On the Sunday of the Fête au fil de l'Estuaire there is a farmers' and craft market as well as more music and boats. I admired the pottery, lusted after some truly gorgeous wrought iron furniture and balustrades, and chatted with the woman who makes marionette puppets.
There were boats wandering up and down all the time, of course, but one particularly entranced me. A 35-footer, being delicately turned round by a lone sailor. It glided so beautifully, I really wanted to be on it. Still, get it out on the Atlantic and it would be thrashing around and hard work.
Most of the food on offer was shellfish and snails. The hot garlic sauce of the moules marinieres smelled wonderful, but I don't eat shellfish. I bought fruit, including raspberries which don't taste as good in the south (Scottish raspberries are the best).
The chants marins started. I expected something like a chantey side, but it wasn't really. They sang mainly local songs, and all of or by sailors; but it was a mixed-voice group, led by an accordion-player which made the whole thing sound French. Not bad at all, although the horses from the ranch on the marsh who arrived during the second set didn't seem to appreciate the accordion.
After their spot I asked to join the group, and was immediately accepted without any suggestion of audition. They are re-starting rehearsals in September. Well, it's not the Italian madrigals and English or French part-songs which I've been missing so much, but sea chanties are fun, and the group sings harmonies. Besides, it was such a relief to speak to someone who understood the vocabulary. The lead male singer asked me if I sing high or low, and then whether my voice is strong or soft. Soft, I replied, more lyrique. Ah! he said, a lyric soprano. I could have hugged him.
Having been invited to take tea at 4 o'clock, I took care to eat very little for lunch, but was then scuppered (sorry, blatant wordplay!) by being invited to join the chants marins crowd. Even though I turned down the fish and oysters, there were chips and local cheeses; someone bought me an ice-cream, and while I was eating that someone else put a huge slice of apple tart in my other hand: "Il n'y a pas de refus!". Being in the company of oysters, we talked of many things - including the Dutch insouciance regarding the rise in sea-levels, and of some choirs in the area. The Dutch discussion was with the two of the group who aren't French and are in fact Dutch, and was partly prompted by seeing the level of the water in the dykes on the marsh. It's only just below the height of the roads.
I had to leave in the middle of a performance of African song, stories, and dance, to go to the Tea Party. Happy birthday was sung, and I blew out a large red candle, and we drank tea from the best china, which had been a wedding present to the hosts and subsequently in storage for 26 years. The time passed quickly in chat and discussion; I heard some very useful tips for dealing with the bureaucracy of changing residential status, and there was much talk of music. All five of those present sing or play instruments. We may get a part-song evening out of it!
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