La Fête de Lumières

We all know the drill: around the 1st of December (or earlier in a startling number of cases), suddenly our streets are coated in gigantic flashing snowmen and neon Santa Clauses, and every building we encounter wishes us a generic ‘Merry Xmas’ as we try not to get blinded on our way to catch the bus. It’s hard to imagine that this might not be the case worldwide – or hard perhaps to accept that it’s actually only us that delights in this flamboyant and electricity-draining tradition.

Needless to say, spending Christmas in France was a welcome respite from this great big merry headache. Decorations tend to be limited to understated fairy lights, and extravagant displays with mechanical reindeer and a manic looking Father Christmas are usually replaced by traditional Christmas markets and mulled wine vendors (there are exceptions to every rule of course). As for light spectacles, France seems to concentrate all its efforts into one explosive December event based in Lyon, ‘La Fête de Lumières’.

As I was living only an hour by train from France’s third largest city, it would have been unthinkable to miss this colossal festival. So at dusk, along with 4 million other visitors, we crowded into the heart of Lyon’s old town, where every window sill was fringed with fluttering candle flames and projections darted about from building to building.

It’s a far cry from Santa’s gaudy grotto at your local shopping mall. Every spectacle you see here is carried out with the greatest flair and infamous French sophistication – and the best part is it’s all completely free. In actual fact the festival isn’t historically linked to Christmas at all, but came about in the 17th century when the city was suddenly hit by the plague. The legend goes that after desperately praying to the Virgin Mary to save the city, their wishes were mysteriously granted, and from then onwards a celebration has always taken place in December to commemorate her kindness.

Traditionally this homage involved every household burning candles at their windows, but as more and more tourists were drawn towards the spectacle, the city council began to stage impressive light shows. Nowadays the effect is overwhelming. The festival’s proximity to Christmas means that every square is overflowing with wooden stalls selling vintage gifts and local produce, not to mention big steaming vats of mulled wine that infuse the air with a distinctive spicy smell. Borrowing some of that Alsatian Christmas charm, each market is brimming with a staggering array of cheeses, cured meats, pâtes de fruits, red wines and the occasional snail paté.

On the gigantic Place Bellecour, the permanent Ferris wheel is loaded hour upon hour with tourists desperate to get a glimpse of the dazzling effect created by all the glistening buildings. Crowning the hilltop to the west of the old town is the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière, glowing in blue and accompanied by the words ‘Merci Marie’ lit up to its right. Unfortunately many of Lyon’s own inhabitants have forgotten the origins of the event, but to some extent this homage to Mary’s act of mercy helps to prevent the commercial aspect of the festival from eclipsing its original intent.

Undoubtedly the climax of every visitor’s evening is the stunning light show held on the Place des Terreaux. Although it is repeated every fifteen minutes or so, the throngs of people pushing to get a place in the square become wedged in the entrance as police try to direct the previous viewers down another street. During my visit the main drag through the old town became so congested that people were climbing up onto traffic lights in an attempt to see what was happening, which was a performance in itself. Yet every minute we spent waiting was worth it – projections onto every façade in the square gave the impression of buildings toppling around us while horse silhouettes galloped from wall to wall. It was just a shame they had decided to accompany it with some dodgy operatic singing which must have infuriated anyone living close by.

During la Fête des Lumières, Lyon’s labyrinthine old town overflows with markets and projections and installations and light shows, all of which ignite its streets like a network of electrified wires. Every alleyway we glanced down was staging another spectacle – even an animated elephant’s behind in one case. But not one single flashing snowman. Street decorations: just one of many things that France manages to do more tastefully than Britain. We can only console ourselves with the notion that if we were to hold such an impressive and awe-inspiring festival, there would be no climbing on traffic lights. Our light shows, however tacky, would at least be preceded by an orderly queue.