Sunday Surprise: Melted Delight Saves the Day

Several years ago, I arranged a nearly year-long scientific stay in France (extended a few more months due to a COVID outbreak) to collaborate with a prestigious French university. It proved to be a rewarding experience, both professionally and personally. The journey was filled with rich experiences, from encountering new cultures and meeting new people to facing challenges like getting stuck in Switzerland during Christmas due to a worker strike (France, am I right?).

Here, I'll focus on a simpler story: my first visit to the small town near the university during my first week. With the help of my very kind French supervisor, I'd settled in and begun working at the lab daily. The weekend arrived, and I eagerly awaited the chance to visit the beautiful town of Montbéliard, situated in the eastern French region of Franche-Comté, near Jura.

Hailing from Tehran, one of the Middle East's most populous cities, I was accustomed to a different pace of life. Tehran is a city that never sleeps, with public transportation available 24/7. Here in Montbéliard, however, things were considerably quieter.

It was a warm Sunday in July. I left my home, not exactly close to the "centre ville" (city center), to catch a bus. I waited almost an hour, little did I know that weekend buses came only every 3 or 4 hours and wouldn't wait for stragglers, no matter how much you run after them. Buses were my only option, forget about subways or trams. So, I decided to walk – not my brightest idea. A few hours later, I reached the centre ville, expecting a bustling scene with people strolling, cafes and restaurants full, reservations needed. Instead, I found an empty town eerily reminiscent of the post-apocalyptic movie "28 Days Later." No offense to my French fellows, but raised in a vibrant city like Tehran, I couldn't fathom it. My plan to grab some groceries went up in smoke faster than a Parisian cigarette.

But hey, as they say in France, "there's not a cat in the streets" (which perfectly described the situation), the town is still there. Let's explore!

Not even a cat 😂

I must admit, the scenery was beautiful, picturesque even. As I walked through the deserted streets, I crossed the only park in town, where, strangely enough, I encountered a family with two kids playing. Following the path beside the beautiful river, with a few boats bobbing near the dock, I reached a parking lot filled with a cluster of vans. To my surprise, people bustled around, buying food, coffee, sweets, baked goods, ice cream, cheese, and a bunch of other delightful things. Thirsty as could be, I was ecstatic to see them for several reasons. I grabbed some juice and immediately hopped in line at a "fromagerie" (cheese shop) to finally try some French cheese. Cheese is my absolute favorite food, and now that I'm no longer in France, I miss their cheese the most (well, almost the most, but that's a story for another day!).

The saleswoman was friendly and helpful, chatting extensively with each customer. Having studied French for almost two years before my trip, I treasured every opportunity to speak with native speakers and challenge myself. By the time it was my turn, I'd discussed my studies, reason for visit, hobbies, and childhood before placing any sort of order. The people in line were surprisingly tolerant of my gibberish – in Iran, I'd be torn to pieces (almost daily at the gas station!).

We also discussed French cheese at length, but to be honest, I didn't understand half of what she said. This became especially clear when I realized the cheese I bought differed from what I thought I'd ordered. No matter, after all the trouble getting home, when I finally took the cheese out of the bag, it was all melted. In consolation, I discovered that melted brie tastes fantastic!