“We won't see the party-goers any time soon”: after Saint-Louis Monday, Sète wakes up a little dazed

The oars come out of the town hall, a sign that the Saint-Louis is well and truly over. Midi Libre – Thomas Ancona-Léger

The Saint-Louis is slowly ending. After the Grand Prix the day before, Sète wakes up a little shaken by all these emotions. Morning chronicle of a city and its canal.

“It disinfects dry !” On this Tuesday morning after the Saint-Louis Grand Prix, the shopkeepers on Rue Gambetta have brought out all their cleaning equipment. In front of their shop window, everyone is struggling to remove the traces of the excesses of the night before. Like Sonia, a saleswoman at Kampang who, mop in hand, cleans her shop front. “Fortunately, it's only once a year, but we can say that they didn't hold back.” They are the big absentees this morning: the party-goers who are still in their beds, but whose traces still dot the city's streets, despite Nicollin's teams working flat out since the start of the festivities.

“Treating the disease with evil"

A little further on, on the corner of the street, a team of contractors is dismantling the bodega of the Le Flore brewery. A pungent smell of urine mixes with the aroma of pastis and fills the air as the sun rises. “We've been here since 7am, we went to bed early enough yesterday to be able to handle today”, explains a handler, who admits “he can't smell it anymore, by dint of it”. Empty plastic pitchers, exploded cups, ripped open cocaine bags… The evening's leftovers lead us straight to two friends who, on the steps of the market hall, “treat evil with evil”.

A can of beer for one, a bottle of sparkling wine for the other, they are engaged in a big discussion about dog training. “We haven't slept for two days, it's starting to be a lot but we're holding up”, explains one of them. Face crimson from the sun as much from alcohol, his companion abounds: “We're going to relax at the beach this afternoon”, before changing his mind, “but we don't have a parasol, maybe it's not a good idea”.

The Ghost of the Jousters

Near the quays, other handlers are dismantling the grandstand of the Civette bridge. Before removing the last stands, some of them take a moment to pause, just to admire one last time the view of the Cadre Royal where the ghost of the jousters still seems to be frolicking. Next to the statue, an old man is still holding the program of the festivities and is looking into the green waters of the canal.

He alone seems to embody the state of mind of the city on this Tuesday morning: a bit melancholic after all the emotions of the last few days, but also relieved that it is all over. That's what Nicole and Jean-Paul, two retirees from Sète who we met by chance on the street, think. “It was a really great party, but we're glad it's over”, Nicole confides. “Boom-boom music isn't really our thing. Let's just say that five days a year is acceptable”, adds Jean-Paul.

Citrate de betaine

In the Grande pharmacie des Halles, the earliest customers rush to the counter with their prescriptions. “We won't see the party-goers any time soon, they'll arrive around noon”, assures one of the saleswomen who claims that some have even stocked up on “paracetamole” before the festivities. However, she believes she has noticed “an increase in demand for betaine citrate in recent days”: sometimes there are signs that don't lie.

In Rue Gambetta, shopkeepers have finished cleaning their storefronts. It is now 9:30 a.m. and passers-by are starting to flock in. Little by little, the street comes alive, the traces of the party disappear and life resumes its course. Slowly, like a Tuesday after the Grand Prix.

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