The wedding of some friends saw us travelling to an area of France seldom visited, Les Vosges. A small mountain range which feels very similar to the Black Forest in Germany - indeed, the two are of the same geological origin. The wedding was in a small rural town called Remicourt, nearby to Mirecourt, notable as it had the closest train station. The wedding was fantastic, and as it was the first French wedding we have been to, there was much to learn - particularly the many games! - and the party went late into the night. The next day provided a bit of time to have a look around the town, in addition to visiting to former capital of Lorraine, Nancy. The city is rich with history and the town centre, Place Stanislas, in addition to being a UNESCO world heritage site, is absolutely gorgeous.

Located in the northeast of France are the Vosges Mountains, a low altitude mountain range which as a geological block continues into Germany under the guise of the Palatinate Forest, but for cultural and historical reasons, this is mostly overlooked. The Alsace region was formed by a graben, with the Rhine rift valley forming with a resultant uplift of both the Vosges and the Black forest. Glaciation carved out features in the massifs and both ranges are characterised by thick forests covering the lower slopes and flat, open pastures covering the largely flat summits. If you have spent any time in the Black forest (as I have previously) a quick search for Les Vosges will surely evoke some souvenirs. The history of region is rich, but less ostentatious than some of the surrounding regions; settlement of heavily wooded areas with non-trivial terrain was simply more difficult than the surrounding lands, and consequently was slow. But with forests and terrain come security and as such, there are many châteaux littered throughout the region. In more recent history, the mountains acted as the border between France and the German Empire after the Franco-Prussian war up until the empire’s decline at the end of world war II. The French administrative department of Les Vosges is part of the administrative region Le Grand Est, the recent amalgamation of Alsace, Lorraine and Champagne-Ardenne. Les Vosges itself is a fairly quiet part of the country, rarely visited by tourists. It is well known for its timber industry, but also its agriculture, producing vast quantities of rapeseed, corn, grans, dairy and beef. This is of course in addition to Mirabelles, small yellow plums which are a speciality of the region; with the growing area producing 80% of the world’s Mirabelles. Locals swear by the fruit and its products - notably jam and eau de vie (a fruit brandy) - and even knowing just one person from the region, I have had more Mirabelles and associated produce than most will have in a lifetime. It is also likely that were it not for this friendship, I would have never visited the region.

With my move from Melbourne to Paris a distant memory - over 18 months - I received an invitation to attend some friends’ wedding. I was excited for them but also was treated to a profound sense of validation in myself: not only could a move around the world, I could also function in the society. It might not sound like much, but for me it was a big deal, and for that I am indebted to my friends. As it happens, the husband-to-be was from les Vosges and the bride-to-be was from Mexico, meaning they would have multiple weddings in different continents, with different guests and presumably with distinctly different flavours.

The wedding was scheduled for mid-summer and was to be held in the town of the groom’s family farm: Remicourt. Not knowing what to expect from a French wedding, I asked around and did some research, but it turns out (unsurprisingly) that it is not so different to an Australian wedding. The largest difference is that the government requires the marriage to be conducted at the town hall. Consequently, the official marriage ceremony would be in Remicourt, but the reception would be in nearby Mattaincourt. Both Remicourt and Mattaincourt are small towns, with populations of 67 and 850 respectively, so the wedding was set to take over the town. Share accommodation had been organised in Mattaincourt, so the only challenge was how to get there. From Paris, it is a touch under three hours by train to Mirecourt - the big smoke - which is only a few kilometres from Mattaincourt. The difficult task was for Mia to get there from Geneva, which is roughly the same distance away as Paris; however, with much wilder terrain thanks to the Jura mountain range. As such, a passage there would require multiple changes and at least five hours. But as luck would have it, there were some other guests coming from Switzerland who happened to be driving and have a spare seat in the car. So with the logistics sorted, all that was left to do was attend the wedding!

Making my way to gare de l’est, which is by far the TGV station I have been to the fewest times, I boarded a morning train to Nancy where I had a thirty minute changeover but I was primarily on the lookout for anyone giving off a Mexican vibe as my friend had mentioned she had some relatives taking the same train who might enjoy some help navigating the French train system. I did not notice anyone whilst at the gare de Nancy but when we alighted from the much smaller TER service in Mirecourt, it was a little more obvious - basically everyone getting off was there for the wedding. I attempted a brief exchange with someone looking a bit lost, but unfortunately neither English nor French equate to Spanish, so communication was not all that smooth. Luckily, there were some chaperones - well, other guests with cars - that were coming to the station to collect people and take us where we needed to go - mostly to Mattaincourt. Arriving there, we were shown to our accommodation, where Mia was already waiting. The accommodation was an apartment with every room crammed with beds to accommodate all the guests; the only other item of note was the amazing Pac-Man toilet paper.

Like most (all?) weddings, there was stress from the guests about what to wear, which given many were confined to the same house meant there was tensity. Before long, there was a mass transfer of bodies to the groom’s family farm in Remicourt where everyone was mingling and eventually the bride and groom appeared. As a group we wandered down to the la mairie de Remicourt for the official wedding. Traditionally, this would be conducted by the mayor; however, in a town of 67 people things are a little less formal and this duty was conferred to the groom’s brother - including being bestowed with the mayoral sash. The ceremony was filled with both formalities and informalities, with stories and anecdotes about the couple. Possibly the most novel aspect of the ceremony was the sheer number of people trying to surround a building which could comfortably house four or five people, so everything was out on the street. With the ceremony finished, everyone returned to the farm for the vin d'honneur before being transported into Mattaincourt for the reception. In what I think of as traditionally European, a large convoy was formed and then proceeded to trundle along at snail’s pace and garnering as much attention as possible: the klaxons were going continuously. As an observer to the tradition, I had always found it ignorant - almost offensive - but like many such things, when you are a part of the hubbub it is much more enjoyable.

The reception was held in la salle polyvalente of la mairie de Mattaincourt, which is basically a function room within the town hall. The hall was large and filled with friends and family; the reception largely followed the same recipe as that experienced in Australia. One of the remarkable elements was whenever the bride addressed the room, she would repeat herself in Spanish, French, English and German to ensure that everyone could understand what she was saying. Knowing that someone is a polyglot is one thing, but witnessing it is action is something else. The night rolled on, with food, speeches and dancing, but also games. This is something I was not prepared for, but is apparently completely standard practice. At one point, I was involved in a game of what amounted to musical chairs, but instead listening to music and then seeking the sanctuary of a seat once the music stopped, a task was given and upon completion, one could seek the sanctuary of a chair. Initially it was simple, for example procuring a pen - in my case, from somebody at the nearest table - but I lost out when we required une pierre. I, along with the others, rushed outside to grab a stone from the front garden, but was simply not slick enough and lost out. The tasks became more-and-more elaborate, culminating in removing the groom’s shoes, but it was all in good fun. The party went well into the night, much more so than I envisaged, with dessert being served at 0200! Being the opposite of a night owl (an early bird?) I was exhausted and did not hang around for much longer - although the party continued well into the night, well, morning.

*Place Stanislas is where the action happens*

Sunday was a superb summer’s day, and Mia would be heading back to Geneva in the morning, so we were up and about early to go for a walk. We stopped in at the bakery for some breakfast and enjoyed some sun, but it was not long before we had to part ways. I continued to wander around town, notably upstream along le Madon, the town’s river and major tributary to la Moselle. The town was sleepy, especially early on a Sunday morning, but at the same time quite picturesque, especially around the town’s religious monument La Basilique Saint-Pierre-Fourier. Later in the morning, the wedding - in a sense - continued, with anyone that was still around returning to la salle polyvalente to both celebrate, but also share in the left-over delicacies.

The façade of the Basilique Saint-Epvre — The façade of the *Basilique Saint-Epvre*

Initially, I had planned on walking up to Mirecourt to take the train up to Nancy, where I had planned to spend the afternoon and evening playing tourist, having booked my ticket back to Paris for a little after 2000. Conveniently, some other guests were heading in the vague direction of Nancy and were happy to take a (punishing) detour into le centre-ville to drop me off - which I greatly appreciated. So come early afternoon, I found myself in Nancy in the unusual position of little-to-no idea of what to see or do. I had been given a few tips from the groom upon leaving, but mostly my plan was to explore. My limited knowledge of the town was that it had once been the capital of the Duchy of Lorraine and I had recently been sold pretty hard on Place Stanislas. Consequently, after arriving, my first stop was Place Stanislas. Famed for being a gorgeous place, a UNESCO world heritage site and having been well restored in 2004-2005, it is still surprising how beautiful a central plaza can be. The history of is somewhat convoluted, with an exiled king of Poland who was related to the French king Louis XV essentially being gifted the Duchy of Lorraine. I suppose such behaviour was not so uncommon back then, but what was perhaps less common was then exiled king Stanisław Leszczyński actually doing something beneficial - marrying the old town with the new town and making Nancy a place that would flourish into the future long after his death. The square is confined by the Hôtel de Ville which stands opposite the Hôtel du Gouvernement which was then the seat of the Duchy. There is obviously plenty of meaning to this, but in the modern era, it results in quite the spectacle. Interestingly, it was only once a statue of Stanisław - or Stanislas - was erected in the plaza in 1831, some 80 years after beginning its construction, that people began to refer to the plaza as Place Stanislas. In any case, it is a spectacular place to spend some time.

To the north of Place Stanislas is the arc Héré, a gate to the plaza named for the architect of the plaza, Emmanuel Héré de Corny, which itself if modelled from the Arco di Settimio Severo in Rome. Beyond the gate is the Place de la Carrière which leads onto the Palais Du Gouvernement, with the former seemingly the place to play boules and the latter being a place to store ancient vehicles. I did not hang around as I was set on enjoying the nice weather in the city gardens, the parc de la Pépinière. As is always the case with French gardens, the grounds were immaculate and the flower gardens expertly manicured, but as compared to other places, I felt there was little soul to the place. I nice place to be sure and well worth visiting, but it is also somewhat forgettable.

A short trip to the west is the 19th century Basilique Saint-Epvre, although it is impossible to miss from the gardens - or almost anywhere else in town as the spire towers over everything. The exterior is exquisite, closely followed by the interior which I was fortunate enough to have largely to myself. I remember being particularly taken with the organ and the exquisite woodwork for its support. I continued aimlessly wandering the streets of Nancy for quite some time, but eventually my hunger caught up with me. As delicious as the food at the wedding was, after that particular style of food I was craving something a little simpler when I happened across Stan Kebab, and my decision was made for me: it is difficult to turn down a döner kebab at the best of times, and the chips were deliciously alluring. All in all, a good decision.

I was now in a bit of a pickle, I had enjoyed my dinner, but was starting to slow down. I had been in the sun all day wandering around and I was definitely running out of steam. Rather than rush around trying to see sites, I resolved to explore the less busy side of town where, between the centre-ville and the gare. Located on the site of the old city’s ramparts is Place Carnot, site of an obelisk dedicated to Marie François Sadi Carnot, a President of the French republic who was assassinated in 1894. On the northern end of the Cours Léopold there is another arc, Porte Désilles, which I was surprised to read was dedicated to the Nancéiens who died in the American war of independence at the battle of Yorktown. It struck me as odd; I knew the French financed much of the war but did not realise that there were significant French casualties. According to Wikipedia, there were 60 French soldiers killed and 194 injured.

My next and final stop was the oldest bit left of Nancy, the 14th century Porte de la Craffe. The door was part of the old city fortifications and in a mildly novel twist, it still functions - that is to say you can walk through it. With the last thing on my list done, I made my way to the station for a pleasantly short trip back to Paris which would mark the end the seventh straight weekend away from home; I could not be accused of not making the most of summer!

Reflections of Porte Désilles — Reflections of *Porte Désilles*

Adventures