Chapelles, balls and the seafront: Dunkirk Carnival's party life

The chapelle, carnival's warm heart

The chapelle is carnival's warm heart. Carnavaleux open up their house, their garage or a café to friends, for a bite to eat, a drink and a song before heading back out into the bande. You don't just walk into one like a bar: you go because you're invited, or with someone who knows the hosts.

The people hosting you are simply called "mon oncle" and "ma tante" (uncle and auntie).

On the table, the classics: onion soup, herrings, podingue (a raisin pudding), beultekaze (a head-cheese style pâté), pot'je vleesch, and plenty to drink. Some chapelles have become fixtures in their own right, like the one at the town hall on the morning of the fishermen's bande, or the Malo fire station's before the Bal de la Violette.

The Kursaal balls

In the evening, the party carries on at the Kursaal, in Malo, facing the sea. Each ball is run by a carnival association, often in aid of charity, a tradition going back to the mutual aid societies for the families of lost sailors. Several thousand carnavaleux in clet'ches dance until the early hours, between live bands and DJs. And just as in the bande, every hour ends with a big chahut, then the Cantate à Jean Bart, sung on bended knee by the whole room.

Tickets go on sale in advance at certain shops in Dunkirk, and the big balls sell out fast. For families, several towns also run daytime children's balls. The order of the big balls is on the guide's home page.

The avant-bal facing the sea

Before heading into the ball, everyone meets up for the avant-bal: at friends' places, in a bar, or even right on the Malo seafront. You finish your make-up, raise a glass, warm up your voice, then head for the Kursaal.

The avant-bal facing the sea is something to experience at least once. On the seafront, you cross paths with strangers who become friends for the length of a song, clink glasses with a moustachioed nurse or a giant lobster, and the laughter never stops all evening. Just looking at everyone's clet'ches is a show in itself: everyone competes on imagination, from fur coats to wigs, from sequins to impossible hats. The mood is warm, easy-going and good-natured. That's the spirit of carnival: you come to party together, not against each other.

On ball night, everyone carries their own reusable cup, and the seafront becomes one long open-air bar. You order a drink in one bar, finish it in the next, get it refilled in a third, and make your way along like that from one encounter to the next, all the way to the Kursaal's door. No glass out on the streets of the party: the reusable cup is the rule, and it's safer too.

From the first ball to the last

From the first ball of the season to the last, carnival weekends transform the Malo seafront. On both sides of the Kursaal, dozens of bars and restaurants push back their tables and chairs to become real nightclubs for the evening. Behind the decks, DJs run through the songs that get everyone singing, from the eighties to today. People come here before the ball to warm up, and sometimes stay all night without ever going into the Kursaal. And in the small hours, the chip shops on the Digue des Alliés car park wait for the last carnavaleux standing.

A few pointers: the queue for the Kursaal mostly forms between 10 pm and 11:30 pm, and can stretch right along the seafront. Keep your fur coat well fastened, the sea wind shows no mercy. The ball winds down around 5 or 6 in the morning, and the shock between the heat of the room and the sea air is an alarm clock all its own.

Punch, diabolo flamand and onion soup

Out in the street, bars serve beer, diabolo flamand and punch, sold by the litre to share (around €12 to €15 a litre in the 2026 season). Diabolo flamand is one part gin, topped up with lemonade, sometimes with a dash of violet syrup. A tip from the carnavaleux: you're here to party for the long haul, not to end your bande early.

And when the night is drawing to a close, tradition takes over: onion soup. After every ball, just as after every bande, it's enjoyed piping hot in a café that's stayed open, or in a chapelle. Along the seafront, plenty of places serve it, just what you need before heading home.

For a proper meal, the brasseries serve pot'je vleesch and carbonade flamande, and the chip shops hold their own all along the bande routes. Our favourite addresses are on the Where to eat page.

The zot'che

At carnival, the zot'che is part of the game: a little kiss on the lips, between carnavaleux, whoever they are. It's a gesture of good fellowship, not seduction. Nobody is obliged to say yes, and a smile is enough to decline: no offence taken.

Even the police are smiling

Here, even the police are all smiles. Carnavaleux gently chahut them, ask them for zot'ches, and the officers happily pose for photos and play along. Along the seafront, you'll often spot Belgian police patrolling alongside their French colleagues, cousins keeping an eye on things together, which only adds to the good mood. For a party that draws such a crowd, the atmosphere stays remarkably good-natured, and that's the whole spirit of carnival.

The smells of carnival

Along the seafront, don't be surprised if someone hands you a leek: you bite into it, everyone laughs, and you smell of leek for the rest of the night. At carnival, smells become part of the memory. Then there's the smoked herring, caught at the town hall throw and sometimes forgotten in a clet'che pocket... until next year. You've been warned.

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