Festival of Saint Jean

big party at the restaurant before the festivities

I went to Prades to watch the way they celebrate Saint John's Eve, by bringing the sacred fire of Canigou to the villages below.  I would not be disappointed.

One of the interesting buildings

In the square

Canigou overlooks Prades

I didn't leave my hotel room until nearly 8:30, after a nice refreshing nap.  It was hot and I did not feel like tackling the streets in the heat, so I read a bit and listened to the delighted cries of the children next door, outside in their pool.  (It was a private residence; the hotel does not have a pool).  It was a really happy sound.

Catalan bunting hangs from the platane trees

Finally I bestirred myself, re-dressed and got myself presentable to go out the door, in search of some dinner and the site of the fires. The main square of the town is less than a 2 minute walk from the door of the hotel.  What a perfect location.  The square shares space with both the mairie--mayor's office, and the church, Saint Peter's.  An interesting sharing of church and state.  The town has decided to prune its platane trees differently than is done here in Carcassonne.  Instead of letting the trees get tall, they prune them to remain short, but to spread their canopy horizontally.  Thius results in a wonderful shaded arbor.  The branches were strung with Catalan flags. 

Building the pallet bonfire

So typically French

The square is ringed by restaurants, the most popular of which seemed to be Cafe de la Paix.  They had a long series of tables set up--there must have been 30-40 people in that party.  Bottles of champagne lined the tables.  These were locals.  At first I thought it might be a wedding party, but apparently it was just the gathering of a group of people who'd come here to share the festivities.  Recorded music was playing from the stage that had been set up and every once in a while the men would all sing along.  It was all in Catalan, so I missed most of it, I guess.  I was amazed at how few tourists there were--I saw only two others, an obvious tourist couple.  The fanny pack gives them away every time.  Maybe they didn't even know what was to come, because they left before the real activity began.

Traditional Catalan dance--all ages

One lovely thing (among many lovely things) about French dining is that nobody is in a hurry to get rid of you so they can turn the table.....once you order, that table, that seat is yours for almost as long as you want it.  It was right on the edge of the shaded square.  I was able to enjoy my dinner while observing the party in progress at the long table, and watch the square fill up with old people and lots and lots of children.  It soon started to take on the air of the old-fashioned carnivals that I remember from my youthful summers. (Without the rides and midway games, of course)   As it got darker, vendors began selling those glow in the dark bracelets and wax?-dipped torches...the fire was on its way.  Some men came into the square and erected a brazier and some other men came along and dumped something in it, maybe charcoal or wood chunks?  Other men set up some barricades to make an enclosure in the street in front of the square, and soon there was a pyre built of pallets.  The fire department arrived, with a contingent of handsome  French firefighters The fire was definitely getting nearer.

Brazier is ready

Reading of the speech

Actually the fire was being transported by men on horseback.  I don't think they'd ridden the whole way down Canigou, but I could certainly be wrong.  Some instrumental music came from the loudspeakers and a group of men and women formed a circle and began dancing.  It involved some hopping and tapping and I could see no pattern, or correlation between the beat of the music and the steps they were performing.  They held hands the entire time, but their arms were up, not by their sides.  It's hard to imagine that they didn't get tired.  But I guess with practice, they get used to it.

Young man reads the same speech in Catalan--keeping the language alive

Then a local dignitary came to the microphone and began reading an impassioned statement in French about the fire of Canigou, the flame of Catalan and the need to remember.  After he finished, a young man who looked to be about 12 read the same statement in Catalan.  |This heritage runs bone deep here.  The crowd loved it.

Magnificent arrival of the flame of Canigou

From which the community members light their torches

Then accompanied by drums, came the horsemen.  The lead horseman came into the area by the brazier.  He was riding a magnificent horse--huge and spirited.  It looked like a smallish Percheron, and they are BIG horses.  This horse was snorting and prancing--his rider had his hands full trying to control him-- and the police came and herded us all back.  At that point the rider, dressed in typical Catalan garb, with the Catalan flag as a saddle blanket, flung his lit torch to the brazier, and galloped--yes galloped--away.  The flames shot up and the crowd roared.  I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.  Something in me responded on a level so deep that I am at a loss to explain it.  

Parading through the streets

The crowd then came to the brazier and lit their own torches, got in line behind the horsemen and paraded through Prades to the beats of the accompanying drums and musicians.  We waited at the site of the pallets for the marchers to make their rounds of the town.  I was impressed to see old people and young people keeping alive this tradition.  Things like this don't die out here because people make an effort.  It's one of the reasons I love the region.  

The drummer expresses the way we all were feeling

Before long, the parade returned, led by the horsemen.  The police opened the barricade to let them in to the pallet pyre, and one by one, they threw in the lit torches they'd been carrying.  Then came all the marchers, who added their own torches to the flames and the fire really got going!  I know that in the past, in some areas of Europe, the practice has been to jump over the fires....but there was no jumping here--those flames were at times 15-20 feet high.  Music played, people danced, the crowd cheered.

Lighting the bonfire

Marchers add their torches

Yes, there was a little bit of carnival atmosphere to it all, but not in a bad way.  The rituals of summer that I remember were carried out here; young women flirting with firemen;  adolescents preening and walking to gain the attention of the opposite sex; old people sitting on benches, observing and most likely judging; young children running heedlessly through the crowd.  I watched one woman,  about my age, sing along to an old French crooner, singing directly to her husband.  When we locked eyes, she smiled at me.  I got a sense of a strong community. 

This fire got big and hot!

Time to move back

It really was a magical summer night. The only thing missing were fireflies.

Musicians top off the evening and set our toes tapping

Short Trip to Prades

My hotel in Prades

This past Saturday, June 23, was the Festival of Saint Jean.  Prades, (pronounced Prahd--no s) a small town at the foot of one of the major peaks of the Pyrenees,  has a particularly interesting way of celebrating this "feast day" that commemorates the birth of Saint John the Baptist, who was, according to legend, Jesus' cousin and born exactly 6 months before Jesus.  I guess normally, saints' days commemorate their deaths...On the eve, or the 23rd, of the actual feast day, fires are lit.  It's not just in Prades, but over much of what was once completely Catholic Europe.  I think the local church big-wigs, 1500 years ago or so, decided to co-opt pagan traditions of lighting fires to celebrate the summer solstice...just as they did with Christmas.  

Outside space at the hotel--great when it's not so warm

In Prades, this feast of Saint Jean is combined with the ancient veneration of Canigou, the massive peak in the Eastern Pyrenees that watches over the region.  The weekend before, a troupe of observers carry the flame, which has been carefully kept below during the dark days of winter, and take it back up to Canigou, where they have built a pyre.  The pyre is lit at midnight on June 22, and from it, torches are lit and the fire is carried back down the mountain to be shared with all of the villages below.  I came to witness this lighting of the bonfires with the sacred fire of Canigou.

My room, windows opened.

First of all I had to get to Prades, which, given the strikes that are destined now to go into their 4th month, is not exactly a piece of cake.  I am pretty easy-going about the strikes, probably because I have a more flexible schedule than do most people.  I booked my tickets on line--Carcassonne to Narbonne to Perpignan to Prades....all smoothly connected.  But when I went to retrieve my tickets from the station, the clerk told me that this was not going to work because I had chosen to travel on a strike day.  (The return trip, on Sunday, was not a strike day and therefore would be no problem).  I needed to be in Perpignan by 1:30 on Saturday to catch the bus to Prades. During a strike, the buses keep running.

Hotel dining room--charming

I asked the clerk about going a day early, but it too, was a strike day.  I was willing to go to Perpignan a day early, get a hotel room and do some exploring.  But according to her--there was NO WAY to get to Perpignan from Carcassonne on Friday, June 22.  What nonsense.  I came home determined to find my own way there.  What frosts me is that the SNCF website will continue to sell tickets for trains that they know damned well won't be running.  Because one leg of the trip--Carcassonne to Narbonne--WAS running, I guess they can get away with it.  The problem always seems to center in Narbonne, a hub for these regional trains.  I KNEW there had to be a way, so I got on the website.

gleaming bathroom

View from bathroom window

And there I found OUIBUS, the bus line run by the train company.  They seem to never be affected by the strikes.  And as luck would have it, there is a bus that runs every day from Carcassonne to Perpignan--and it was only 5 Euros.  I thought I would book the Friday bus, but then realized that it was also running on Saturday, the 23, which meant I did not have to spring for a hotel room.  I can get my money back for the Narbonne to Perpignan leg of the trip--1 Euro--not worth the massive effort it would take to negotiate the bureaucracy to get the refund.  

TV, seating, a table witha cloth!!, fan and a shelf for my things

I caught the bus--it was on time, comfortable, cool (we've begun a little heat wave here) and it arrived early--90 minutes from Carcassonne to Perpignan, for 5 Euros.  You can't drive it for that, because the tolls are more than that.  The bus arrived early enough that I could have taken an earlier bus to Prades had I wanted to do so.  As it happened, I wanted to do a little shopping--I had my eye on something I had seen earlier in a kitchen store--and I wanted lunch in Perpignan.   

It all worked great.  I had an hour's conversation with the clerk (who I think was the owner) of the kitchen shop--we talked about our family histories, we talked about the current state of education in France, we talked about the problems brought into the neighborhoods by the gypsies, we talked about growing gardens.  It was a delightful time and \I felt a real sense of accomplishment that we could talk at length about real things, not just, "How much is this?"

Lace curtains at the window and shutters open from the bottom

I enjoyed every morsel of my lunch and splurged for the dessert of the day--a millefeuille with fresh red fruits.  It was as big as a brick, delicious with fresh raspberries and strawberries and pastry cream and sharply crackly pastry, but far too much for me to eat.  For maybe the first time ever in my life, I did not finish my dessert.  

Then it was on to Prades.  The air conditioning on the bus was not working, so it was a pretty warm ride.  Having done this trip once before, I knew which side of the bus to sit on to be out of the sun.  One of the passengers wanted to argue with the driver about the lack of cooling air, but what was she to do about it?  It was only an hour, and I grew up without air conditioning, so I can cope.  Complaining doesn't help. It is a shame, though that the windows don't open.  

Fan kept me perfectly comfortable the entire night

We arrived in Prades right on time--I disembarked and headed for my hotel, Les Glycines.  Like many small towns in France, there are no street signs on the main arteries, just signs on the little side streets.  I guess they assume everyone knows the name of the main streets.  But it was no problem, I found my way without incident.  The entrance to Les Glycines is not on the main street, you have to go around to the back.  

I don't like to stay in chain hotels--I prefer these little old world independent places to stay.  This place is wonderful.  I approached the check-in desk and wasn't even asked for ID!!  Now that is unusual.  Normally they want to see my Carte de Sejour or my passport, which I almost never carry any more.  She gave me my room key and I went up the beautiful marble staircase to the first landing where there are leather couches, huge bouquets of flowers, little desks at which to work.  From there it was up one more flight of stairs to my room.  I went in to fund a lovely room, a double bed, a fan, a flat screen TV,a little table with a cloth for eating or writing, lace curtains at the window.  I opened it immediately to let in some air--the shutters provided screen from the sun but since they opened from the bottom, allow plenty of air movement.  The bathroom was gleaming spotless--black and white.  The tub was deep and there was a hand-held shower, typical of French bathrooms.  The toilet had shelves over it with plenty of towels, toiletries, a hairdryer.  There was even a bidet.  This would do just fine and was only about 65 Euros!  Amazing.

deep immaculately clean tub

I decided that a nap was in order, since I had gotten up early and was planning ot be out late.  I would save exploring Prades for later, as the sun was waning. 

Andre Chenier's New Look

Pea-graveled alle

Redone center of the park

Let me first say that I liked the old Andre Chenier, and not because it was especially beautiful.  It was a community park in a true sense of the word.  There were benches in the shade where old geezer men would gather to ogle women and solve all of the city's/country's/world's problems.   There was a cool playground where moms brought their children for physical activity to wear them out so they'd nap properly.  

Water once again

Fountains and obelisk

The old Christmas market was there--with the rides, like the luge and the little huts selling hot cider and churros.  I went to a vide-grenier there--a flea market--it was a perfect space for that.  I saw my first Feria there and was smitten--you could tell that it was a place for locals; it seemed like everyone knew everyone else.  I bought a wonderful pain during the  Bread Festival there.  Local groups used the park, and to good ends.

new seating

Bistro\s new expanded outdoor seating

Mayor Larrat put it on his list of places that needed sprucing up.  He'd already turned Place Gambetta into a rose garden, which is lovely.  But, that forced out the Arab market on Saturday--now it's crammed into the greenspace on Blvd Barbes.  It also forced out the Christmas Market huts--now they are all crammed around the ice rink at Place Carnot, and are maybe only 1/3 of their number when they had room at Place Gambetta.  Now it was Andre Chenier's turn.

Fountains and monument

water once again flows

The park itself and the surrounding streets have been torn to hell and for nearly a year. The street crossing moves practically from day to day and one day, the bus stop simply disappeared.  I think they finally put it back in its original place this morning, so everyone who got used to the old location will be bewildered for a while.  The taxi stand is gone and I don't know what they have done with the marble and the plaque that stood near it.  I felt so awful for the businesses along the street to the train station--half the time they were impossible to get to, and the entrances seemed to be secrets.

To be unveiled

The grand unveiling party is this weekend.  I won't be here for it, so I wanted to get some photos while it is still in its relatively pristine state.  I cannot for the life of me, see what took so very long.  The broad expanse of the square is now concrete.  The side alley-ways are pea gravel, so there will still be dust, just like the old Chenier.  The end by the Hotel Terminus has been leveled and set with paving stones, but smooth, even ones, not cobbles.  I can't tell if the street will ever again be open to cars who are wanting to get to the train station.  Because of the canal, and one-way streets, it will be a bit of a jog to get there now, if you're in a car.  

The fountains are running again, which is nice, but at least two of them are in full operational mode.  There's a fixture atop the one closest to the bus stop that I guess has some electrical features and will hopefully be unwrpped for Saturday's festivities.  The main cemented part of the park seems like a desert to me..  I am so hoping that the park will once again be home to the community groups' festivities.

broad expanse of---cement?

From the Plant Garden "end"

new seating does not invite smooching

At the far end of the park, they;ve put in a plant garden, with a sign to that effect along Boulevard Omar Sarat.  But the letters aren't very tall and are hard to distinguish from their surroundngs...you've passed it by the time you realize it's pointing out a feature.  Maybe once the hedges behind it mature, it will stand out better.  But the letters do seem awfully small.  

the sign from behind

and from the street

The plant garden itself is lovely, even if it is a little nondescript.  I think there will have to be some fairly regular maintenance to keep down the weeds.  Throughout the plantings are rectangular blocks of granite--I think they are purely decorative, as you cannot get close enough to them to read any possible inscription on them.  Or sit on them.  I will say that seating is plentiful throughtout the plant garden, and given as it's really the only shade, will probably get a lot of summertime use.  

pretty, dappled path in the Plant Garden

I am trying to keep an open mind and not complain about the lack of esthetics, lack of greenery, the excessive time it took, the expense.  I will adopt a wait and see attitude, but today, the face on the underside of the fountain and I seemed to be of the same mind.

My sentiments exactly

Eco-Pasturage

Step back in time

The newspaper and the mayor's office are calling it "eco-pasturage."  It's the latest and most picturesque solution to the endless chore of keeping acres of grass, especially along the banks of the Aude, neat and tidy and eminently presentable for the tourists.   The mayor's office has made arrangements with some local goat and sheep farmers to install their animals and let them do the work.

Young visitors

Busily working

There are many benefits.  There is no need for noisy smelly gasoline powered mowers polluting the air and our ears.  It saves money--the city can free up workers who would have to be mowing to do other landscaping duties.  The sheep and goats get plenty to eat, and it doesn't cost their owners or the taxpayers.  Visiting families get something free to do with younger children.  According to an article in yesterday's La Depeche, school classes are getting in on the act, taking turns watching the animals and learning the "shepherd" lifestyle first hand.  And it's just "right" to see this age-old practice at the foot of the age-old fortress.  Some of the goats have beels around their necks; I could hear the faint tinkle from the old bridge.  There is something calming and serene about watching them.  

Resting and eating along the Aude

Nap time

Miam, miam

I can't think of one single drawback to the plan.