Arriving in Auxerre Tuesday July 10 meant I was arriving on the day of France’s World Cup Semi-final game, to be followed by a very certain Bastille Day celebration and a potential World Cup Final in the immediate future. These were events I felt I’d been prepared for and had seen elsewhere, or so I thought. My timeliving in Upper Arlington, Ohio, had somewhat convinced me two of the immutable forces in nature were the Ohio Buckeyes and the UA July 4th celebrations. I wanted to see what big time sports and fireworks felt like in France.
To put it succinctly, it was all I had come to expect and much more.
The square outside the restaurant where I watched had al fresco dining set up with large TVs so all could watch. The room I sat in had a beamed ceiling, with the main wooden beam at least 18” square. It was a good thing I preferred the inside seating, as all outside seating was reserved. Desormais was moored along the river, across the street from the square, not 100 yards from where I sat, and that was where it remained for the entire six nights I was there.
Sitting there, the first clue came during the semi-final game, when the French anthem began to play over the large screen TV. The anthem was met with a full throated song by the crowd, not the muted “I think I know most of the words” anthem heard at most American sporting events. This was spontaneous, and prideful, and loud. And I’m observing this in a relatively small city (although major for its region) with a history dating back tobefore the 800’s, in buildings dating back to the 1600’s. The enthusiasm and excitement about the contest we were about to see was abundantly clear.
The game was hard fought, with a roar of cheers, fireworks and smoke erupting outside when France scored. The tension continued however, as Belgium continued to attack throughout the game. At the end, France prevailed 1-0, assuring an evengreater turnout for the Finals game Sunday night.
The days leading up to Friday and Saturday passed peacefully, as I rested, wandered the city, and marveled at the other boats and barges whose owners had gathered for the Bastille Day fireworks on the river. As the canals and locks would be closed for the holiday, it made sense to settle in someplace special for a day or two.
I had posted a question on the Dutch Barge Associations discussion page, regarding securing boat bumpers. The following day, the owner of a beautiful Piper-built barge, Milou, knocked on the cabin door and said he’d be happy to show me how they had attached their bumpers, which I did take him up on.
As an aside here, from the first conversation I had on the first day of our first ever trip two years earlier, moored in Clamcey and speaking with the owner of Star of Destiny, I’ve seen over and over how helpful, friendly, and interesting the barge owner community is. In the UK, when looking at potential boats, I met a couple who had lived full-time on boats for 25 years, 10 years in the UK and 15 years in Europe and finally, at ages I’ll be lucky to see, returning to life on land. French, British, American, Australian, New Zealand, they come from all over. And one of the more common questions, asked at different times and in different ways, was simply “how did you come to owning a barge in France?”. Each of them had their stories, but there were common themes and observations that seemed best summed up by a couple I visited with in Migennes near the end of my journey this year. They said they had decided, after speaking with those that enjoyed barging (and family members that didn’t!) that you were “either born French or you weren’t”. They were Australian, but felt “born French”. Perhaps I’m simply proof that some French blood made it to Scotland to my ancestors, because I understand what they feel.
By Friday July 12th, preparations for the evening’s fireworks show were in full swing. A section between two bridges just upriver was location for the fireworks lauch, out an over the river. As such, all boats on both sides of the river there had to be relocated. I had been forewarned that boats might have to be tied two or three deep. Somehow, I escaped that situation, and had an unimpeded view up the river to the night show.
The crowd gathered, families with young children, elderly couples, people of all ages and sorts, just like one might see at any 4th of July celebration. The setting was
Fireworks video:
https://voyagesofdesormais.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/84E1E081-B24D-4C2F-BD7A-1BAC50B31233.mov
certainly different, and the view up the river stunning, but the obvious key was the French music accompanying the fireworks. I was far enough away to all of the show, but 
close enough that the music drifted across the water to me at a level that made it just loud enough to be a bit magical.
Saturday was a day of calm, and Sunday brought more activity in the nearby square, as the restaurants expanded their outdoor seating in advance of the Finals match. This time, even bigger TV screens were erected. Knowing the drill for my favorite watching spot, I did reserve a seat, but inside again, where the TV was easy to see and the Leffe refills were close.
France and Croatia. The World Cup Soccer Final.
By the latter part of the game, France held a safe lead. There was still tension, but you could feel the celebration rising, like the increasing tension in stretching a spring. And then it was over, France winning 4-2.
Celebration video:
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From about 8 in the evening until well after midnight, there was a steady stream of cars driving down the street slowly, filled with people waving flags, honking horns, in an unceasing stream of noise and celebration. As each hour passed, the celebration diminished only slightly. At a point, sometime after one in the morning, I decided to try to sleep.
Having dozed off, I was abruptly awoken by a Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump on the hull of the boat, followed by a SPLASH. Jumping up and poking my head into the wheelhouse, I see a young man in his mid-teens climbing out of the river behind the boat. Four of his friends are laughing and pointing. Apparently, on a dare or as a celebratory statement, he had decided to shuck off his shoes and pants, for a dash across my boat, using it as a diving platform into the river. No damage done but, as he eyed the boat and I could see he was considering another run, I rapped on the glass and offered a loud “NON”, and he and his friends slowly took their celebration further down the riverside.
Rising the next morning, a bit bleary eyed, it was time to move on. In the early morning, there was still the occasional car horn tooting, to an often repeated rhythm. I had been attracted to this slow barging pace to experience the culture and history in this moment. The six days of July in Auxerre did not disappoint.