Blesle, ancient, mediaeval French town in the Auvergne holds a free music festival every year
http://www.les-plus-beaux-villages-de-france.org/en/blesle
We drove to Blesle on a beautiful sunny day on the 11th August. Half the inhabitants of the town volunteer to organise the festival and the whole town donates money to cover the expenses. All the musicians perform free, in the squares, courtyards, by the riverside, in gardens and in the twelfth century church. We heard heavenly singing by three women in the church, whose voices intertwined along ancient traditional melodies that transported me back to the time when the city walls round the town were intact, when beautiful women wore long, trailing dresses and men galloped into the town on horses. We lay on the grass in a garden while musicians played softly without amplifiers, we danced in the market square to traditional music played by hurdy-gurdy, violin and guitar. Some of the dances involved much stamping, twirling and circling round each other. Everyone knew the dances.
The young people were slim, burnt brown by the sun and beautiful. No one was drunk or abusive. Half timbered houses jutted out into the narrow streets which led to small squares, courtyards and the occasional garden. The houses were built of mottled grey stone. The twelfth century church was large, light and brightly decorated, with brilliantly coloured stained glass windows and a blue ceiling covered in golden fleur de lys. People sat in the pews, on the steps at the back of the church, on the edge of the font, in the choir behind the performing musicians, listening silently to the music.
We left the festival early, to drive all the way back to my daughter's house, up on the high Auvergne plateau, but we returned the following day.
http://www.les-plus-beaux-villages-de-france.org/en/blesle
We drove to Blesle on a beautiful sunny day on the 11th August. Half the inhabitants of the town volunteer to organise the festival and the whole town donates money to cover the expenses. All the musicians perform free, in the squares, courtyards, by the riverside, in gardens and in the twelfth century church. We heard heavenly singing by three women in the church, whose voices intertwined along ancient traditional melodies that transported me back to the time when the city walls round the town were intact, when beautiful women wore long, trailing dresses and men galloped into the town on horses. We lay on the grass in a garden while musicians played softly without amplifiers, we danced in the market square to traditional music played by hurdy-gurdy, violin and guitar. Some of the dances involved much stamping, twirling and circling round each other. Everyone knew the dances.
The young people were slim, burnt brown by the sun and beautiful. No one was drunk or abusive. Half timbered houses jutted out into the narrow streets which led to small squares, courtyards and the occasional garden. The houses were built of mottled grey stone. The twelfth century church was large, light and brightly decorated, with brilliantly coloured stained glass windows and a blue ceiling covered in golden fleur de lys. People sat in the pews, on the steps at the back of the church, on the edge of the font, in the choir behind the performing musicians, listening silently to the music.
We left the festival early, to drive all the way back to my daughter's house, up on the high Auvergne plateau, but we returned the following day.
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