Festivities and Floats
If I were a beauty queen I would spend some serious time watching E! Channel. It would all be in the name of research, of course.
Beauty pageants are a serious business. There are multi faceted elements to a winning contender and in my pursuit of first prize there would be so many skills I needed to perfect. Who better to learn from but the celebrities themselves. The smile. The walk. The wave. The red carpet pose. Managing paparazzi. They could lurk around any corner.
Miss Vaison La Romaine 2017 had clearly given it 110%. As her float turned the corner in this year’s Corso de Pentecote she had certainly been taking on some tips. If I had only seen the hand and nothing else I could have sworn it belonged to HRH Queen Elizabeth II. Without the white glove of course. This beauty queen had clearly done some royal watching. She was aiming high.
Our winner was clad in a white dress - the details of which were unclear as she perched on her throne - although I did note an engagement ring, much to the disappointment of the local male population I am sure. She was flanked by some grecian goddesses in plunging necklines and sporting tussled flowing long hair. A small child, about Molly’s age, sat at her feet (her role is still unclear to me). The tractor pulling her float was clearly the creme de la creme. Cream roses decorated its hubcaps and front grill and some gold foil had been elegantly draped around its rollbar. Its driver, a jolly looking lady, had donned her number ones - perhaps her mother-of-the-bride outfit or the one she wore that time to Ascot retrieved from the the back of the cupboard.
And while Miss Vaison La Romaine took centre stage she graciously shared the limelight with her understudy (as it’s always important to have a reserve). While her sash clearly announced her as the 1er Dauphine another beauty queen (or perhaps princess) completed the float’s line-up. '2eme Dauphine’ declared this one’s sash. The second place getter also wore white. Her outfit contrasted beautifully with the grecian goddesses. A short, sleeveless white dress, no doubt designed to keep the eager crowds contented as she passed by. In the interests of efficiency both beauties had used the same hairdresser and in fact sported the same hairstyle. I wondered if dutch plaits were regulation attire for Miss and not-so-Miss Vaison La Romaine. It is France afterall, the land of many rules and regulations. If missing out on top prize wasn’t enough, this poor girl’s punishment was that she had to stand for the duration, although a pillar had been provided for her to place her non-waving hand on for steadying. And her wave was sadly lacking. More Princess Fergie than QEII.
I am not entirely sure what the Corso de Pentecote is. It would take some quality time with Google Translate to ascertain the exact details. What I do know is it’s a parade through the streets as part of an annual festival the town holds over the weekend of Pentecost (a big deal in France with public holidays either side of the weekend). It is scheduled after the Cannes Film Festival and designed to celebrate the world of film. A curious connection for a Roman town in the northern outskirts of Provence.
We are talking serious stuff. An extensive Comite des Fetes was on hand, complete with high-vis vests, to facilitate expert execution of the parade.
In order to ensure we found adequate parking and claimed a good position on the parade route we arrived at Vaison La Romaine two hours prior to kick-off. Our wonderful neighbour Robert had come over a few days before with a booklet containing information about the town’s Pentecost celebrations. He had highlighted the options for us and tried to explain what we would see. We could sense this was a big deal. The French love to celebrate. No other society would completely stop functioning for a day to celebrate a fruit or vegetable. We were eager to get amongst the action.
It wasn’t hard to work out where we would be best to place ourselves. Around 200 chair had been lined up along the edge of the main square ready for the big day. Half an hour before start-time they started to fill up with important-looking people and the roadsides became three or four deep on either side with excited locals.
And if by some miracle, completely at odds with what we all know to be true about the French, at exactly 4:00pm the microphone was tapped (un, deus, trois, quoter - I’m not sure what the French word is for ’testing) and our lovely host for the day, Stephanie, began proceedings. She finally handed over to the Mayor - a youngish man who was genuinely excited to take charge of this auspicious occasion. His was a passionate speech but clearly timekeeping is not his talent and he ended up being drowned out by the marching band who turned the corner at there allotted time ready to march by. He did prove to be invaluable later in the parade however when one of the tractors pulling the floats break down in front of the VIPs. Our man of the people literally rolled up his sleeves and finally got to the bottom of the problem. Thank goodness as the awaiting jazz band had run out of their repertoire and had begun to march around in circles to maintain momentum. I spared a moment’s thought for poor 2nd place Miss Vaison La Romaine, wherever she was on the parade route at the time, standing at her pedestal with her exposed thighs at spectators’ eye levels continuing her not-so-regal waving.
The tractor break-down was also a stamina test for the poor MC who continued to commentate the entire hour’s proceedings. She did a stellar job and I am sure will be asked to return next year by the Comite des Fetes. I only wish I had understood a word of what she said.
When we reached the car at the end of the event, giddy with the excitement of it all, we did our usual post-match analysis. Favourite floats (not at all French).
George - Star Wars
Molly - Jungle Book and Princesses
Hettie - Minions. Pause. Actually I changed my mind. I like all of them.
Matilda - All of them (3rd child - ever the diplomat).
Jamie and I - The all-women drumming band bringing up the rear. These ladies were sassy - they had rhythm and attitude. I’ve never contemplated running away with the circus, but they could sway me.
The reality is though that there was one star of the show. It wasn’t Miss Vaison La Romain and her grecian bodyguards. Nor was it the mayor.
It was the ever-present hawker of tacky and useless things. Because it wouldn’t be Europe without one.
No he didn’t work the crowd from the outskirts plunging things in our face and promising us we needed them at this amazing price. He had stolen one of those ridiculously small supermarket trolleys (not even the grown-up sized ones) and filled it to the brim with bags of confetti and spray cans of that ghastly ticker-tape stuff. And he wandered up and down the centre of the road - the parade route itself - between floats. His was a comical act. He was enthusiastic to show us the spray can in action, yet his abilities to do that and manage his trolley were limited. I did not see a single person purchase his product. It had not been a profitable excursion. I just hope those spray cans don’t have expiry dates. He'll wheel them out next year.
