Le Feu de St Jean

The 24th of June is apparently the Fire of St Jean every year in Biot. I know this because the posters all have "2010" stickers pasted over the original year that was printed. After dinner, we follow a procession, with small people (making me fit right in) and simple music, and find ourselves in the village ampitheatre. The Portugese dancers (whom we have been following, and who are all actually French) have graced the fire of St Jean in Biot for the last 20 years, and entertain us all with nifty steps and castanets, after the school children sing for us. Then, the fire is lit, and children starting jumping over the fire (for what, we don't know, because the fat lady who explains does not have a microphone, and nobody is listening anyway). Our youngest gets in the line, but doesn't come bouncing out, so I go check. The polite American boy says that all the local children keep cutting in so it's gonna take a while. When he finally jumps, I am back behind stage again equipped to tell the locals to behave, and miss the act completely.

This morning, as we recount the event, I find from my husband that the young hippie man who asked me the dog's name misunderstood Charlie to be "Jiang Lee" (and why not?)... inexplicably, I find myself singing Abba - "and I can dance with you honey, flirt a little maybe, but does your mother know that you're out?" Take it easy...

As I finish off painting the doors, and set the appetizers on the table outside for lunch, I hear the next door neighbor's daughter call out to her mom, "A tout a l'heure" (meaning "See you later, aligator, in a while, crocdile"and remember the day when my daughter made the discovery that "toodle-loo" is this French phrase said fast with an American accent.

Tomorrow, the two babies (being 12 and 11) and dog head to La Croix Val Mer (100 kms to the west) to join their grandmother and great-grandmother for a week, while the rest of us head to Paris.