Once a year, just like in Pottsville, they do it too! In this little village where I’ve taken up residence, peaceful, bucolic, lusciously green at this time of year, they do it: they get out their antique cars, their classics, and they cruise!
Saturday, May 13, 2023 was “Cruise Day” in Nointel and 8 other neighboring villages of this region of the Oise River Valley. Of course, they don’t call it a “cruise.” They call it a “randonnée,” a ramble, a leisurely day-trip. Beginning at 9 am, a cavalcade of classic cars travel from town to town, with frequent stops to give the locals a chance to admire these pampered vehicles.
It all began in 2016 and the idea originated with the current mayor of Nointel, Madame Martine Legrand, in office since 2014. She and her municipal team wanted to attract attention to this region, so close to Paris (a 35-minute train ride) yet so far away in its setting and way of life. Classic cars always attract a crowd and with 9 participating towns on the circuit, each municipality was given the chance to show off what the French call its “patrimoine,” its heritage, but also its potential for future development.
The idea took off and this year marks number 8 of a series of successful events.
Nointel is a small place. The population is under 1,000. It’s a strange combination of aristocratic grandeur, small village, and housing developments for commuters who go to Paris to work. The village has its chateau, an imposing castle with a majestic entrance and a walled park that hides cascading fountains and a thick forest. Today it is a conference center, its grounds closed to the rest of us.
The village also has its manor house, less grand. That’s where I live, in what has become an apartment building looking out on the village green. Here every dog owner in Nointel passes at least once a day, and with typical French “orgueil,” a kind of innate pride, most refuse to stoop to clean up after their pets. On this beautiful green, bordered with majestic linden trees, one must always step gingerly to avoid the doggy diamonds littering it everywhere.
And this is exactly where the cruise wrapped up. In the days leading up to it, the village maintenance team worked tirelessly, rain or shine, removing every single weed, every dog crotte from the cobblestone walk crossing the park. The eve of the event, the lawn was mown and manicured. On the big day, it was perfect. Best of all, after a week of rain and cold, the sun burst through and temperatures rose.
At 9 AM on the dot, the first cortege drove out from the main entrance gate of the chateau, open especially for the event. A small crowd was gathered to cheer the drivers on. At 9:40, the second group drove away, and already the crowd was bigger. From that point onwards, the cars followed an itinerary through local villages and towns, stopping in each for 40 minutes before returning to Nointel at the end of the day.
Compared to the Great Pottsville Cruise, 30 years old this year, this local event is still in its childhood. As for size, participation is limited to 80 vehicles—though there are no specific standards for what kind of car can participate. Looking out my window, I saw some fine vintage models of Peugeots, Renaults and Citroens from the 1930’s. There were also lots of sports cars, Karmann Ghia, Aston Martins, Porsches and Mercedes. And American models too: a gleaming red-and-white Mustang, a Dodge Challenger.
Standing out among the other classics was the Citroen DS (those 2 letters pronounced together in French become the homonym for “déesse,” goddess). Once the car of presidents and the elite, French critic Roland Barthes described it as “the exact equivalent of the Gothic cathedrals, a great creation of its time, conceived with passion by craftsmen who remained anonymous.”
Beauty and style aside, all those classic models, created before the days of clean-air emissions standards, make for a lot of big and powerful motors, and call it a cruise or a ramble, the purpose is show off what those motors can do. From early morning till after midnight, motors purred like the family cat, growled like a menacing lion, and roared through the streets of tiny villages at speeds, well, that were unwise. There were no buckets of water, no laying tracks. That doesn’t seem to be popular here. But there was noise a plenty, and what could be more appropriate for a day that celebrates gasoline-powered automobiles?
To register a car for the day’s event, participants paid a fee of 15 euros, and they got their money’s worth, à la française. Before they headed off, breakfast was served: croissants and hot coffee. And at the end of the day, when they returned to Nointel, an entire meal was waiting for them in an enclosed garden at eastern end of the village green, opposite the chateau. There, beneath an elegant green-and-white striped tent, participants, along with any spectator ready to pay for the copious meal, were served fresh French fries, grilled sausage, wine and beer.
As I write, it’s raining and I’m cold, but the evening of May 13th was perfect. The air was soft and warm, scented with lilacs and wisteria. The village green, looking its best, was transformed into a giant showroom for gleaming classic cars. Families, friends, couples, solitary car-enthusiasts, wandered from vehicle to vehicle, inspecting, taking pictures, admiring.
There was also best of show and a crowd gathered around the panel of judges. The winners were announced late in the evening. The mairie (city hall) has not published the results, so I cannot tell you which cars received a prize.
I can say people enjoyed themselves and the area around the tent was packed all evening. Still at midnight, motors were roaring as the classics pulled out to return home.
Sunday morning, there remained not a trace of the previous day’s event. I’ve rarely seen the village green so quiet, and it felt ominous—as if the future had arrived overnight and the gasoline-powered car, gone for good.
