The burning of the King and the end of Carnival (8/8)

By Stephanie Sommers

Back safely in Nice, I again turned my attention to the Carnival, which came to an end on Sunday night. The burning of the king in the sea marks the end of the festivities and the start of Lent. Legend has it that by burning the King, he will then rise again next year from the ashes to reign once again during the Carnival.

It was one of the more frenzied nights we experienced so far. At 9 pm tens of thousands of revelers were gathered in Place Massena to escort the King to the sea, and with loud music playing everyone was again dancing in the streets, working themselves up for the ritual burning. The Silly String and confetti were flying everywhere; I had hoped that maybe they would have sold out of the stuff by the end but it was actually even worse this night. I saw one little girl of maybe 5 or 6 being completely covered by Silly String by her parents and elder siblings, and afterwards they threw confetti on her. My friend Gaby wondered aloud as to whether this might constitute child abuse, but the child seemed to be enjoying it.

When the King started to move, the crowd roared bloodthirstily and followed the King down to the sea. My friends and I raced ahead to the Promenade des Anglais to take pictures of the procession, and I got a good shot of the King as it turned the corner. Afterwards we realized that the crowds at the beach were so immense we would never be able to see the King out at sea.

This is where my official Carnival press badge truly came in handy. (Thank you Gary, for arranging that!) I found the most official-looking person in the crowds, flashed my badge and asked where the ‘press area’ was. We soon found ourselves in a private viewing area on the Promenade des Anglais, directly in front of the boats out at sea that were set up for the burning and the fireworks afterwards.

But the King was already out there! How was that possible when we had just left him at the corner? This is when I found out that they don’t actually burn the massive grotesque King we had all seen in the parades, but in instead an effigy made of paper maché. Considering that the real King is made mostly of hard plastic this actually makes sense.

As we waited, the crowds behind us grew more bloodthirsty and you could hear chants of “Brulé!” (Burn!) Suddenly the announcement came and there was a brief pause in the yelling and screaming as they lit the King on fire. As the fire took, the revelers found their voices again and they roared through the 5-6 minutes it took to burn the effigy. As the fire died down, so did the voices, save for one child’s voice who yelled out one last comment: “Au revoir, Sarkozy!” We all laughed. It is pretty evident, the longer I stay here, what most of the French think of Sarkozy at the moment. Personally I don’t think he’s that bad but the French president’s popularity certainly seems to be at a low point here in Nice. “Sa femme si belle”—his pretty wife, however, is all right, said the security guard sitting next to me.

Immediately after the King’s burning the fireworks began, and it was evident where a good portion of the Carnival budget was; these were ten times more spectacular than the Menton fireworks. Four boats out at sea shot off fireworks in tune to approximately ten different songs as we watched from our advantageous position. (Thanks again, Gary and the Nice Office de Tourisme!) The fireworks seemed to go on forever.

Then all of a sudden it was over, and as my friends and I waded our way through the Silly String-and-confetti-filled streets we noticed that the formerly frenzied crowd had lost its energy and vitality. Everyone shuffled back to their home or hotel. The party was over, and we all knew it was time to take off our masks and return to our real lives.