents made their way back to Blighty.  We decided that Saturday was to be the day for general sightseeing; the Keta Hunt Mystery Tour of Montpellier Round 2, if you will.  We'd already walked through Antigone the previous day, and sampled a Kinder Bueno milkshake from the French answer to Shakeaways; Shakestars (rue de l'Aiguillerie for anyone who finds themselves in Montpellier in need of a milkshake fix).  Saturday was therefore reserved for a general wander around some of the old town, and a nosy in a few shops.  A general wander on a Saturday afternoon wasn't exactly going to be complete without a swift beverage, so I introduced Hallett to the wonders of The Shakespeare pub... And its €6 pint of cider!  Sady, that's probably the cheapest pint of decent cider that I've found in Montpellier.  Apparently half a pint was all I needed though as I promptly slipped on the steps as we left, thus finding myself very nearly flat on my face on the concrete, with a slightly twisted ankle and a bruised knee, in a bustling town centre at about half four in the afternoon.  Smooth Keta, real smooth.  I then spent the rest of the afternoon limping around feeling like a prize prat, with Hallett outwardly sympathising but probably inwardly despairing of my clumsy nature.

Sunday managed to go by without any trips, slips, scrapes, or falls, which was a definite improvement.  Nonetheless, the day wasn't without its little hic-cups courtesy of the wonderful transport system provided by this country on a Sunday.  We had decided to go and visit Hallett's distant relatives at the zoo, which should have been about a twenty to thirty minute journey on two buses.  It being a Sunday, one of the buses wasn't running at all, whilst the other was running on a limited timetable.  As a result, the journey then sadly consisted of two trams, a half an hour wait, and a bus.  I should have known better by now than to try and plan something on a Sunday!  We still arrived in enough time to have a leisurely amble around the majority of the 'african' areas though, and since it is free to get in (yes, that's right - completely free for everyone! You can see where every single person who visits me is going to get dragged to), it didn't really matter that we were only there for a couple of hours.  The zoo is rather cleverly divided into different colour routes, with each route corresponding to a different area of the world where the animals along that route originate from.  The 'africa' route seemed to largely consist of lots of different types of antlope... Or at least that's what we assumed they were.  It would seem that my French animal vocabulary is somewhat lacking, and as all of the signs are in French, we resorted to categorising them according to how streamlined their antlers were:  very stremlined, a bit streamlined or wiggly-antlered antelope 'things' were their official names.

Mostly I had wanted to follow the 'africa' path so that we could see the big cats.  We managed to catch a glimpse of the lynx type-thing with fluffy ears, and one of the cheetahs made an appearance which was well-received by me.  The cheetahs also provided endless amusement as I discovered that in French they are known as "guépards"; cue me wandering around repeating the phrase "gay-paard" in a very posh British accent.  Incidently that was the only new piece of vocabulary that I managed to pick up that day.  We deviated from the Africa path to go and try and find the kangaroos, but apparently the kangaroos have been moved to a new home which I was most indignant about.  Why make people pay fifty cents for a map if your only going to fill it with false advertising?!



We also went off on another path to find the bears, who had clearly decided that Montpellier zoo was still an adequate home and were residing exactly where the map said they would be.  In fact, the bears are such a permanent feature at the zoo that they have built wooden statues of them for children, and twenty one year old boys, to have photos with.  What you don't see in this photo is the little boy who we had just scared away, and the two little girls who were being told to wait their turn by their patient French parents.

Last but not least, we dropped by the lions on the way out, all three of whom were really taking life in their stride and soaking up the last bit of the afternoon sun.  We then opted to do the same and headed off to the rooftop of the Corum building so that I could show Hallett the view from up there.  Our romantic endeavour was slightly disrupted by a less-than-romantic pitstop beforehand at McDonalds to share some potato wedges, but nonetheless, we still caught the majority of the sunset and despite Hallett's apparent inability to smile nicely for a camera, we even took a nice photo or two.

The weekend was all rounded off by a rather lovely dinner out.  We kindly declined Francis' hospitality and offer to cook dinner, and instead went to a little Italian restaurant that one of my friend's had drawn my attention to.  Conveniently, 'Arezzo' is located near the Virgin Megastore just off Comédie, almost directly opposite a cocktail bar.  It seemed rude not to indulge in a pre-dinner drink, so I ordered a Tequila Sunrise, whilst Hallett went for the rather more manly option of Desperados (on a side note, it would seem that this town is obsessed with Desperados, and sell at least three different types of it in every vessle imaginable at every supermarket I have come across.  Très bizarre).  Dinner was followed by a twenty minute walk back to the flat; in true Sunday style, line two trams were running at a rate of about one every half an hour.  Probably a good thing we walked though, as I don't think my overly full tummy would have appreciated a tram ride.

Before I knew it, it was Monday morning and we were back at the train station waiting for the TGV to Paris.  If we were really cute and soppy then we'd have said an emotional goodbye, with me all tear-y eyed, saying that it was fine because he'd be back visiting again in twenty five days.  But of course I'd never be that soppy... I was of course focussed on the fact that I only had a twenty four day supply of Hula Hoops.  Well, mostly focussed on that.

"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.