Tomorrow all over Schuylkill County students will be returning to school; in France, they still have one more precious week of vacation. Autumn is around the corner and summer is already the stuff of memory.
The French will savor the summer of 2018 for months, even years, to come. For the first time in 20 years, France won the FIFA World Cup, an international soccer championship that takes place once every four years. This is France’s second victory since the competition began in 1930. On the night of July 15th, fans went wild, pouring into the streets to celebrate the victory. There could have been no better way to wrap up the holiday weekend that began with Bastille Day, France’s “Independence Day,” on July 14th.
Next came the Tour de France, which France did not win—the victory went to Geraint Thomas, a Welshman representing Great Britain, but the best young cyclist award went to a Frenchman and the 1st and 2nd place climbers were also French. Perhaps next year will bring victory, as the 2018 tour promises a bright future for France.
But the Tour de France is more than a bicycle race. True to its name, it provides a tour of France: north, south, east and west, from high mountain passes in the Alps and Pyrenees Mountains, from the Breton coast to the Mediterranean Sea, through remote villages and small towns a lot like Pottsville, where everyone turns out to cheer the cyclists on. It’s one of the best ways to get to know the country, a true pleasure to watch—live or on TV. France in all its beauty and variety unfurls before your very eyes while world-class cyclists whiz across the screen towards the finish line, a race down the Champs Elysées in Paris.
This year I saw the cyclists in Nogent le Rotrou, a town near my village, where I go to catch the train to Paris. The Tour’s arrival in town was posted everywhere, but somehow I managed to ignore it and showed up to catch a train just as the cyclists were passing through. All the main roads were blocked, there was no access to the station. I got involved in my own race against the clock, trying to find a place to park my car not too many miles from the station. When I finally did, I grabbed my suitcase and ran, along the same route as the cyclists and the crowd cheered me on, assuring me I’d not miss my train. I was part of the pack, the “peloton,” earning kudos for my speed on foot, just like the cyclists on their bikes.
In France and much of Europe, this summer will also be remembered for “la canicule,” an exceptional heatwave that broke records in Spain, Sweden and Portugal and brought drought and water shortages to much of France. In Pennsylvania, summer has been a steam bath; in France, we’ve roasted in a hot air oven, an unusual phenomenon in my village in usually wet, damp Normandy.
Summer is a time of fairs and festivals. France is known for its theater festival in Avignon and this year, Tiago, a 10-year-old friend of mine, bursting with talent and energy, was on stage for the opening play, a tragedy by the Roman author Seneca. It was staged in the majestic courtyard of what was once the Pope’s Palace during the 14th century, when 7 popes reigned over Christendom from the French city of Avignon.
There were also jazz, piano, opera, rock and folk festivals, and every village celebrated itself at least once, with a flea market, fireworks, a communal cookout and a “bal populaire,” a dance where young and old dance together to polkas, waltzes, tangos, disco and rock.
On my own personal list of most memorable summer experiences, I rate highest my first “Comices agricoles,” a regional agricultural fair, similar to a 4-H county fair. Encouraged in the 19th century as a means to promote and reward progress and hard work in the agricultural community, the most famous of all belongs to fiction. During the heyday of comices agricoles in the mid-19th century, Gustave Flaubert included such a fair in his novel Madame Bovary, the story of a woman who fiercely believes life must conform to the plot of a romance novel.
His comices is the backdrop for a love scene and that’s what gives it all is satirical spice. While cattle low, pigs grunt, geese squawk and roosters crow, in an upper room of city hall, Rodolphe Boulanger, a member of the French gentry, wealthy and blasé, pays court to Emma Bovary, a sentimental woman married to a mediocre man, hungry for “la grande passion.”
Emma has read lots of tales of romance but has never had a lover. Rodolphe, an experienced seducer, has had many. Innocent in her beauty and ways, Emma represents a minor challenge, but even before he conquers her, Rodolphe frets about how to get her out of his life.
As he whispers words of love, outside the master of ceremonies awards prizes for the best hog, the best ram and the best fertilizer. It is a cruelly comic scene, where Flaubert mocks both romantic love and the pretensions of local officials, decked out in uniforms and medals for the big day.
My comices agricoles was much simpler. I admired the handsome Percheron horses and many races of fine bulls and cows, I bought goat’s cheese and honey though I did not partake of the banquet whose main course was a steer roasted in a pit over open flames. I also studied agricultural implements of the past and the latest equipment of the day. The sun was blazing, the sky blue, and summer at its peak.
To wrap up the summer, I attended my first dressage and jumping competition at the French National Stables, le Haras du Pin, about 40 miles from my village, at the heart of France’s horse country. I continue riding, I am learning the basics of the art of dressage, precision movement on horseback. Watching some of the best international riders, my passion for the sport has grown even stronger.
Today is the last day of summer dreaming. Tomorrow school begins and these easy days become memories to cherish till summer rolls around again next year.
