My night turned out to be full of surprises. For the first half, I was hosted by a lovely Maori family who let me share their family home intimacy for shots in exchange for a crepe dinner. There was as much action in the living room as on the screen as brother and sister, wearing All Black T-shirts, kept playing with their oval ball across the lounge.
Mum and dad kept a smile on their faces but, when I left them at halftime and the All Blacks had scored only five, I could feel the mood was a bit mellow. It wasn't going to be that easy. I was the first one to be surprised. Being a product of my culture, I had been rather pessimistic and thought the All Black would crush us straight from the start.
I jumped in the car and sped up to Tikipunga Tavern before the game started again. I have to admit, I delighted in driving way above the speed limit. I knew it would be the only 20 minutes of the year when I could afford it without running the risk of getting caught by police.
I would have been very unlucky, but they would have been doubly unlucky to be at work during this historic moment.
Outside Tikipunga Tavern, I was about to enter when "are you French?" asked the gentlemen who had just parked at the same time.
I was wearing my country's colours so that was an easy guess.
"I hope the French win," he said.
I looked at him with big round eyes. This was the last thing I expected to hear from a Kiwi mouth.
"I bet 200 bucks on them."
The game hadn't started yet, I just had time to get a beer. Another Maori gentleman asked me where I was from. When I told him, he could not help asking: "Do you eat frogs?"
I refrained from replying "yes, every day for breakfast".
Instead, I told him: "I don't, but some people still do."
"Hey, I can't understand the point, there's nothing to eat on them."
I totally agreed with him.
However, later in the night, my mind wandered back in time.
His ancestors ate kiore, there wasn't much meat there either. I guess back in those days people didn't have McDonald's whether in France or Aotearoa ... I found a spot for my glass and checked out the place.
The game started again. People welcomed my camera surprisingly well. I felt bad, I didn't ask everyone if it was OK to take shots, but they were a noisy lot and I felt shy. When I started shooting, most of the old guys cheered.
As the ball seemed to stay a lot in French hands, I could read tension and anxiety on faces.
Then they really dropped when Dusautoir got a try. Kiwi bums started to feel the heat and there were some pretty worried looks around the room. Mouths twisted and eyes were glued to the screen. I moved outside, where there was a happy bunch. Later, as we got closer to the end, these guys displayed a good sense of humour: "Are you viciously waiting to catch our tears on your pictures?"
Then the All Blacks won.
I shot, shot, shot people's joy. But what moved and stunned me the most is something only a French woman would notice.
For the first time in six years, I saw men and woman, all middle-aged and older, publicly hugging each other and even better - exchanging looks of real tenderness. Only winning the Rugby World Cup could operate such a miracle.
Alleluia! Bravo les All Blacks!
