Dunkerque Carnival –Cross-Dressing and Civilized Carnage

Before this weekend, I could only associate Dunkerque with beaches and WWII. Hearing that it was the site of a famous carnival, known throughout this region of northern France to be a site of beer drinking, fancy costumes and general merriment came as a bit of a surprise to me. We were invited by Jean-Charles, one of our colleagues at the university, who comes from Dunkerque, to take part in one of the carnival’s main ‘Bal’s. These are the night time events which are run by charitable organisations (there is a method to the madness, you see) which take place in large venues in and around Dunkerque during the Carnival period. In the week leading up to our carnival experience, whenever any of us tried to find out what to expect, we were only met with vague responses of how ‘crazy’ it was, which didn’t really give us any concrete ideas of how the weekend was going to roll.  Yet now I’ve come to realise that you really do have to experience it to believe it, and it’s difficult to describe the crazy  yet over-riding friendly atmosphere that make the Carnival spirit.

Our evening kicked off at Jean-Charles’ sister’s house, Marie-Hélène, who has years of carnival experience. This was instantly evident upon entry to her family home; posters of carnivals gone by decorated the living room, the rules of the carnival had been posted on doors, and by 6pm the family had already begun to get their costumes on and their faces painted.  In true French hosting style, Marie-Hélène made sure we had everything we needed, and even drove us to the nearest fancy dress shop so we could pick up the all-important feather-boas to complete our costumes.

It being the tradition for men to cross-dress, the guys in our group dressed up as women, and us ladies dressed up as men. We helped each other do up bras, draw on moustaches and apply make-up, with hilarious results. Jeff with his heels and tights became a very sexy First Lady of America, whilst Sam’s very realistic looking breasts brought out the butch-lesbian in him. When it came down to Hannah and I, donning the male braces really gave us that masculine edge which the lads of the group had recently lost. Yet our costumes were incredibly tame compared to those of everyone else. The family and friends of Marie-Hélène all seemed to be dressed according to a specific theme, yet I can only attempt to categorize this theme as to include –specific-matching-blue-colour-with-face-extravagantly- painted-and- hat- adorned- with- flowers-and-feathers.  Even then, it’s difficult to create a picture of just how co-ordinated, yet original each carnival party-maker was. So here’s a picture to show you…

 The music which really got the fun started was a mixture of traditional carnival tunes and classic kitsch songs (‘In The Navy’ and ‘YMCA’ were of course cracked out), resulting in crazy congas and mental jigs. The two very cute and still very young children joined in, and the gorgeous family Lab was loving the excitement and continual drip feed of party food dropping on the floor. The family atmosphere and involvement really made the pre-party special, and not really like anything I’d experienced before.

At around 11pm, it was time to hit the main event…Le Bal. After a serious pep talk about sticking together and arranging our meet up points, we headed along the sea front accompanied by the bitter sea breeze. We got more of an idea of what to expect when Jean-Charles handed over our tickets.  The primary regulation stated that ‘the management reserves the right to refuse entry to anyone not in costume’, and only secondary to this rule was the stipulation that ‘anyone carrying dangerous items would be ejected from the event’. With our priorities in order, expecting madness from the beginning, we headed in.

Once inside the main arena space, it took all of five minutes to lose Harmonie, but luckily the rest of us did manage to stay together for the majority of the night. The atmosphere was buzzing, and of course there was pushing and squeezing through crowds of people…but there was no shoving or angry cries of protest. It was an accepted part of the carnival, and was more an opportunity to ask your name and where you were from before swiftly moving on your way. It was so friendly, and not too friendly as to verge on creepy. There were no girls crying, no guys starting fights, and no couples getting a bit too friendly in public. Put thousands of people in a venue in England, add alcohol and costumes, and I don’t think the result would be the same.

The music was provided by a live band on stage, playing tunes ranging from ‘It’s Raining Men’, to ‘Scream and Shout’, and even ‘Gangham Style’. In one room, every so often a traditional carnival anthem would start up, and all those willing would link arms and march around the room, occasionally marching backwards, before ending in a massive crush, jumping up and down. SO much fun! At one point we made friends with a guy who had brought along his marching-band drum (why not!?), who came and played to us. He then seemed pretty content to enjoy his fag and sip of my beer whilst letting us have a go ourselves.  

After hours of dancing, marching, and drinking, 4am arrived and we were exhausted. So we headed back to the meeting point, and after sending out search parties, we soon tracked down Harmonie, who was having a great night by herself and was disappointed that we wanted to leave an hour before the end (!) After a FREEZING walk home back along the beach, we arrived back at Jean-Charles’ home, where we sat down to a much needed bowl of home-made onion soup. This may sound pathetic compared to a greasy kebab after a messy night, but it was actually PERFECT. Jean-Charles explained that this is actually another of the carnival traditions, and back in the day there would be cafés open all night selling bowls of the stuff to revive tired carnival goers. By 6:30am we were ready to collapse…bed time.

 The next day we walked through the town centre, where after only a couple of hours sleep, the carnival goers were back in costume and back on form. Unfortunately we were too late to see the Mayor throwing out herrings to the public from the Town Hall, although we did see some of the fish lying around (these days nicely vacuum packed) and certainly smelt the fishy stench in the air. Carnival also sees the French ‘bises’ step up a gear… Complete strangers were pulling each other in for a cheeky peck on the lips… even Ollie and I got grabbed in by one very keen festival goer. Bit of a shock, but hey, when in Rome!

As vibrant as the town centre was, it was freezing and we were shattered, so it wasn’t long before we headed back for a bowl of chocolat chaud and some Nutella tartines. It was then time to before hit the road back to Valenciennes. With classic tunes from the Beatles and Dire Straites providing the soundtrack, we enjoyed a perfect, chilled out ending to a mental weekend. Vive la carneval!