Allez les bleus!

Friday night was Bible Study at the Kirby’s house, and it was, as always, enjoyable. It was the first night that Scott, the young adult and music minister, was back from his sabbatical. We had a great meal of lasagna that the two Sarahs prepared and discussed the problems of closely spelled French and English words (appartement/apartment, gouvernement/ government, etc.) and the problems of “faux amis” as my french teachers call them. Words that look like they should mean the same thing in both languages and don’t. Often if I don’t know a word in French I’ll just say the english word with a French accent. For a lot of words that works, but certain times not so much. Scott told a story about talking with some French friends one time and trying to explain to them that canned food in America is full of preservatives. He said they all gave him weird looks and burst out laughing and he didn’t know what he had done until one of them explained he had just said that canned food in America is full of condoms. He didn’t know the French word for preservatives so he just said “Préservatifs,” which is a word in French, but does not mean the chemicals used to keep food from spoiling. It means condom. And another time he ordered a kilometer of ground-beef from the butcher instead of a kilogram. But that’s the fun of living in a country where you don’t speak the language fluently.

Saturday Cassie called because she and her Aussie roommate Carly were heading up to Montmartre to check out the fete des vendages. It’s an annual street festival in Montmartre celebrating the grape harvest and the first wines of the season. Booths set up along the cobblestone streets held the products of small vineyards, as well as meats, oysters, cookies, bricks of chocolate, pan fried potatoes, etc. Cassie bought a cone of roasted chestnuts because she’d always wanted to get some. We decided they are better in theory than in reality. I don’t know what I expected but it was kind of like eating hot acorns. I got a cone of churros. The deep fried sugared dough sufficed to cover up the weird nut flavor. There were street musicians and a stage with performers, people selling balloons, and lots and lots of people. It reminded me of some the various little festivals we have in downtown Daytona, but Europeanized. There was also the strangest parade I’ve ever seen. Bands, groups from different vineyards, civic groups, and I don’t know who else all walking down the street, interspersed with people in some really over-the-top costumes. We didn’t get to stay to the end because we want to go watch rugby, but on our way back to the metro station I did see a group of majorettes which answered the question “do they have baton twirling in France?” although all I saw them do was march in place in 1950s-esque majorette outfits. Maybe I could make some extra cash teaching baton while I’m here- lol.

Saturday was a big day in France. That’s right, the rugby world cup semifinals. After a shocking defeat of New Zealand in the quarterfinals, France faced England in the semis. Instead of showing the game on the giant screen in front of Hotel de Ville, because France was playing and they anticipated a huge crowd, they moved the viewing to giant screens on the Champs de Mars (the grassy area by the Eiffel Tower). I had made plans with some friends to take food and get there a couple hours before the 9pm kickoff. Cassie and Carly ran to Monoprix to get some food while I ran home to change into my rugby ensemble and grab some snacks and stuff from my apartment, and then we headed down to the Eiffel Tower. The atmosphere was already festive in the metros. English rugby fans (who are the most obnoxious of any country, by the way) in full-on face paint and carrying big blow up roses, mixed with the blue-white-&-red French crowd that was slightly more composed. There was yelling and horn honking as we walked to the Champs de Mars and that was more than 2 hours til kickoff. I loved it because it reminded me of Saturdays in Gainesville. We made it to the main screen and found our friend Alison who had arrived earlier with the woman she lived with and her friend, and had staked out a nice spot just about 20 yards from the screen. The grass was already filling up and people were beginning to stand along the sidewalks. It was the day after Pavarotti’s birthday so they were showing a tribute to him on the screens while we took out our picnic and began chowing down. I was dressed pretty ridiculously, but I did not stand out at all. Young French fans draped in flags and face paint were blowing whistles, throwing rugby balls, and randomly breaking into song. We borrowed the tricolored face crayon from the teenagers beside us. Alison’s slightly odd landlady was really into Pavarotti and kept yelling at the kids to shut up while he was singing. “PAS PENDANT PAVAROTTI!” We all looked at each other and tried hard not to burst out laughing at the french woman getting mad because people who had come to watch RUGBY weren’t sitting in silent awe at Pavarotti. I was thinking it was going to be a looong game with her there, but she decided to leave well before kickoff, so we didn’t have to find out. The grass was jam packed, and so our friends who arrived later had a hard time joining us. Andrea, my friend from church, arrived about half an hour to kickoff, and she brought with her a big bag of candy corn! She had just been in the states the weekend before, so she brought back some American Halloween treats. I was sooo excited. I think I might have been more excited by the candy corn than by the rugby game. There were camera crews everywhere filming the crowd gathered to watch in Paris, and it was a noisy scene with flares and airhorns and spontaneous crowd-led rugby songs and chants. We didn’t know the words, but that has never stopped me from joining in.

When it came time for kickoff, everyone stood up and cheered for the national anthems and introductions so I figured that we were going to stand the whole game, which was fine by me because we stand for 3+ hours in the blazing sun at Gator games so 1.5 in the cool Paris night wouldn’t have been bad. Instead, something that never would have been conceivable in America occurred. As soon as the game started, everyone on the grass sat down. Every last one. They sat down, faced the screen, and got more-or-less quiet. It was an impressive sight. I turned around and saw the glow from the screen reflecting on the upturned faces of thousands of rugby fans all packed sardine-like into the Champs de Mars, intently watching the game. If people stood up, they were thoroughly chastised by the entire crowd. People did jump up and cheer if there was a score, and the choruses and encouraging chants reappeared at key moments in the game, but for a people who are incapable of standing in an orderly line in everyday situations, they were remarkably orderly. Thousands of people stayed sitting down for almost 2 hours (minus half-time). It was impressive. We had such little space my legs were cramping that no amount of position changing ever made me truly comfortable. I have come to decide that standing is infinitely better. Only the lazy alumni sit down at Gator games. ;-)

The game was not a very exciting one as far as rugby games go and very low scoring, and while France led for much of the game, England came back and won in the end. It was a sad night in Paris, but instead of a depressed crowd draining from the Champs de Mars, most of them didn’t let the defeat ruin a good night of partying. French fans were obviously more subdued than they would have been otherwise (which might have been a good thing as far as getting home was concerned), but most of them didn’t take it too hard. The Champs de Mars was completely trashed with empty bottles and cans ( I blame it on the lack of “Put it in the can, Gator fan!” signs around) , but the men in green were standing ready to have the park in tiptop shape by sunrise. We hung around with friends waiting for the crowds to thin out, at then walked to a further metro station in hopes of avoiding the mobs. It wasn’t insanely crowded, but you could tell that many of the people responsible for those empty bottles and cans had been riding the metro. Moving vehicles and really drunk people don’t mix, if you catch my drift. So that was the end of France’s rugby world cup hopes, and the end of my night rooting for France. It’s really too bad cause I was looking forward to wearing my great outfit again!
Allez les bleus!
Lyndsey