Wilbur, eat your heart out. (Cultural Activity 3)

Every year at the end of February Paris hosts a massive agricultural fair that would make Wilbur of Charlotte’s Web fame cry. The city hosts the best of the best of France’s massive and very proud agricultural community. We had read about and discussed it earlier in our prep class, and I for one was eager to see this thing for real. Since I grew up in the South I am more or less familiar with rural life, and certainly rural stereotypes, and I was very curious about what France has to offer in this department.

The Salon did not disappoint. In Pavilion 1 we were greeted with a wonderful scent seldom enjoyed in the city: animals! “Ewwww, gross” I hear you say. Trust me, after a month and a half of cigarette smoke and metros that all too often double as loos the earthy wholesome scent of piglets and sheep was fabulous.



Little chicks just hatching, the fattest sheep I’ve ever seen, and adorable little piglets with floppy ears and curly tails tripping around their massive mothers were in pens surrounded by hundreds of parents and children come to see. Most impressive were the cattle; I had no idea that any bovine got that big. Holy cow (take a moment to enjoy that pun).



The Pavilion 4 had beautiful horses, many of which again were on a scale I had never seen before (holy horse… no, doesn’t work). We also got a glimpse at the French version of a cowboy; naturally my camera battery was dead by this point. Most of the men handling horses sported black trousers, white shirts with the sleeves rolled up, snappy little vests, and charming berets.

By far the most wonderful pavilion of them all was Pavilion 7, which showcased the agricultural products of each Région. “Agricultural products of France” is a fancy way of saying lots of incredible food. Sausages, cheeses, wines, ice cream, fruits de mer, and this incredible concoction called truffade that Haley and I couldn’t pass up. Two loud men from Marseille served massive helpings of cheesy garlicky potatoes from a gigantic skillet.



I was stuffed full until I saw the ice cream from Pas-de-Calais, and since I have ancestors from there I just had to get some. Family history work never tasted so good. Throughout the pavilion old French men with small glasses of wine conversed over wondrous varieties of cheese. Families sat around raclette holding pieces of potato and sausage under melting cheese.

Let me finish off with a good word for the French. The Salon was absolutely packed with people; we often couldn’t move at all, squished between moms with strollers and couples with gigantic cameras. To make it more exciting, the crowd frequently had to part like the Red Sea to let gigantic horses or crowds of piglets walk through. Yet not once was anyone rude. People shifted aside to let children see, cracked jokes with each other, and were generally very cheerful. Good times were had by all.