So, not having expectations, it takes you far and wide.
Down to the ground with broken bits of teeth lying next to you, up to the roof of the opera house where there lies a helipad and a fantastic view…

This semester has been anything and everything that could be fantastic and each thing that has happened has been truly extraordinary. My eyes have been opened, to the world, to the opportunity of travel, to people  – to the lively spirit that everyone has, that has become so pronounced on this part of my voyage.

Montpellier has been a good place to be, a small town, perfect for some anglophones to wreak havoc and learn what it is to live in France. To learn to live, in a place where wifi is not a guarantee, re-useable, BPA-free, water bottles are not easy to come by, and banks, well all administrative organisations minus the post office, seem overly complex.
Wine, bread and cheese, everywhere. It is true what they say… France smells. But France is also pretty nifty. Montpellier, you are like French men, small, but also quite charming.

But more then anything else, the people. The people of Montpellier, of Europe, the Australians who I got to share my adventure with and the amazing Americans who decided to plonk themselves here too – you’re all pretty great! In fact, you’re all bloody fantastic, and I’m honoured to have crossed paths.

And so the sun sets on Montpellier for moi, after discovering an infatuation with Barcelona, eating moose and walking (and falling) on ice in Sweden, some incredible opportunities in Melbourne have opened up for me; and I realise that I need to focus, and finish what I started – my degree. With eyes open I can now discover the world, but I’m better off doing that with some sort of income at the same time.

I’ll be back, and I’m not just saying that, not at all.

 

untitled.

The continuation of the under-exposed-indie-monster-children-or-frankie-lifestyle photography series.

Montpellier, you continue to amuse me.
Full of street art and footpaths charred with the remains of bins that have been burnt-down. Somehow there is life everywhere. It’s kind of like Collingwood, but not. Kind of like Balaclava, but not.