She shifted gears, pushing the bike on faster. The message she had just received had spurred a rush of adrenaline through her system. “The Hacker has been shot. The Hacker, the last target, was down. She glanced around quickly, surveying the space around her; ensuring that she was not being followed. As her feet carried her forward she pulled the phone out of her pocket, double checking that she had not misread the message. Her eyes raced over the good news and focused on the last sentence. “New targets to follow.” So, her mission as an assassin was only just beginning.
I am deep inside a game of assassins in Montpellier. It began on the night of March 5, 2011 at 23:00. As the clocks slowly ticked toward the bewitching hour everyone in attendance at the “Assassins Soirée” began to tense up. Suspicious looks faintly crept in as one by one every new assassin disappeared into a back room to discover who their targets and allies would be. As the hands of the clock neared 23:00 the more jumpy assassins began to say their goodbyes, fleeing to the protection of their own homes before the killers filled the streets of Montpellier. Those that stayed clung tightly to the squirt gun concealed in a pocket or under a coat. Their mission materializing in their mind, squirt or be squirted.
As we walked out into the streets, in groups of three to prevent being alone with any one assassin, the streets of Montpellier seemed to have succumbed to a darker night than usual. Suddenly the narrow deserted streets were filled with dark corners, hiding places. The mere act of walking out of one’s own house had become a gamble; squirt gun coming around every corner first like in a bad police film. Neighbors knocking simply to borrow a screw driver were met at the door by the barrel of a water pistol.
Ok maybe I should back up a bit more. Montpellier has many charms. Its architecture, modern yet mimicking antiquity, gives it the traditional French charm. The lively Place de la Comedie is a great place to meet friends for coffee, start a shopping spree, taste local specialties at a passing fair or get hit by a bicycle. Up the street you’ll find a small Montpellier-style arch and aqueducts. An 8 kilometer bike ride will carry you all the way to the shores of the Mediterranean, to beaches frequented by people bundled up in warm winter coats waiting for the sun. The best surprise is the flock of flamingos that watch tranquilly as you pass by. And most people do just pass by as if there is nothing spectacular in the scene. I, on the other hand, am the biker who almost causes an accident as I screech to a stop in astonishment. The flamingos just stand on one skinny pink leg until the decision strikes one to fly. As the wings spread open, the dark black under-feathers explode like a backwards fire, consuming the gentle pink.
And yet to list these reasons as my reasons for loving this place would be a grave fallacy. I love this place because my first weekend here I was invited, not only to a cardboard boat race, but into a community. The CouchSurfers of Montpellier.
Couch Surfers!
For those of you out there that are new to this concept, couchsurfing.org is a website whose philosophy is to revolutionize travel. You request a couch to sleep on when traveling, and thus your trip to Greece becomes more than just a tourist passing through, you connect with people. You catch a glimpse of new places from the inside out. Traveling ascends sightseeing and becomes an exchange. Not to mention, when you arrive in a foreign city, friendless, directionless, Couch Surfing is a great tool to connect with like-minded people. And so it has.
The CouchSurfing (CS) community of Montpellier has been the impetus of many a strange adventure. Because of these people, from all corners of the Earth, I have found myself with my head through a cardboard hole playing human foosball, I have found myself thumb-out in the middle of nowhere hoping for a lift, speeding down cobble-stoned streets on a tricycle, and I have found myself surrounded by friends who I hate to let go, but that are on the move. Just like me. I found a community that I had thought I would have to settle down and plant roots to have. But this community is filled with people that are open and trustful from the beginning because of their transient lifestyles. And intermixed into the community are those people who are more static. Who, due to work or life in general, don’t have the opportunity to fly away. Instead they find the same cultural interactions through hosting travelers on their couches.
CS Piñata Picnic
As that time of year approaches, when work contracts end and semesters abroad head into final exams we could think of no better way to savor these last moments than by stalking one another through town in attempts to squirt, bomb or in any way damped our opponents.
Unlike the (slew) of freshly baked pastries that tempt me as I buy my daily baguettes, these departures are bitter sweet. Though I hate those final hugs and the eyes stung with tears I know deep down inside that is was the transient nature of our lives that had brought us together in this corner of the world. And each goodbye conceals a hope that I will see these people again in another corner of the planet; for a drink, a stroll or a trike race.
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