A British expat in Nice: dancer

Yesterday was the 7th annual Fete du Port in Nice - basically a big party where they celebrate having a port. Which is nice. The local restaurants all send out their chefs to provide either a starter, a main course or a desert for apparently €5 each - the queues for entry to the Official Food Seats was huge though, and none of the food looked that appetizing, so we didn't bother. We had curry instead, from a curry takeaway place that had opened at the other end of the port.

Queues:

There were all sorts of local food stalls outside the Official Food Place, and a blacksmith, who was making pretty things with a hammer and fire. (I liked him.)

There was a singer with very moveable eyebrows:

There was a parade, too. With some of the most brilliant things - and many, many bubbles. There were people in a bubble, spinning endlessly and dancing:

And giant floating jellyfish:

There were people on stilts in brilliant costumes:

There were people who danced along holding hands and skipping:

There were mad people on bikes with many, many bubbles:

There were old Italian people who started off by singing mournfully as they marched along with their cart full of broken chairs, but disappointed me cruelly by not singing the whole night. I like to imagine their little village in Italy as being full of old people singing to themselves as they wander around in traditional costume carrying wool and broken chairs. No wonder they look miserable.

There was a happy inflatable octopus:

There was a Giant Disco Ball Of Doom, suspended from a crane:

There was also a play. I suspect (hope!) it may be a uniquely French thing to try and educate people at what ought to be a party, but there was a play in 3 acts, telling people the story of Nice's joining France. With elderly musicians accompanying. And poor jokes. It was delightful in a surreal kind of way. For about 5 minutes.

The professor from the play, before my brain started screaming at me to move away from the history lesson:

There were lights reminding us where we were, and what year it was:

There was a brilliant story teller, who was telling the same story, but much more energetically and focused on food. She was awesome - I was dragged away after a while because the other people were bored, but I'd have sat there all night listening to her tell me about 1860s Nice. Fantastic woman.