Lille & the Elephants

In October 2006, Lille went very Indian and stayed so for a couple of months. Walking to the station in the mornings meant passing along a guard of honour of enormous fibre-glass elephants, far larger than life and in 6 opposing pairs with trunks which would have touched one another across the street had they been cast outstretched. Thousands of people were milling around on 14^th October, the day of the launch of this “Lille 3000” Indian-themed festival, also known as “Bombaysers de Lille” (a play on words). It was more than a little oppressive to be amongst this many people during that day. As far as the centre was concerned, everywhere, but everywhere, was packed with people. You can see Lille’s giants amongst the throngs, waiting to be blessed with flower petals in the Grande Place whilst the mayoress gave an impassioned speech to open the event. I was on a second date with a girl that afternoon and we agreed that it was a bit unbearable in the crowds so we dodged away from the Place and found a bar terrace. It was a relief to be away from it all for a while but what we’d already experienced was nothing compared to what was coming later. Some estimates put the crowd, who gathered in front of the railway station, Gare Lille Flandres (interior of station also shown), for that evening’s entertainment, at over 100,000 people. It certainly felt like that many. I had the ground space my feet covered and no more to spare. I was pinned into position by the people around me and I was pinning them right back, seemingly with no chance of moving. As often seems to happen at times like this, someone with a child in a push-chair decided that it would make good sense to traverse from one end of the crowd to the other. I wondered what it must be like to be as unhindered by the baggage of thoughts and ideas as this dolt of a woman so clearly was. A feeling of blissful freedom and invulnerability, I imagine.

Beyond the most distant pair of elephants, you see the façade of the station itself which, as illustrated, was illuminated in a spectacular Taj-Mahal-esque manner and the elephants themselves revealed that their red and gold coats were fringed with discreet, multicoloured glass beads, illuminated from within, creating a subtle and attractive effect. Between each pair of elephants and the next were pairs of large, layered lanterns in the general form of shining, golden wedding cakes and other ethnically-styled lighting was draped and dangling all around. Eventually, the entertainment began. A huge stage had been erected, covering the large, decorative pool which is normally to be seen in front of the station and, onto it, ran dozens of dancers in Indian-inspired costumes. A mix of traditional and modern music boomed out and, along with the rest of the World around me, I raised myself onto my toes to try to get a better view. I was still pinned against everybody else, including my date ;o) and, after 20 minutes of this, we decided to retreat again.

We wrestled our way out and headed off to find something to eat, passing fire artists, stalls, pyrotechnic displays, food stands and street performers along the way. Naturally, as this festival had approached, my focus had been on the food opportunities it might provide. I’d dreamed of finding a food outlet where, on the ground all around, were French people, sitting dazed and trying to pluck out their own tongues after having sampled something with which their oh-so-spice-sensitive taste buds were not cut out to cope. I dreamed of picking my way through and over these people, reaching the deserted counter and saying something like “Greetings, my Asian friend. Whatever you sold that French chap over there, yes, the one with his head in the fountain and his underpants around his ankles, I’ll have twice as much, twice as spicy please”.

Alas, even before the event began that day, I’d realised that this would remain just a dream. Reading my free newspaper on the train one morning, I’d come upon an interview within which the invited “head of nourishment” for the event, a noteworthy Indian chef, explained, presumably through a translator, the changes they’d had to make so as to provide Indian goodies around the town. They’d done their studies and, without going into detail, every prospective food vendor had accepted that, if they were going to sell anything at all during the festival, each of their recipes would need to be taken down to about 10% of its normal spiciness quotient. “Oh, bum”, I recall thinking.