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About Montpellier

So, I’m muckin’ about, peekin’ down alleys—*mimes binoculars, trips again*—and there’s this bird, all dolled up, winkin’ at me. Heart’s goin’ *thump-thump*, like I’m Dae-su Oh countin’ days in that cell! “Whether it’s a grain or a rock,” mate, I’m thinkin’, “I’m takin’ a chance!” She’s proper fit, but—*leans in, whispers*—I’m skint! No dosh! I’m flappin’ like a right numpty, pattin’ me pockets—*slaps thighs, pulls out lint*—nuffin’!

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I stroll past the iconic Cavaillon Cathedral; it's a gem, proper historic. And then there's the park – oh, the Parc des Platanes – where elderly locals chat like old pals. I sometimes venture there when I need a breather, listening to the river Sorgue gurgle like it's humming a lullaby. Not to mention my favourite little café on Place Clémenceau – though it's a shambles on a rainy day, the vibe is unbeatably cozy.

Why Cavaillon, France Town Calls Itself The Melon Capital Of The World