CARNIVAL AT NICE

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 4046, 26 April 1932, Page 7

CARNIVAL AT NICE

THE NAVAL BATTLE OF FLOWERS It is the spring time. The little harbour of Villetranehe snr Mer —which has been one of the Mediterranean tree ports for centuries—is almost crowded out. It is the eve of the Naval Hattie of Flowers-—coming as a finale to the celebrated Nice Carnival, itself a combination of the old Roman Saturnalia (writes “ Hauba,” in the ‘ Sydney Morning Herald ’). A visiting squadron of the American fleet has lain in the basin lor some weeks. The little quaint town of steps and arches and passages, so loved by artists, lias wakened each morning to the strains of ‘ The Star Spangled Banner’ when “ Old Glory was unfurled —and the beloved and adored 1 Marseillaise.’ Now the American squadron is joined by the French Mediterranean squadron, which comes each year at this time, from manoeuvres, for relaxation, and to take in stores. The harbour seems one mass of floating things, the gaily dressed yachts and pleasure boats and the large Italian liners forming a contrast to the great stern grey battleships, torpedo boats, and cruisers of the fleets. On the Cap Fcrrat side of the bay he the yachts of the foreigners, who have come to take a hand. Every ship is cn fete, every flag scorns to have been brought out. The colour effect is almost bewildering. From dawn the little town has been astir. Carts of all descriptions arcmassed in the market square. These, mostly drawn by asses, have brought the peasantry from all the countryside. Women are seen in the old Nicor’s costume. wearing the flat straw hat, with its embroidered woollen flounces and flowing ends of ribbon. This is \illefranebe’s day of days, and the Quay itself is unforgettably gay. Cart loads of flowers have been arriving since the day before, to be used for decorating the boats. So many flowers. Can there be one flower left abloom in all Provence 5 . There is gaiety everywhere. Soon the real carnival crowd will come —than which nothing can be gayer, nothing can be more cosmopolitan. A Riviera carnival crowd is “ tout 1c mond ” in very essence. The afternoon brings train loads of revellers from up and down the Riviera. To see a carnival train cn route is a joy in itself. They are always overcrowded —people throng on to the platforms of the carriages. Some in their gay carnival dresses are seen standing on the footboards. All loads lead to the basin, where one by one the competing boats come in. Each one seems lovelier than the last. The boats look different somehow; even their shapes seem altered under their decoration of masses of flowers. At 4 o’clock the parade begins. How impossible it seems, amidst such a plethora of beauty, to single out any particular boat and adjudge it a prize. Here comes one. A floating glory of mimosa —having for cargo a bevy of gailydressed women and laughing officers in their rich uniforms. Roses, calendulas, lilac, anemones, and violets. Great tiger lilies and carnations —each more beautiful than the other. As they pass close to the stands erected round the basin, flowers are showered on and from the boats. Every onlooker joins in the fragrant battle. How impossible not to be gay. The air is filled with the scent of blossoms, the eyes are dazzled with the beauty of it all. The scene is one of unparalleled glory as the sun, now beginning to sink behind the Cap Fcrrat headland, sends its crimson rays over the scene and lights up the flowerdecked boats and the beautiful women. In the twilight one regretfully leaves it all. Most of the mad happy throng rush for the trams, which arc to carry them on to the gay City of Nice, where the carnival is dying hard. _ For those of us who are domiciled in Villetranehe, and for many who are invited to dinners and dances on the ships, the gaiety still goes on. The sounds of laughter and dance music float up the streets oi the little town. Every ship’s hospitality must he strained to the utmost. Naval hospitality is world-renowned, and sailormen famous all the world over for their propensities for enjoyment. Not till the quite small hours of the morning do the ships’ boats cease plying to and from the Quay, with their loads of tired, happy guests.