Surprising things happen in our little town in France. No, it wasn’t the appearance of a rude-shaped turnip in the market; not the invention of a new baguette with frosting and sprinkles; nor even the sighting of a grown man peeing with joyous abandon onto a memorial in the main square in broad daylight. [Although we did witness the last one yesterday while taking Saxon for a walk.] Even though all of those stories would easily make it onto the front page of the local edition of the newspaper here, it was something much more unusual.
Saturday morning. Crowds began to gather throughout Fougères. There was a murmur of excitement building in front of our gates as people hurriedly laid claim to key viewing sites on the street in front of our house. The flame of the Olympic Games was coming to town.
Joining the general hubbub filtering through our normally sedate neighborhood, Cherie and I walked down the hill to the square next to the castle. A sizable crowd had gathered to see the arrival of the olympic flame. After a surprisingly brief introduction, the first runner (more of a slow jog, really – the sort of thing you do when you see your bus pulling away, make a half-hearted show of quickening your pace for a few steps, and then stop in the acknowledgment that you never had a chance in hell of catching the damn thing in the first place) began the procession.
Everyone was very excited. This was the olympic flame, after all. Direct from Greece. As part of the buildup for the Summer Olympics in Paris, the flame has been making its way through several parts of France, including Bretagne. For some reason this included Fougères. And, for an hour or so, we played host to the sacred flame of Udûn, er, Olympia. Pretty cool!
While the torch relay wound its way through the center of town, the two of us climbed back up our street and grabbed some sidewalk turf in front our gate. Like seasoned paparazzi, we skulked on either side of the pavement, Cherie in an archway, and me perched atop a stepping stool – my parents forgot to check the box for a statuesque build when they ordered me, so I needed the extra height. After a cavalcade of trucks sent by corporate sponsors to blare music and fling mini-cans of sugary drinks at unsuspecting bystanders, the torch bearer came loping down towards us. She passed the holy fire to the next bearer, they posed for a few photos, and then the new bearer let gravity take hold as he ambled with solemnity down the slope.
And that was it. For a few moments, we were swept up in the planet’s gravitational pull towards the 2024 Olympics. It was an intoxicating moment. Pretty big stuff for our small piece of France.
Finding Our France 