Monday 17th August

This is the real highlight of the year, the Medeaval day, the Gourmande Evenings and even the Vide Greniers were just a prelude to the ultimate madness that is the White Wine and Oyster Festival.  Your really haven’t seen anything like it.  And nor had we, but now we won’t miss it.  It is as the name suggests supposed to be a celebration of white wine and oysters but has grown into something much bigger.  There was also another Vide Grenier on the same day (Saturday) at the Pont Roman, but the main event is held in the square, the Place Gambetta itself.  Most of the food is being cooked and served right in the middle around the central fountain and there are tables all around the square and under the arches too, with either benches or little metal stools to sit on.  There is a whole team of oyster schuckers and a constant queue for the slippery beasts, a taste I have never quite acquired.  There are also of course Moules et frites, and Langoustines, and all manner of cold cooked seafood.  There is grilled duck and risotto, roast chicken and my favourite, sardines, salmon and big prawns (gambas) cooked on a huge rusty old barbeque.  There are melon baskets, there are crepes, there are glaces and of course there is lots of wine, red, rose and of course the white we are supposed to be celebrating.

The day starts about eleven when the first barbecues are lit and the first sack of moules are being cooked.  We were really busy in the Café, as early revelers had coffee and cakes before the real food was ready and the smell of barbecue smoke and fish being cooked was wafting over us all.  I succumbed early and had my sardines and frites.  This carries on all day, with maybe a short break between five and seven when the real eating begins.  As evening comes on the French descend in numbers and suddenly you are fighting for a place at a table.  Everyone is eating and drinking and greeting old friends and then at ten the music starts.  Well, I say music guardedly.  There is a huge stage filled with massive speakers and lights and the EuroDisco belts out.  Now, I am not a great fan of dance music, but after a few glasses of wine you find yourself dancing and clapping and singing some sort of words (though most of the songs seem to consist of chanting Hey Hey Hey or some other sophisticated lyric) along with the DJ who constantly throws out commands in French.  The French seem to understand and change their dance or response and we hapless Brits try our best to follow.  It is unmitigated madness with women dancing on the tables and everyone going crazy.  We gave up just after twelve but it continued until 2.00 a.m.

And next morning there wasn’t a scrap of litter, the square had been cleared and hosed down and you would never have known there had ever been a Fete d’huitres et vin blanc.