Hourra, les Bleus!!

July 11th, 2018

Last night was a great night to be in Paris.  The recent high heat and humidity had broken a bit, and there was the slightest chill in the air.  (Still plenty warm for shorts and short sleeves, though.)  The whole city had an anxious air about it, excited about the France-Belgium World Cup match at 8pm.  I ran some errands in the late afternoon (to acquire some France football jerseys, actually), and I could feel the excitement building on the Metro as 8pm crept closer.  

Glenn's brother Mike and his wife Jesse are visiting now, and we had made plans to take them to one of our favorite restaurants, Semilla, before we knew about the match.  So we went to the restaurant early, hoping we could finish up in time to see the second half.  Dinner was spectacular.  I had a starter made with cherry tomatoes slightly concentrated in the oven, then chilled and served with a tomato water granita.  It was like candy.  Mike and Jesse both ordered the green gazpacho, Glenn had the artichoke ravioli, and Kate had a bean and celery pesto salad, all delicious.  For our main course, we shared two large dishes, a roast turbot served with a lemon-dressed salad of greens and crunchy samphire, and a perfectly-cooked thick steak served with velvety pureed potatoes.  Our waiter, who recognizes us now, suggested a delicious, fruity beaujolais to go along.   

Jesse and Kate

Dessert looked promising, but the game was beckoning.  So we quickly settled up and walked down the street near the restaurant, to find someplace where we could catch a glimpse of a TV screen.  There were a number of bars in the area with large screens, seats and tables spilling out onto the sidewalk, and hangers-on standing behind to watch the game.  We joined the party around 9pm, just in time to see France score the first (and ultimately winning) goal.  Crowds up and down the street, at bars and restaurants, erupted with cheers and songs.  People at private parties on upper floors hung from the balconies over the street and cheered, too.  Celebrations were short-lived as play resumed and nails were bitten.  Chants of "Allez les bleus" (let's go France) could be heard up and down the street.  The crowds grew as the game neared its finish.  

By the end, the street was a pretty international one, with a lot of French there, of course, but many tourists from all over the world joining in to watch and (hopefully) celebrate.  We chatted with a couple of Australians and a group of Americans and overheard conversations in Spanish, French, and Italian.  Everyone was in a jovial mood.  

Luckily, France held on for the victory, with the crowd erupting again as soon as the whistle blew.  This time, however, the celebration was not short-lived.  The cheers and songs and flag-waving and honking and general revelry lasted well into the Parisian night.  

We got some cones of Berthillon ice cream and walked back home, soaking it all in.