Behind the closed doors are vibrant communities plotting their next celebrations. Most often the shutters are shut to keep the heat in, in winter, and the heat out, in summer. It’s not a personal sleight to the holidaymakers driving through. The people are there; just not visible. And then, like the sudden arrival of Spring daffodils, the French villages do show signs, not just of life, but of the thriving communities they are
When my brother comes to visit from his home in Salisbury and we’re driving to my house from the airport, he always asks the same question, “Where is everyone?” In each of the towns and villages we drive through the shutters are closed, the shops are shut, and the streets are empty. No kids playing in the roads, no pedestrians, no mothers pushing their prams, no-one walking their dogs; in fact absolutely zero signs of life. In my neck of the woods in the north-west of the Dordogne there’s also no traffic, so for Mel it’s a surreal experience, and very different from the solid traffic back in Wiltshire, where every journey is a test in anger management.And yet behind the closed doors are vibrant communities plotting their next celebrations. Most often the shutters are shut to keep the heat in, in winter, and the heat out, in summer. It’s not a personal sleight to the holidaymakers driving through. The people are there; just not visible. And then, like the sudden arrival of Spring daffodils, the French villages do show signs, not just of life, but of the thriving communities they are. It seems to start around Easter time, or Pâques, as the French know it. And it extends into the summer and beyond. Easter is a good time to start the festivities, because the sun is usually out, Spring is in the air, and after a cold, dark winter, the longer, warmer days are suddenly with us and it’s T-shirt weather again. Time for a few beers, a village fête and a chinwag with the neighbours. Over the days, weeks and months ahead each village will do something that brings people together. It could be the annual plastic duck race down the river, the firework display, the music festival, the vide grenier, or the annual meal, with dancing on the green. There’s always something going on, and all are welcome.
For us, for Easter weekend just down the road in Vanxains, we celebrate La Traditionelle Omelettes de Pâques. Literally hundreds of people converge on the salle de fêtes to be served (in order) an Easter egg, vegetable soup, a three-egg omelette (with choice of vegetables and meats), salad and cheese, a chocolate desert and as much table wine as you can drink. All for €15. It’s not so much a meal as an event; families, friends and neighbours mingling together in celebration of life and community. You get to sit at tables that run the length of the hall and it’s utter pandemonium – someone arrives with your plate, soup bowl, serviette, Easter egg and some cutlery. Oh, and to wipe the table down from the last pleasure seekers. Someone else appears out of nowhere with the soup in a big tureen; enough for at least 10 people. And you help yourself; passing bread and soup and condiments across the table to people you don’t know but are about to have a lengthy conversation with. A man plonks the wine on the table and suddenly you’re surrounded by, and engaging with, your new friends. No matter your French isn’t perfect – the wine and the bonhomie build the bridges you need to make yourself understood. Then a server asks what you’d like in your omelette and whether you’d like it runny or hard – and 15 minutes later, you get exactly what you ordered – how they manage that through the mayhem is up there as one of Easter’s mysteries. These are communities at work; no matter that the geo-political climate is heavy with fear and loathing. There are eggs to crack, omelettes to cook, wine to pour and stomachs to fill. And that’s what’s really important.
