So, Montpel had their annual Mardi Gras celebrations last night. Kind of. Sort of. Well, in a way. Actually, unsurprisingly, in the only way that seems fitting for this town.
I had heard that the parade was starting at the Peyrou, going down rue Foch, stopping at the Prefecture to party a bit, and then going on a circuitous route to end in the Place de la Comedie, our main piazza square.
I love the way people gather for things in France. There seems to be no order, no leader, no discernible means of organization. It’s not like people had to register at the town hall before hand. Families showed up; groups of friends seemed to have a loose theme unto themselves; and there were larger groups of heart-pounding dummers that performed while waiting for whatever was supposed to happen, to happen.
Finally the groups started to become an organized, parade-like unit - although if there had been some sort of signal, I certainly was not aware of it. I confirmed with the two cops (!!two!!) on duty at the Peyrou that they would go down rue Foch, and went through the arch that divides the road to wait for them. And, sure enough, in they came - and paused directly under the arch to play the most raucous, wonderful drums I’ve ever heard. Even though I was snapping pictures, I couldn’t help but shake my booty. No one could help it; even business men on their way home were stepping in time.
I ran farther down rue Foch in order to stand on the median and take the perfect picture of them as they approached. But when I got to the end of the street and turned around,
THEY WERE GONE.
An entire parade of 250 people, POOF. GONE. What the hell?
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