Train stations are not spaces with which I am super familiar. That might explain the air of romance and mystery that surrounds them in my mind. That, and the fact that I associate any and all train station situations (even those in Paris) with September 1st and the Hogwarts Express. At any rate, I find train stations fascinating. And running around them trying to find the right platform at the right time to be equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.
After our Paris shenanigans, my best sister/friend/co-traveler and I jumped a train headed for the coastal town of Montpellier. I knew it was coastal because 1) the trams were neon colors and decorated with flowers, and 2) everyone was wearing a bikini. Unfortunately for us, the weather in Montpellier was much balmier than what we had left in Paris, so we were those losers in pants and boots half a mile from the beach.
Our orange tram dropped us off at a little stop not far from the train station, where we were greeted by our weekend hosts. Marva is my grandmother's stepmother's niece, who met and married her husband Antoine while working as a nurse in Europe. All we knew about them prior to this meeting at the bus stop was what our grandma had told us, which was that we had relatives in the south of France and wouldn't it be fun to visit them someday? It was. It was fun.
An hour's drive north of Montpellier, hidden in the hills of southern France, there is nestled a tiny little town called La Bastide. I don't even know if it's actually considered a town, because it's only residential. The next closest town that actually has businesses is a few minutes away, and the grocery store is an hour down the mountain. La Bastide's population is right around 35 during tourist season, and 20 the rest of the year. The sheep to people ratio is about 13 to 1. And that is a very modest approximation. In short, we were in a straight up provincial fairy tale. (SING ALLLLL THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST SONGS).
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| Standing at the edge of the village |
In the hustle and bustle of Paris, one is always checking the time, making a schedule, trying to stick to a plan. In La Bastide, there was no need. I forgot what day it was, didn't look at the time, and joined the quiet routine of the village. It was relaxed without being sleepy, because everyone was always doing something, but they were not in a hurry to do it. We walked with Marva down to her friends' barn to help milk the sheep (milking 450 sheep takes forever, but talking with the farmer in a jumble of English, French and Spanish helps pass the time), we stopped and talked with the neighbors (my favorite was the man Marva indelicately called the town dunce), and Antoine took us on a guided tour of the village (his accent made the whole affair every kind of ideal). The stars at night were magical. The four of us sat in the living room cuddled in blankets and listened to classical music while we read. We took a hike to a chapel the town is help to preserve, and heard its history. According to Marva, the foundation of the church was ancient, but the structure itself was quite a bit more modern. "How much later was it built?" I asked. "Oh, around the 14th century." (Yeah, SUPER modern.)
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| Antoine and Marva's house |
In a way, La Bastide felt sort of sacred. Okay, maybe that sounds weird, but it's the only way I can describe it. Here's the thing: American history is great, but sorta short. And some of the most historical places have been either made into tourist attractions or knocked down and replaced. La Bastide has been nestled in that little mountain, those same structures have been in place (granted, they have electricity now), and people have been raising sheep to make a living for hundreds of years. The village chapel was actually the private chapel of a lord, and was attached to the castle that once looked out over the valley. The history of the place was so very palpable. To know that I was roaming around streets that had been roamed in the same way since the 1200s, and that nothing much had changed since then, was eerily beautiful.
We left La Bastide Monday afternoon, and coming back into Montpellier to catch the train felt like entering the 21st century again. We hugged Antoine and Marva and they kissed our cheeks, and we promised over and over to come back.
Which we will. For more sheep milking and stargazing and being reminded that life can be simpler and sweeter than Paris.
