Festival of St Tropez

I think almost everyone in the world has heard about St Tropez. It is a lovely place, though it can be a nightmare to drive into on the only narrow road entering it. We decided to spend the night in nearby St Maxime and, early in the morning, took the Bateau Vert which makes its way to St Tropez every twenty minutes.
We were going to St Tropez to observe their May 17th festival, la Bravade. It is a festival that celebrates St Tropez along with the military. A Bravade can be a sort of military celebration and also has to do with the meaning of bragging or of being blustery. It turned out to be a very interesting festival and I like the part having to do with St Tropez the best.
St Tropez is, as is usual, based on one of those stories where the saint arrives on a boat on the shores of France with no one guiding the boat but the hand of God. He was from Pisa, Italy, the right hand man of Nero, well known Roman head, and became converted to Christianity by St Paul. He refused to renounce his Christianity and after two attempts to put him to death-the wild animals refused to attack him but lay quietly at his feet and a column to which he was to be chained fell and killed his executioner, he was finally beheaded, put in a boat, without his head, along with a dog and a rooster-which seems very strange but seem to be symbols of malevolence, and the boat arrived on the shores of St Tropez. The head, in fact, can now be found in a church in Pisa. This led to the village taking St Tropez as their patron saint and thus the celebrations every May 17th, the day when his boat landed. There are statues of him in every shop window along with the color themes of red and white, the colors of St Tropez.

Here is a small bust of St Tropez in front of a cafe. Note the mustache. How they knew he had a mustache without the head is a mystery. He rather looks like Errol Flynn.

Our boat arrived just as villagers and participants in costume streamed up the narrow streets to the lovely church for mass. There were men in military costumes marching in step to beating drums and flutes, everyone carrying small bouquets of flowers to be blessed. These bouquets are then taken home to lie beside the family statue of St Tropez. I don’t know where they get these little busts of the saint. I looked in vain for a small one as a momento but couldn’t find one. After the mass, the small village square filled with women and children in traditional dress, then the military men marched in along with the sculptured bust of St Tropez and three other saints-St Peter, St Eunice and St Roch. I’m not sure why they are also in the ceremony but it was wonderful to see them held aloft and carried through the streets of St Tropez. I found it interesting that, except for St Tropez, the other busts were carried by women. They also held sticks in their hands used to hold up the heavy statues when the came to a stop.

Here are four women carrying a statue of St Roch.

Here is St Tropez himself.

Love the hat.

After lunch, St Tropez was brought out again and this time the focus was on the military. There is much history here of defending the city, especially against pirates and this exhibition shows that they are ready still to defend it. They marched all about the streets and came into the square. This time they started firing their guns and muskets. At first it was just here and there but then they did it all at the same time making an incredible noise and filling the air with smoke. Each time they did the firing of weapons everyone would hold their ears and cough with the resulting smoke. You could feel the percussion of the air against your face and the muskets were fired at the ground. When one of the people watching this event along with us told us that they had 350 kilograms of gun powder for this ceremony, and we had seen the guns go off four times, we decided to leave. The booming of the guns followed us down to the harbor where we left for St Maxime.

This little boy had just gotten scratched by the cat you can see behind him.

I think this was one of the best festivals I have seen in Provence with all of the costumes, the delightful children dressed up and taking part in the festivities, the saints being paraded down the streets and the military putting on their displays. Another great way to partake of all that Provence has to offer.

Some different headwear than the rest and I loved this little girl.

Future sailors of St Tropez

Part of the military in parade.

The square filling with smoke as the muskets are fired.

I am hoping there will be no more cool days. Yesterday was the first day it felt like it was getting warm and the first time it was pleasant enough to have lunch on the porch. Once the heat of summer arrives we will be eating on the porch for all of our meals. It is such a pleasure to sit out there and look at the plants, the scenery, the blue sky. A few photos showing that Spring is on the way at last:

More and more poppies on the road sides.

Bright new green leaves appearing on the vines.

Tiny little grapes on their way to becoming great wine.

More on Saint Pancrace, one of the three Ice Saints that I wrote about a few days ago. I went to a nearby village, Grambois, where St Pancrace is their patron saint. It is a nice little village, very beautifully rebuilt and I love their ancient church. I had read that there was a chapel devoted to St. Pancrace inside and I found it, I think. It was the only one that didn’t have Mary or St Joseph statues.

Here it is.

And here is a closeup of the golden haired saint.

The church in Grambois.

I had also read that there was a hermitage called the Chapelle of St Pancrace not too far from Grambois along with an interesting private graveyard so yesterday Maurice and I set off on what I thought would be a short hike. It actually turned out being over three hours. We meandered around the countryside, got lost and asked directions of a very nice and friendly lady in a small village. She gave us directions and three very pretty roses which died before we made it home but they were a lovely color and had a fantastic fragrance.

The roses in Maurice’s backpack.

So, we tried to follow the lady’s directions and went a little out of the way but, at the last minute when we were about to give up, we got to the top of a little hill and there it was. The cemetery is full of people who were actually from Conneticut of all places who had married French people. The most interesting grave is one of a woman as it is a huge pyramid. Supposedly she is buried standing up underneath it.

Here it is amongst the cyprus trees.

The Chapel itself turned out to have some religious order living there and a nun in a brown habit came out and told us that it was private. After we left, I wish I had asked her more at St Pancrace and if they worshipped him especially. There was an interesting portion outside that I wish I had photographed but she stood there obviously waiting for us to leave but here is a photo of the chapel, or hermitage, that I took before she came out.

There are churches and chapels all over the hills of France and the rest of Europe, I am sure. I’m glad I made my own little pilgrimage on St Pancrace day, even though I am not a believer.

A Castle in My Backyard

I don’t really have a castle in my backyard, but doesn’t it sound neat? I think it is the title of a book about someone living in France that I saw once. I do have a chateau near me, if that counts. The oldest part is a ruin now but there is still a part of it that is occupied by renters. The owners of the chateau, I assume possibly aristocrats, sold us our property for our house. Their father is buried in our nearby cemetery and he was a doctor. When I go out walking I always look at the chateau and wonder about its history. An old neighbor told us that it was originally built in the 1600’s. It could have gotten damaged during the revolution as many castles were destroyed then. Today I did a bit of trespassing, just up to the pigeonnier, long an object of my photography. The French built quite elaborate buildings for their pigeons, raising them for their meat and for fertilizer.

Pretty elaborate for a bunch of birds.

The door to enter. The roof has fallen in and the interior is full of trees and bushes.

This is the newer part of the chateau, still inhabited.

The elegant and lovely remains of the old chateau.

We won’t see iris around too much longer.

Churches in France are full of plaster and wooden images of saints long gone. I was once in a church in la Tour d’Aigues and the priest happened to be there at the same time. Behind an iron gate was the bust of a saint painted and with gold trim. I asked the priest who it was and he told me that he didn’t know. This might be because there are thousands of saints in Catholic tradition. In fact, every day of the year is named after one saint or another and on November 1st, All Saint’s Day, the ones who don’t have a day named after them all get put into this one day. I am not, nor have ever been Catholic and know very little about saints other that the most common such as St. Joseph. In many churches you see the same ones over and over such as Joan of Arc and this guy:

whose name I don’t know.
Anyway, there are festivals all over the place in France and, living in Provence, I see signs about various festivals and traditions taking place in our area. A near-by town called Manosque has a festival for St. Pancrace. I had never heard of him, as usual, and did a little web search. He was a Roman matyr who was killed for his Christian beliefs when he was fourteen. He has become a saint for young people but is also known as the Ice Saint along with two other saints, Mamert and Servais. They each have the dates May 11th, 12th and 13th, or they did in the past. The Catholic church took them off the roster as I guess they were considered a little too pagan. It doesn’t stop celebrations of them, of course. They are called the Ice Saints because these three dates are known to be Spring days when temperatures often plummet and anyone who does planting never plants a thing until these dates are past which makes me worried about my little vegetable garden. Apparantly, the earth passes through some cosmic dust at this time every year and affects the sun, and thus the weather changes sometimes. Stuff like this amazes me. I love learning new information from centuries past that still affect us today. So, I plan to make a trip to Manosque for that festival and also to Grambois, a very nearby perched village which, I found out, considers Saint Pancrace their patron saint, not only a guide to planting but they also feel that he protected them from the plague in the 1700’s. There is a little part of the church there devoted to him. I am hoping to find the church open and take a photo of his bust there.

Here are two photos having nothing to do St Pancrace but just of how lovely Provence can be–if it ever warms up.

I heard that it was a very cold Winter here this year. It has certainly been a different Spring. We’ve had a few days get up to 70 degrees but almost every afternoon, although the morning has been nice, the wind arrives along with some gray clouds which seldom deliver any rain. We bought 60 lavender plants that I worried about planting as they need to take root before it gets hot. That hasn’t been a problem and I think that most of them are going to make it. The plants were denuded of any roots and buried up to their branches in unprepared dirt. Then you water them and, somehow, they seem to start growing. Just a few have that really dead gray look but I can spot a few green leaves here and there on the others.
In Texas I always waited until April 15th to plant anything, this being the date considered safely past frost. I assumed the same thing here and went out and planted my vegetable garden. I bought tomato plants, including two cherry tomato plants, and set them out. I also planted melon and zucchini seeds. Last year I had tremendous luck with my zucchini from seed. I’m worried that I may have done it too early this Spring. Next year I will either wait until May 15th or so or get these tiny little plastic tunnels to place over my row of seeds. It breaks your heart to do so much work and have everything die. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Alas, none of these photos, except for the butterfly, are from my garden. But I hope that some day it will look this good.