Wednesday in Tarare

Tarare is like a forgotten, hidden world.  Look it up on the internet.  There’s next to nothing about it – even the Wikipedia article is only a few lines.  There used to be factories there to do with the fabric industry, that much I do know, but exactly what each factory was for, I have no idea. 

When we first came here, about ten years ago, it was a dismal February morning.  We parked outside an abandoned factory whose broken windows and grey walls echoed the grey day.  The rain was coming down like a waterfall from a mud coloured sky.  The whole town felt sad and unloved. 

We went with Ricky and Regine to see the house they had just bought – an empty house, which needed a considerable amount of work to make it habitable, but the walls, floors and roof were sound, and the potential immense.  Nonetheless, I wondered if they were doing the right thing.

Ricky and Regine's House Now

Well, they were indeed doing the right thing!  Not only is their house transformed, but the whole town is, these days, vibrant and full of life. 

This year our visit has coincided with the end of the five yearly Fete des Mousselines.  Brightly coloured fabric hangs from balconies in swathes.  Bunches of fabric flowers adorn doorways and walls.  To walk through the centre of the town is to walk under a multicoloured fabric sky.  In the main square the fabric spins out from a central column like a giant maypole.  It’s fabulous.

Its not just a party to celebrate the fabric either, it’s a real community building exercise.  Each quarter of the town gets together and builds a float, which then parades through the town.  In doing so people meet others from their area and spend time together.  Old ladies who used to work with the cloth feel the texture of it between their fingers again, and share their memories.  

It seems to me that in being a bit overlooked, Tarare comes out as a winner.  People know each other and are safe.  Last night, walking back to our hotel, we passed down the main street.  A woman in her first floor window was having a conversation with another woman on her balcony, the other side of the road.  It feels like a good place to be.