“The Day I Felt Breton”  

A star of the Breton music scene, Erik Marchand remembers a stay in Romania in the early 1990s, a journey which became, for him, a revelation.

I am a musician. I am also a traveler. 

For more than forty years, I have regularly traveled to Eastern Europe and in particular to Romania, a fascinating country that I consider my second home. I went there several times since the 1980s, whether for personal or humanitarian reasons. But if I found myself in Romania, in the winter of 1990, even though the revolution had just ended and Ceaușescu had been executed, it was above all as the promoter of a festival that I had just co-created in Glomel, in Côtes-d'Armor (Brittany): La Recontre Internationale de la Clarinette Populaire. 

For the upcoming edition, I decided to bring back a taragot, a sort of wooden saxophone quite common in Romania, and incorporate it into an ensemble in central Brittany. This quest took me from one city to another. One afternoon in January I walked, alone, across a town called Brebu. By the greatest of coincidences, that day, in this village completely covered by snow, there was a ruga. A ruga is the exact equivalent of a Pardon in Brittany: a religious celebration followed by a dance party. 

When I arrived, I saw musicians - saxophonists, trumpeters, accordionists, singers - heading to the village hall. I listened and decided to follow them. Once in the hall, I got a strange feeling! The same neon lights and same colors on the ceiling: this place was an almost identical reproduction of the village hall at home, in Poullaouen, which I frequented so much! The dances followed one another and, just like in a Fest Noz, all social classes were mixed there. All ages were equally represented. Of course, I also noticed some differences - in a ruga the dancers move in the opposite direction than they do in a Fest Noz - but I still had this curious and pleasant impression of feeling at home.

Deep inside, something quite incredible was happening. I was 35 years old and, in the heart of Romania, one of the great forgotten countries of the political and economic revolutions of the end of the 20th century, I found the same popular élan as at home in Brittany! This Brittany which has not been forgotten and which, however, has intelligently managed to maintain this same popular culture! That day, finally, in that Brebu village hall, I suddenly became aware of one thing: I felt Breton. I felt like a Breton because I felt like I belonged to a popular culture that can and knows how to go beyond its own borders. As for the taragot that I came to look for, I ended up finding one. The day after this memorable day in Brebu, which acted as such a revelation, a friend found one for me.

This article was translated by me from a recent article from BRETONS magazine, pictured above right. 

~ Fañch