Happy France Day one and all
My favourite teacher at school taught History. He was mild-mannered, with enormous thick glasses, and he never shouted. Occasionally he would take his shoe off and bang it on the table to get our attention. We loved him for his genuine excitement about History and for the way that he made everything fun.
For example, as part of my AS Level (do those even still exist?!), we studied the French Revolution. It wasn't enough for my teacher that we simply read the sources of eyewitnesses. Oh no, we became the eyewitnesses. Every member of the class was given a key historical figure to embody. We were interviewed about our 'experiences' on camera, and often mourned when we were unceremoniously guillotined. It brought it all to life for us, making all that philosophy and bloodshed real to the extent that I am still obsessed by the stories of that time and still have multiple novel ideas floating around my head based on romantic young revolutionaries or that guy who was investigating what happened when people got decapitated and noticed that the eyes still moved even once the head was severed.
It is fitting, then, that now I live in France and am able to celebrate la FĂȘte Nationale on 14th July, aka Bastille Day. On this day, France commemorates the storming of the Bastille, which kickstarted that whole revolution/republic thing (don't mention Emperor Napoleon, okay? They got there in the end). Despite having been here for five years, this is my first year making it out in the evening to celebrate with the fireworks, the first two years being full of Covid, the next two years being full of a baby.
By some miracle, the three year old took a two-hour nap in the afternoon and was full of la pĂȘche for the evening. With some friends, we went to an event in the next village which was all about raising money to become a tiers lieu, which is a community space. This association plans to renovate an old pigsty and put on concerts and workshops and all sorts. It was the perfect evening out for a person aged 38. It was like a very mini festival with live music, a mad selection of musical instruments, painting and linograph, and, of course, a huge variety of fancy dress clothes to strike your best pose. My son picked up a pair of Spider Man sunglasses that he found difficult to put down again, and my boyfriend spent the evening in several different wigs. There was a delicious vegetarian meal (I didn't know that phrase existed in France) of daal and salad served on china plates that we all duly washed up at the end. The kids ran everywhere barefoot. It was heaven.
Afterwards, before heading to Paris to eat the rich, we went to watch the fireworks, or 'les travaux de feu' as my bilingual boy likes to say. These fireworks were a tad scary for the toddlers in the group, but I bloody loved them. Bonfire Night is on par with creme eggs for UK things that I really miss. It was a perfect evening in the countryside. Nothing too crazy. Just people of all ages coming together to celebrate, and reiterating the fact that France needs no excuse for another public holiday.
Until next time, vive la révolution!
PS. I wrote this on my phone for a change. Please forgive any funny formatting.