Fest-Noz

This weekend was my first real taste of Breton culture: a Fest-Noz at St Brieuc. Fest-Nozes (or quite possibly Fests-Noz) are evenings of traditional Breton music, dancing, food and, of course, drink. And, my do they do it well. I’ve yet to find a people who can ferment apples better than the Bretons.

I was delighted to find that the large hall which hosted the Fest-Noz was absolutely packed with hundreds of people of all ages, from tiny children in their party frocks to elderly couples, and all manner of variations in between. Too often, the word ‘traditional’ actually means ‘only practiced by old fogeys’ but, happily, this tradition appears to be alive and well even among the young and trendy. Since this particular part of Bretagne is by no means the most ardent of purists – hardly anyone speaks Breton here, for example – this came as rather a welcome surprise.

The music ranged from old-school a capella renditions of old Breton folk songs to Irish-style accordion playing to a full 12-piece big band who interspersed jazzy sax solos with traditional local songs and even a guy in an Ali G-style tracksuit who rapped admirably in Breton over the top. The dancing, however, remained true to its roots: lots and lots of circles of people linked by pinkie fingers, shuffling, bobbing and kicking in a series of simple yet engaging steps. Oh, and every so often, an incredibly energetic couple dance involving lots of swinging around and switching places, rather like modern jive. I earn a living through dancing and yet even I was exhausted after approximately thirty seconds.

We didn't stay quite as long as I would have liked as the people I was with decided that they'd much rather investigate in depth the culture of the local Irish bar. So we abandoned the delicious smell of cakes and galettes and set off down a small country road. Suddenly, a car came round the corner towards us and the group instantly split into two: all the British girls automatically moved to the left and the Americans to the right. We Brits quickly righted ourselves (obviously, as I’m currently here typing this and not an interesting stain on the winding roads of St Brieuc) but laughed afterwards at our lack of adjustment to living in a country where the cars drive on the wrong side of the road. And yes, I refuse to pretend to have any kind of impartiality when it comes to traffic regulations; after all, we invented the car so we damn well know what side one is supposed to drive on.*




* Ed: Actually, I think you’ll find it was the Germans who invented the car and they drive on the right.
HUL: …
Ed: And don’t you think it’s rather sad that you’re pretending to have an editor solely for the purposes of humourous exchanges like this one in a rather sad attempt to gain the affection of your readers through the use of self-deprecation?
HUL: …
Ed: And worst of all, this editor you’ve invented is actually more quick-witted than you.