The French may, in fact, be my favorite people in the world. Why? Because of this: La Fête des Vendanges de Montmartre. For all you non-Francophones out there, that means a wine festival. The wine festival. Specifically, the wine festival for the harvest of the wine in Montmartre, also known as the 18th arrondissement.
Montmartre only recently became an arrondissement of Paris. Before, it was an independent city, and because it was outside the city limits and therefore exempt from city taxes, it soon became famous for its wine, which, at the time, was actually produced by the nuns. Even though Montmartre is now technically a quartier of Paris, the people who live in the 18th are still proud to be from Montmartre, and they act as though it’s independent of the rest of the metropolis. Upon arriving at métro Abbesses, I could understand why.
Montmartre has always been one of my favorite areas of Paris. I love the quaint buildings, the small, independent boutiques, the random staircases every which way you turn. I love the quieter pubs and shisha bars around every corner. I love the organized chaos of it all, the way that you can turn down a street and not know where you’re going to pop out at the end. I have spent many a lazy Sunday just wandering around behind the Basilica, climbing up and down stairs, finding remnants of the old moulins, reading the plaques below statues and artists ateliers, and watching the sidewalk artists try to capture what I love so much about Montmartre. No one had ever quite captured it for me until I went to the fête des vendanges.
The festivities started at the bottom of the butte, at the place de Jules Joffrin. There, people representing all of the different appellations were dressed in traditional winegrowers attire and were playing traditional music. Three young men in red velour from head to toe handed several euro to another man carrying a flag, sending him into a store to buy some sodas, and I realized that these were people my own age. I laughed to myself as I realized that no one from home would feel enough affinity to his hometown to dress up in red velour and march through the streets on a Saturday afternoon. I followed the parade as it wound up the streets of Montmartre to the Basilica, where the real festival was.
Behind the church, booths had been set up selling everything from homemade foie gras to portions of tartiflette scooped from what looked like massive frying pans. Vineyard representatives from as far south as the Vaucluse and as far north as Normandy were there to sell their wine and champagne, of course offering a little taste to anyone who asked. The Montmartre wine was way too expensive for my student budget, at forty euro for a bottle much smaller than the standard liter, but I did buy some good Provençal wine as I browsed the stands.
In front of the church, a band played a selection of songs including some by French singer Georges Brassens, to whom the festival was dedicated this year, but even better were the independent group singing behind the Basilica, a combination of doo-wop, jazz, and indie rock. People gathered around them and listened as the singer rocked back and forth, crooning a mix of French and English lyrics through a strong Southern accent. I realized then that maybe it wasn’t possible to capture what I loved so much about Montmartre. What I loved couldn’t be put on a canvas, because it was the sheer vivacity of it all: the living, breathing, sweating, laughing city. But maybe I could take a clue from the natives of the 18th. Maybe instead of trying to capture what I loved, I should celebrate it. That is, after all what a fête really is, and so at the fête des vendanges, I celebrated Montmartre.
Love the advice. Thank you.