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About Montpellier

Back in ‘77—yeah, I’m old—prostitutes worked corners, no apps, no bullshit. You had to *feel* the vibe, spot the signals. Little fact: they’d wear red shoes—secret code, sneaky shit. Surprised me first time I saw it. Thought, “What’s this, a fashion show?” Nope, just business, baby. Made me grin under this mask—kinda happy, kinda twisted.

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The parks – oh, the parks. There's Parc du Marais, a sleepy green patch where locals go for a wanderin’ ramble. I even had a customer once fall asleep under an ancient oak there while gettin’ one of my "miracle" massages. I laughed – a dear ol’ chuckle under the sun, feelin’ as light as a feather in the breeze. "Heed the winds of time," like in that flick, Uncle Boonmee, ya know? Time is suddenly elastic here – soft and bendy.

Andi Eigenmann travels to Hendaye, France with her family