I checked my weather app once again, then I read the full Météo France forecast just to be sure.

In both English and French, the weather was going to be absolutely perfect for the weekend and Bastille Day—hurrah, youpi!

It mattered a lot because I had plans. I wanted to give Mark the full Bastille Day experience—not just the traditional 20-minute fireworks on July 14, but the whole shebang.

Low tide in La Baule, the extreme edition

France is officially unofficially on holiday from July 14 (Bastille Day) to August 15 (Assumption Day). This is the time of the year when you hear words like “Juilletistes” (people who go on vacation in July), Aoûtiens (people who go on holiday in August), “chassé-croisé des vacances” (when “Juilletistes” travel back home and “Aoûtiens” finally take time off, i.e., the busiest weekend on the roads) or “Bison Futé voit rouge” (inexplicably, the name of national traffic info centre is “Cunning Bull,” and “red” means “heavy traffic forecast”).

Like millions of French people, we spent July 13 at the beach. We took the train to very chic La Baule, where the tide was low, very, very low, so low that we just walked around the lighthouse between La Baule and Le Pouliguen.

Everybody was checking out the boats packed with fireworks—someone didn’t realize the tide was going to be that low, and they were easily accessible.

We also discovered that Posh La Baule people have a special low-tide hobby—cockle gathering. Seeing hundreds of people digging into the sand with a large sieve and a rake was pretty funny.

“Of all people, you’d think locals can afford seafood! Is this economy that bad?”

We took the very packed 5:38 p.m. train to make it to Nantes on time for my next Bastille Day plan—the Firemen’s Ball.

Mark’s first Firemen’s Ball

On July 13, fire stations all over the country throw a hell of a free party. If you had asked me five minutes ago why firefighters throw the hottest parties in France the night before Bastille Day, I would have shrugged and said, “parce que,” but I’ve just Googled it. Apparently, firefighters used to throw parties for the staff. Still, on July 14, 1937, some Parisians knocked on the door of the Montmartre fire station in Paris, and the fire station let in a curious and enthusiastic crowd. The rest is history. Now all French people expect their free Firemen’s Ball.

We have another Firemen’s Ball story in my family. I was usually in Saint-Michel, at my grandparents’ house, for Bastille Day. We used to go see the fireworks and go home until one year, in 1995 or 1996, I told my parents I was going with my friends to the Firemen’s Ball.

“Absolutely not,” my mum replied.

I was shocked because my mum rarely said “no,” mostly because I rarely asked for anything unusual. Thirteen-year-old me was innocent. I get it now. Three years later, I went to China by myself, and the Saint-Michel Firemen’s Ball became a running joke—“If you feel like going, I’m not stopping you!”

I had never been to Nantes’ Firemen’s Ball, so I decided to take Mark.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but certainly not that many people queuing to get in at only 8 p.m. We waited in line for about an hour, then I discovered that cameras were banned—I had my Nikon—but a nice firefighter waved me through with a big smile.

Nantes’ Firemen’s Ball is apparently the place to be on July 13. I had no idea that many people (over 10,000!) could fit into the station.

I was also expecting army-style rules, but…

“I smell weed, Mommy.”

(Yes, all Canadian kids know the smell of weed; it’s legal and you can get high just taking a walk around any neighbourhood…)

Yep. Weed, cigarettes and booze. This is how you party at the Firemen’s Ball. Mark loved his baguette hot dog and the band playing the kind of music anyone can dance to.

We walked back home way too late, but the party was great!

Next up, Bastille Day!