When you travel, you never quite know what you will stumble across. You can plan all sorts of things but you never know really how things will go. Today, I’m talking about the joy of that.
I have found France to be a very good “stumble upon” place – although probably I am biased by the fact that I live here.
We begin first with a weekend trip that I took to Rouen last year, a regional capital just north of where I was living (read about it here if you missed that installment). I had only a very loose plan for my time there, a list to refer to every time I wasn’t sure what was next. It’s often the way I travel, happy just to wander. Walking is always the best way for me to see a place and then I discover what takes my fancy as I go. I had potential places pinned on map with a travel app, so after visiting the Gros Horloge (literally “big clock”), I could see it made sense to go to the Rouen Cathedral next.
It was a bit later in the day than I would have liked – I rarely start my wander as early as I tell myself I will – but I was trying to rally despite this. I was there a little while, trying to figure out if I could manage a decent Polaroid shot, as well as trying to get some decent photos on my regular camera. Despite the large courtyard in front of the church, it’s still difficult to get enough distance from this monolith of a building to get a really decent shot.
All this to say, I spent a little longer than necessary outside this building – and then something beautifully unexpected happened. I could have missed it if I’d been a little more efficient.
Instead, I saw people gathering in a garden off to the side of the cathedral. The bells of the tower tolled and people began to sing.
It just so happens that on certain weekends for about eight Saturdays of the year, people gather to sing along to the bells – and I had been lucky enough to pick the right weekend by chance. There were songs I didn’t know, but there were a few I did, including “The Bare Necessities” from the Disney version of “Jungle Book” (the lyrics loosely translated to work in French). At the end of each song, the crowd would turn and face the bell tower, and clapped with raised hands in the direction of their bell-ringing counterparts.
It was a stunning, magical kind of experience, and I felt like I wanted to laugh in disbelief the whole time. Someone stood on a chair to conduct the whole affair, and my only regret was that I didn’t know the French lyrics in order to be able to join it. And yet just being there was such an experience. I waited even after the sing-along had ended, listening to a few other songs that the bell ringers continued with after the event was over.
It would have been so easy to miss it. (And of course, there are other times when I must surely miss things.) But I didn’t. Somehow, I was there at the right place at the right time and it was beautiful. This is still one of my most favourite moments in France.
More recently, while I was struggling to find my feet in my new town, struggling to get out and get going, I ended up at a nearby park. I often end up at a park when I’m not sure what’s next – they are good little places to pause and reflect, and just be outside in the world.
As I walked through the park, I could see a bunch of chairs set up, and there was, once again, music playing. There was some stop-starting, some re-dos, but it was fun and sort of jazzy, and I couldn’t believe my luck! It took me too long to realise they were rehearsing. I checked the time and thought they would probably start on the hour. I could duck down to the bakery quickly, grab something to eat, and get my coat from the hotel, and be back to listen to the actual performance without being frozen or hungry. So I did just that.
It was a little busier when I got back, but I had clocked the situation perfectly. A free concert in the park, put on by a marine band, with trumpets, flutes, saxophones, a keyboard… Some songs I recognised, some I didn’t, but it’s all a lot of fun. It felt like a kind of welcome, that this happened as I tried to find my place in a new city, and the sun started to set, but my world felt a little brighter.
Just before 11pm on Christmas Eve 2024 in Marseille, the bells of the Cathedral de la Major ring out, a stone’s throw from where we are staying. It’s not a song as such, but they ring first one kind of bell and then another is interspersed between. They ring for about five minutes straight until a little after the hour strikes, the lower bell that had under-toned the ringing continuing to sound for over two minutes after the rest fade, each quieter than the last. Christmas is almost here.
And it’s funny really, because you’d think it would be anticipation for the kids but – with the exception of those who will attend a midnight mass with their parents – they’ll be asleep. My students have lamented that, at seventeen, they don’t feel like Christmas is for them anymore. The town gets decorated with the same decorations as every year – it all feels “old hat” and unexciting for them. Losing the joy such things had brought them the years before.
Firstly, I must say I think that the magic of Christmas is often for the kids because they are the ones who leave themselves open to the idea of wonder. Maybe we could all do with a little more practice at looking at things with fresh eyes. After all, I doubt the bells are for the sleeping children.
In general, France seems to do a good job at creating this small magic. Music as a golden thread connecting people and bringing them together, music elevating ordinary moments to something grander. It’s something I have love and been grateful for here.
In the end, I find the best travel moments are like this.
It’s not about the plan – it’s about creating the opportunity for something unexpected to happen.
