Day Three

I had trouble getting to sleep last night – still adjusting to the time difference I guess. And similarly I had trouble getting up this morning. For as quiet a city as Montpellier seems after one a.m. the street outside my window was extraordinarily loud last night.

Once out and about I ordered a sandwich from a kiosk, which looked like tomato and mozzarella on a long baguette but it turned out to be tomato and hard boiled eggs – and tuna fish – and sardines! I tried a bite with the sardines, but couldn’t stomach it, so I had to take them off. Otherwise, it was a good sandwich, which I sat eating on the edge of a fountain, following the example of other sandwich eaters afore me.

After, I wandered over to Green Coffee (why their name is in English baffles me), where there is internet. I did some research online about choreographers in Marseille, but the laptop battery died after only hour. The same redheaded waiter from the first day I arrived was working. Realizing I didn’t speak French he managed to ask where I was from, and then upon hearing my answer complemented me by saying the U.S. has an excellent football (soccer) team. And then that I was a beautiful girl. HA. At least he has his priorities straight.

There is another dance festival called Mouvements Sur La Ville going on, on the outskirts of town. I wanted to see a show, but didn’t hear back about reservations, and would have had to really hustle to make it there on time. Maybe I’ll catch another one of their events. I feel like this festival is of the level I’d like to be at in NY – not one of the major companies, but funded and permanent. I wish that I had found out about it sooner.

Right now I’m sitting in the garden of the Cathedra St. Pierre. There are nuns off in the distance. In habits. With sewing baskets? A backpacker and his dog that he clearly adores are next to me. He left Poland eleven years ago and has been traveling ever since. Incredible.





I saw Ohad Naharin’s “Hora” tonight, which was full of striking images. The dancers were dressed in black, inside a green room with a long birch bench running all across the back. Eleven bodies moved through the space, all skilled in the “gaga” technique of Naharin’s company, Batsheva. The dancers appear boneless at times and I was amazed by how they are able to manipulate their limbs. I was especially captivated by moments that their centers of gravity would stay low to the ground yet their legs would change from position to position. There were some really funny moments (to Star Wars music) where the physicality and gesture was humorous. What a hard thing it is to describe movement in words, particularly what makes a movement funny. While I liked many moments very much, as a whole, I could not fall in love with the work. Perhaps it was too abstract for my taste? It was really about the body – how it could move, and how bodies could be arranged in space. All of that was skillfully done. I was impressed by it, I appreciated its beauty, but I was not moved deeply by it.


Later: I watched the second half of the U.S. / Ghana World Cup match while drinking a glass of wine and eating calamari on a terrace. The French were all rooting for Ghana – I didn’t want to reveal I was an American.