July 14th - Oompah, oompah … Olé!

Now I was always given to understand that Bastille Day was one of the most important national holidays in France - celebrated (according to my OU text books) almost everywhere with fireworks, public dances, veterans parades, and an infinite variety of local and regional traditions. With the revelry anticipated to continue into the small hours, we saw the “quatorze juillet” as a perfect opportunity to get acquainted with some of our French neighbours. The accompanying wine/beer lake would also serve to encourage French conversation - shed some of our natural English reserve, one might say …

Since we bought the house, we have been aware of a certain amount of Spanish influence around Montrejeau. It isn’t surprising, given our geographical proximity to the Spanish border - about 30 minutes south by car. Even so, we were surprised at the extent, on this most nationalistic of days, to which the town prides itself on its Catalan connections rather than its Frenchness!

Montrejeau celebrated Bastille Day with a “Festival des Bandas” - six amateur oompah bands from neighbouring areas. The town centre, decked in the red and yellow bunting of Catalonia, was closed to traffic. Tables were laid out in front of every bar and restaurant in the manner of a giant street party, a parade of the bands around the town and an enthusiastic rendition of the “Marseillaise”. And that, as far as French nationalism went, was that. Not a tricolor in sight!

Of course the festivities continued late into the night. There were fireworks above the lake. The bands continued to tour the bars and restaurants, playing a (limited) latin/Spanish repetoire. Close your eyes, and you could almost imagine the bulls thundering through the streets of Pamplona (only about 2 hours away), or perhaps El Zorro swashbuckling his way out of another daring do, way down in old Mexico!

So what of the principal purpose of our sortie, I hear you ask.

We settled at a small table in front of the Bar Millenium in the Place des Abeilles, where one of “The Gaie Rimontais” was entertaining customers with an evocative latin trumpet solo. It was 8pm. The sky was clear blue. The temperature was about 25oC and the air was thick with smoke from barbeques and crepe vendors. As the sun went down the square filled with people, and we began to feel a little conspiquous. Mr and Mrs Billy No-Mates.

There was another table of Brits a few feet away. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but … What is it about the English? Is it the overly formal clothes, the sunburn, or just a general manner that gives us away? Now, John and I want to integrate with the French, but we don’t want to be unnecessarily stand-offish to our own countrymen. Though, whether or not they would have appreciated us is anyone’s guess as, just as we were contemplating introducing ourselves, we were interrupted by a French couple asking if they could share our table.

We nod and make appropriately friendly noises. They try to strike up a conversation. We apologise for our ‘faible’ French, and the fact that we cannot hear very well over the asynchronous din from the two brass bands playing on either side of the square. Not to be put off, they try some of their English. My French is better - a rare and oddly pleasant experience. We talk, somewhat stiltedly, until well after dark and realise, too late, that we have missed the fireworks. They invite us in for coffee.

Our new friends are Marisse and Alain. Marisse moved to nearby Tibiran from Morocco about 2 years ago. Alain is a local painter. Over Sangria and coffee in Alain’s studio, we are supplied with a comprehensive list of useful artesans and the name of a good doctor in town.

Alain presents us with a heap of DIY magazines and offers the loan of DVDs from his collection. We leave at 12.30am inviting them, as we part, to drop by anytime for a coffee or an aperitif … and we sincerely hope that they will.

This entry was posted on 15/07/2007 at 05:17 pm and is filed under Uncategorised. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

| Print