Verão – Oh man, it’s hot

No verão o povo aqui na roça francesa vai aos brocantes –  feiras de bugiganga; os vendedores variando de gente que vive disso e tem barracas e mesas e tudo até o camarada que resolveu desentulhar um pouco a casa e põe os trens num plástico sobre a grama. Depois, há muitos eventos bombásticos, a festa da framboesa, o campeonato de bocha (petanque), a festa da música da vila, com apresentação da turma de dança country (pensa em vergonha alheia) e muitas bandinhas de adolescentes que fazem (bons) covers de bandas americanas – mas é bizarro ouvir I’m on the highway to hell nesta pacata, meio senil na verdade, vila da Normandia. Em todo caso no fundo a ideia é ficar fora das casas, que em sua maioria não foram construídas pra esse calor todo, mesmo porque têm em média, bá, sei lá, 100 anos?

E nalgum momento o guri encontrou o colega de escola, cuja família estava comendo barbecue e tomando uma cerveja, e os dois começaram a brincar de pega pega enquanto a bela voz de uma Lana Del Rey francesa enchia a rua principal da vila e os italianos do circo vendiam raspadinha de cores fluorescentes e pá, o tempo pára, os meninos riem, mudam de direção abruptamente e tudo parece perfeito por um instante.

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In suumer here in the French countryside people enjoy going to the brocantes – basically a collective garage sale, but in a public place, sellers ranging from professionals who have all the gear, tents, tables etc., to people who put stuff that was cluttering their homes on plastic on the grass. And then there are events like, say, the raspberry festival, the petanque tournament, and the music feast of the village, in which the class of country dance performs (much to my second-hand embarrassment) and teenage bands do (good) covers of American bands – and oh, how weird it is to listen to Highway to Hell in this really peaceful, kind of senile village in Normandy. But ok, the basic idea is to stay out of the houses/apartments, which were definitely not built for this climate (and how could they, since they are in average at least 100 years old, I guess).

But the kid meets his school friend whose family was having barbecue and beer, and they chase each other while the beautiful voice of some French Lana Del Rey echoes in the main street of the village and the Italians who came with the circus sell ice cream in fluorescent colors, and then bang, time stops, kids laugh and chance direction suddenly, and everything looks perfect for a moment.

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