Allez les Bleus!
One of the most exciting things about spending a summer in Europe is that it’s fairly easy to travel around the Old Continent and explore its wonders. For me, it’s also a chance to go home. With the Thalys train—which links France, Belgium, and the Netherlands—it only took me three hours to travel from The Hague to Paris. Arriving in Gare du Nord (one of Paris’s main train station) late on Friday, I was struck by the shear number of people in the streets. As the sun sets around 10:00pm during summertime, people converge to cafés as soon as they leave work and tend to stay out pretty late. Crowded terraces, beautiful sunsets, and rosé everywhere, that is the beauty of Paris in the summer.
Of course, I’m always thrilled to go home, but this weekend was particularly exciting since France was playing its fourth World Cup game on Saturday. And what a game! I’m usually not one for soccer, but this particular one was definitely worth watching. My friends and I decided to go to a place called Monsieur Mouche (which takes its name from Peter Pan’s Mr. Smee) to watch our team play against Argentina. Located in the very heart of the city, this bar occupies the top floor of a boat, or “péniche,” and has an incredible view of the Seine River and of the Eiffel Tower.
While some clichés aren’t true—no, we do not wear berets or walk around with baguettes under our arms all the time—I have to admit that some might be somewhat founded. For example, one cannot deny that we do drink wine and eat cheese whenever we get a chance. A soccer game is no exception—it’s actually the perfect excuse to do so. As such, we all gathered around charcuterie and cheese boards to watch what commentators are already calling one of the greatest World Cup games of all time.
Although I’m no soccer expert, I know enough to say that this game was indeed incredible. At half time, Argentina was leading 2-1, and we all thought that France was going to be eliminated right then and there. But “les Bleus” (our team’s nickname) managed to completely overturn the game scoring four magnificent goals. When Benjamin Pavard scored the equalizing goal, everyone realized that we actually had a chance to win this thing. More than that, for the first time since Zinedine Zidan’s headbutt in the Cup’s final in 2006, we finally dared to believe in our team again.
When 19-year old Kylian Mbappé scored two goals within a few minutes, cheers were so loud that you could hear crowds chanting the famous slogan “qui ne saute pas n’est pas français” (“who isn’t jumping isn’t French”) throughout the city. Mexican supporters might have made the earth shake so vividly as to simulate an earthquake a few days ago, but I can assure you that Paris on Saturday was no different.
France is not a land of patriotism like America is. We love our country and are proud to be French, but I’ve always thought that Americans have a way to care for their nation that is unparalleled in this world. On Saturday, however, French pride made Paris shine brighter than usual—and that is saying something. I’m still no soccer fan, but I do have to admit that sports has this particular way to make one feel pride and joy like nothing else. It also has the power to unite nations and encourage camaraderie throughout the world, which might be just what we need right now.
For some time now, France seemed to have lost its touch, left behind its glory days. Today, people are still chanting “liberté, égalité, Mbappé” in the streets. Now all is left to do is hope that this wasn’t a one-time stroke of genius. Messi is kaput and a French team was born. So don’t cry for your team, Argentina—there’s always 2022.
