{"id":2142,"date":"2025-07-07T15:23:27","date_gmt":"2025-07-07T15:23:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/?p=2142"},"modified":"2025-07-14T22:05:25","modified_gmt":"2025-07-14T22:05:25","slug":"avance-the-tale-of-blanchette","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/avance-the-tale-of-blanchette\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cAvance!\u201d The tale of Blanchet"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Text by Jack Glagola<\/a><\/b><\/p>\n

Photo and videos courtesy of Arthur Humeau<\/strong><\/p>\n

In Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a seaside village in Provence, they know me as Blanchet. It means \u201cwhite one,\u201d because of my fair skin, and it\u2019s the name I earned after winning a bull game. <\/span><\/p>\n

It was a Sunday, the last day of the F\u00eate Votive in the Camarguais town. Jean-Fran\u00e7ois Baron, the son of the family I\u2019m staying with, insisted on having me participate in a bull game. He was disappointed that the running of the bulls was only for the <\/span>gardians, <\/span><\/i>the French cowboys, but he noted that the <\/span>course au plan<\/span><\/i> was open to everyone.<\/span><\/p>\n

Pressing up against the walls of the arena, constructed for the moment out of metal barriers and wood pallets, were hundreds of locals of all ages, waiting for the bulls (and their champion) to appear. I wanted to join the people in the water slipping in and out of the arena, splashing to attract the bull\u2019s attention.<\/span><\/p>\n

https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/Jack_post_videoclip.mp4<\/a><\/video><\/div>\n

\u201cAvance!\u201d the other guys cried, prodding me forward. Avance! I went into the water. Avance! I got up to the shore. Avance! The announcer noticed a foreigner approaching the bull, a foreigner he called \u201cBlanchet.\u201d Avance! I got on the sand. Avance! What little of \u201cFrancitan,\u201d the regional Franco-Occitan dialect, I could understand from the announcer, as well as the other guys, told me to back off. I sensed the bull\u2019s deliberation. He graciously opted not to charge and circled the arena before retiring to the trailer.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now the crowd really wanted me to get into the ring. Fear flitted away as one of the locals guided me, my steps long and robotic, up on shore and atop the hay bales. The announcer noticed \u201cBlanchet\u201d was ready to fight. I heard that name and realized it was me they were talking about. I liked the sound of it. <\/span><\/p>\n

The bull emerged and looked for his target. I beat my chest, I hooted, I taunted him with a red ribbon, and he charged. I fled for the second time, and the bull hung around for a bit before retreating to the trailer. Four of us mounted the hay, while the <\/span>gardians<\/span><\/i> goaded the next bull with their long tridents.<\/span><\/p>\n

Out came the bull, blood mixed with saliva dripping from his mouth; he was furious and began his cautious approach to our island of straw, each step leaving a seething mark in the sand. It was then my instincts kicked into action, that part of my brain most concerned with survival in the face of wild, horned beasts. Jean-Fran\u00e7ois joined me atop the hay bales. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cTap your feet, tap your hands on the hay!\u201d the announcer said. The bull waited. He watched. The vibrations reached his ears. He charged! Horns plunged into the bales, he thrashed and rent the hay into the air. One of our companions tripped while escaping; the bull dealt a small blow to his back with his muzzle. <\/span><\/p>\n

It was just Jean-Fran\u00e7ois and me now \u2014 the arena was a wreck. Our pillar was no more than a flattened hayrick, and we stood on the opposite side, careful not to break the line of sight. He circled the pile. We held close in front, racing away in circles before breaking into the charging waves and ascending the barrier to safety. This was the final straw for the bull, who ran right back to the trailer, <\/span>gardians<\/span><\/i> closing the door behind him. <\/span><\/p>\n

Thus the fight concluded. The announcer wanted Blanchet to come up and speak! In Francitan, the older gentleman asked me my name \u2014 Jack; where I was from \u2014 Richmond (they knew where it was!); and how I came to France \u2014 by airplane from Lebanon, where my family lives. Then they asked me to sing them a song: I hesitated, flipping through my mental Rolodex of familiar tunes. I wanted to sing something French, and I considered \u201cLa Marseillaise\u201d but ultimately landed on \u201cLe temps de l\u2019amour\u201d by the late singer-songwriter Fran\u00e7oise Hardy. Applause rang up over the arena, and I think the bulls liked my raspy rendition, too. <\/span><\/p>\n

No triumph goes uncelebrated \u2014 on the drive back to Arles after a dinner of moules frites and pastis, I reeked of bull, straw and salty sweat and seawater, the last vestiges of adrenaline filtering out of my veins.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Text by Jack Glagola Photo and videos courtesy of Arthur Humeau In Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer, a seaside village in Provence,<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":45,"featured_media":2143,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[17,132],"class_list":["post-2142","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-postcards","tag-arles","tag-editors-pick"],"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/Jack_post_1.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2142","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/45"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2142"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2142\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2466,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2142\/revisions\/2466"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2143"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2142"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2142"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/projects.ieimedia.com\/2025arles\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2142"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}