Celebrating A Wine Harvest In Paris: Video

Stirrings Outside of The Lapin Agile

I just strained up a steep stone street in Montmartre and stand across from a vineyard.

A vineyard in Paris? C’est vrai, there are about ten tiny ones.

To the back of me the Sacre Couer looms, perhaps casting a critical eye at the frivolity going on in front of me: a parade of characters, some reminiscent of royalty or medieval scholars, who heft sedans of grapes, march in bands led by accordions and hurdy gurdy players, mad hatters, dancers twitching their bottoms, drag queens, senior citizens, drummers and random citizens who stop to pay their respects to the mayor, who stands on a podium off to my left.

Just down the hill I see the Lapin Agile, the legendary waterhole where artists, tramps and thieves, including Picasso and Modigliani, gathered to debate long faces, misplaced noses and the meaning of life while becoming entertainingly bourré. It was named for a 1870s painting by artist André Gill depicting a rabbit liberating himself from a cook pot, bottle of wine in paw.

Standing next to me is an agitated woman. She told me that she has issues with the mayor.

What is this all about?

The parade is part of the Fête des vendanges de Montmartre, celebrating the wine harvest, in particular the establishment of Clos Montmartre, a one-third acre vineyard that was created in 1933 when locals, led by artist Francisque Poulbot, blocked real estate speculators from developing what was a dump. He was famous for his caricatures of the Montmartre street kids who played there, which became known as Poulbots. Today, this tiny vineyard is tended by hand and produces about 1500 bottles a year, which are sold at auction for charity. Clos Montmartre, has been celebrated every October since 1934.

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The parade ends, the grand finale being a marching band followed by a phalanx of street sweepers. The mayor climbs down from the podium to accept well-wishers. Except, there is this woman, who assaults him with her complaints. Our streets sont atrocement sales, filthy, she rants. The tourist area is clean, but the streets where we, the people live, are a mess.

I didn’t hear how he replied.

Maybe they should have hopped over to the Lapin Agile to continue their discussion over a glass of appelation Montmartre.