Bastille Day was party day; a street parade in the main town to celebrate the Bastille thingy and a 60th birthday party at the yacht club in the evening.
We dressed up as pirates for the Bastille Day street parade. As you do if the Yacht Club where you're staying asks for support for their entry. The parade was bigger then we'd expected. It was like a carnival parade with flat bed tucks with drummers and marching groups from the local school, the tennis club (carrying tennis racquets), the yacht club dressed as pirates, the canine society with dogs in t-shirts, the fishing community whose truck was loaded with big fishing robs and fresh caught bonito (we speculated if they would notice if we 'borrowed' one of the big rods, or a fish), formation marching scouts & guides and staff groups from each of the major hotels. We came down the street and through the town square (more sand patch) past a seated line up of Government and local worthies. The Government worthies were a tourist attraction in themselves; the mayor in a loud floral shirt, an army bigwig who'd come as de Gaulle in a cepe, head of the police force, local worthies in their best, and hot, formal lounge suits and war medals and their lovely wives. In place of honour next to the floribund mayor and De Gaulle, Miss Bora Bora and Miss Bora Bora runner up flashing an excess of thigh.
The parade was over, flags lowered and raised, speeches made (and most of Bubbles rum drunk) by 9.30am so we went back to the boat to rest before the party. It was skipper Eric from Osso Blanco's 60th and the yacht club was hosting a potluck BBQ. The club opened up the bar, fired up the barbie and 100 thirsty and hungry cruisers descended with something to cook on the BBQ and a dish to share. David and I were on the go all night chatting with people we'd either passed in the day, or perhaps someone we'd met before. Interestingly the more west we get the more Australian and NZ boats we're meeting. The Caribbean was American and Canadian retirees. The Pacific is a younger crowd, lots of young couples travelling with their children, though there are still plenty of silvertops (over 50s). The guy who's birthday it was looked 10 years older then 60. His fit, young wife and young children may have added the extra wrinkles. Still he was game enough to dance with the local dancers she'd hired. We wobbled home log after cruiser's midnight (9.30pm) happy, stuffed and a bit squiffy. All in all an excellent Bastille Day.
We dressed up as pirates for the Bastille Day street parade. As you do if the Yacht Club where you're staying asks for support for their entry. The parade was bigger then we'd expected. It was like a carnival parade with flat bed tucks with drummers and marching groups from the local school, the tennis club (carrying tennis racquets), the yacht club dressed as pirates, the canine society with dogs in t-shirts, the fishing community whose truck was loaded with big fishing robs and fresh caught bonito (we speculated if they would notice if we 'borrowed' one of the big rods, or a fish), formation marching scouts & guides and staff groups from each of the major hotels. We came down the street and through the town square (more sand patch) past a seated line up of Government and local worthies. The Government worthies were a tourist attraction in themselves; the mayor in a loud floral shirt, an army bigwig who'd come as de Gaulle in a cepe, head of the police force, local worthies in their best, and hot, formal lounge suits and war medals and their lovely wives. In place of honour next to the floribund mayor and De Gaulle, Miss Bora Bora and Miss Bora Bora runner up flashing an excess of thigh. 
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