A (bi)cultural Christmas Countdown.

The earlier mentioned sneaking passage of time marked by the debut of the festive season only became more apparent as the month of December passed by. Indeed, the countdown to Christmas was not so much a stealthy advancement than a hurtling sprint to the finish line. And alas it is 3 days until Christmas, and I am writing this from the decidedly more English climes of Solihull!

After being greeted by the paparazzi (aka my brother and his instructions to capture the moment) at Birmingham Arrivals, I returned to the essentials of a sejour chez les Grace - a proper cup of tea, my cat (who seems to have forgotten I live here) and my dressing gown. Parfait. Thus installed, I finally have time to take stock of the last few weeks, the run-up to Christmas, version Alsacienne. 
The highlights were as follows: 

Les marchés de Noel. Alsace is definitely not short of its wooden huts, twinkling lights and festive atmosphere. Not to mention more mulled wine (or a discovered delicious apple-juice alternative) and bredele and mannele than the entire population of the region could consume. At Christmas Alsatians take even more of an opportunity than normal to bake, and eat. With gingerbread, christmas brioche, and christmas biscuits being just the tip of the (climatically relevant) iceberg, safe to say even Santa and his nine reindeer wouldn't go without.  

I would say my favourite market was in Ribeavillé, a petite version brimming with a charm augmented by the cobbled streets, surrounding snow-covered vineyards and quaint coloured houses. In line with the village’s history, it also took a mediaeval theme, making it stand out from the usual commercial affair. Lively music and costumed-dances made this Christmas market even more of a novelty.

“Weihnacht aus den zillertal” – Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more linguistically confused, I went to a Christmas concert not in French, Alsatian, or even German! It was actually an Austrian group named “Da zillertaller und die Geigerin” singing in a local dialect that must have confused even tri-lingual in the room. Safe to say I did not understand the lyrics, but this did not detract from the mellow folk style and accompanying harp and violin that made it an interesting but thoroughly enjoyable spin on your usual Christmas carol affair! And at the end I was treated to a brief moment of comprehension with the ending note delivered in German. Even if I couldn’t join in, I at least recognised the rousing chorus of “Stille Nacht”.

“Romeo and Juliet” - à la Française. My last evening in Alsace was spent watching another interesting spin on something familiar and traditional, a French interpretation of one of my Shakespearean favourites! Initially hesitant about seeing something so familiar inevitably reworked to a considerable extent, I am pleased to say that The Filature at Mulhouse did not let me down with their banlieue- setting, balanced and coherent mix of original script and contemporary dialogue and stylised performance complete with dancers and acrobats.

My only complaint would be that they tried a little to hard to elevate the tension with harsh lighting and loud sound effects, which at moments left me feeling uncomfortable and perhaps detracted from the drama found in the dialogue itself. But alas, I’m not a theatre critic. And they held our attention for 3 hours without an interval, so hats off to them!

Other less cultural highlights included a house-move that left me once more finding the perfect way to hang my bunting and the perfect wall for my post-card collection, a slightly stressful school trip to Strasbourg which resulted in some interesting history for me but also considerable time spent searching for mischievous run-away pupils, and a Christmas nativity performed not just by adorable pre-school children, but French ones at that.

Thus flew by the countdown to Christmas, with the journey luckily not so rapid as to leave me without some (crucial) lessons in how Alsace does Christmas…

1. Mincemeat is not to be found in French supermarkets. A disappointing discovery when hit by the impulse to do some Christmas baking.

2. Children open their presents on Christmas Eve. This completely destroys the giddy Christmas Eve excitement and 5am wake up, non?

3. No-one knows the names of Santa’s Reindeer. It’s not fair that Rudolph gets all the glory.

Such vital lessons left me even more excited to be deposited on familiar territory in time for some English festivity. After a month of activity I am content to indulge in some Christmas-spiced taking-it-easy.

Someone pass me a mince pie. 

Much-much, oh, ever so much-much thanks.

“Don't grumble! Don't stew! Some critters are much-much,
Oh, ever so much-much
So muchly much-much more unlucky than you!” (Dr Seuss, “Did I ever tell you how lucky you are”)

Oh give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever! (Psalm 107)

It has come to my attention that I am a grumbling critter. Having always enjoyed having an excuse for a good moan, it is since being in France that my tutting, sighing, whingeing behaviour has been taken to a new extreme; with the most recent cause of complaint being of course the snow (and his friend the bitter cold). Also up there on the list has been boredom derived from too little work, swapped occasionally for the fatigue derived from doing too much, with the irony of this showing how easily I find a source of complaint.

On Thursday evening I volunteered at a Christmas party hosted by a local organisation that provides temporary accommodation for asylum seekers. The 13 families currently living at the centre enjoyed a meal, dancing and presents for the children. The joy they derived from simple food, warmth, company, and a convivial atmosphere makes me question my discontented attitude. Compared to the sort of some, my perceived woes are trivial. And standing next to my reasons for joy, I think its time to stop stewing and start giving thanks.

Things I am thankful for today …

1. My new lodgings are pupil-free, with sufficient light…. not to mention right at the top of a Chateau.

2. I have a home on this earth that is not going anywhere, and its 5 days and counting until two weeks in its comfort.

3. I can receive emails that mean I am up to date with all the crucial day-to-day details.

4. I have made new friends, with people I never would have even envisaged meeting.

5. I have a handful of motivated pupils that, with an enthusiastic “good morning” in the corridor make the battle against apathy a little easier.

7.  I get to indulge my geeky pleasure of learning new words on a daily basis.

I could go on, and I think I still have some way to go before my cup is half full. The good news is that my number 8 – that I am in receipt of the love that endures – does not change with season, country, or even when I fail and have a good moan. This grumbling critter is still loved. For that I am thankful.

Blessed.

Today I had the utmost pleasure of receiving my advent calendar, arriving in one piece from Birmingham. This not only brought joy in that I can commence the countdown in the appropriate manner tomorrow, but was also a comforting reminder that some things don’t have to change. If my parents still send it by airmail, I think it’s a sign I will never outgrow the ritual.   As the festive season takes hold, I am confronted with the realisation that time has begun to play its usual trick of sneaking stealthily by, living us blissfully unaware of the passing of days, weeks and even months. We are not quite at winged chariots just yet*, but Christmas seems a lot nearer than it did this time last week. This is also heightened by the fact that in Alsace the countdown began before December did, with decorations up and marchés in their timber-hutted swing from last weekend.

Thus we arrive at a critical juncture, and I feel an appropriate point to revisit an idea from back in October. My attentive readers will remember I set myself the challenge to experience a veritable voyage by having new eyes on my situation and experiences.  And looking back, I think I’m making progress… crises are now manageable difficulties, things I bemoaned have become blessings, and cheesy as it sounds, there begins to be some sunshine (if of the frosty-winter sort) behind the formally black clouds.

In particular, and in testament of Gods faithful answer to prayer, the L word need no longer be en majuscules.  My loneliness derived from a lack of friends, or even other humans to fulfil the basic need of company and conversation (and a cup of tea if there is one going…). Two months on, new eyes on my situation reveal that I am not as isolée as I first thought. I have been blessed firstly with a church that not only provides the stability of a family that doesn’t change (even if the teaching and songs are in another language….), but the opportunity to forge new relationships that I could not have previously envisaged.  In particular, I have had the pleasure of getting to know some of the more ‘experienced’ members of the community. Not quite the friends and social life I immediately would have liked, but at a second look perhaps even more valuable. I have been shown such kindness by people willing to talk, share meals, tell me stories about themselves, and ask questions too.  This Thursday I spent the afternoon chez Simone et Jean Pierre, a couple in their later years who have now three times invited me into their home.  The suggested activity was definitely a hit with me (we baked Bredela , or les petits gateaux de noel… aka traditional Alsatian Christmas biscuits!), which provided both welcome company and things to do (numbers 1 and 2 on my shopping list most days). However, it was not just recipes that I took from this baking spree.  It added to a growing realisation that my time here may not always be exciting and full of activity, but the components of a memorable experience perhaps take a more subtle form.  I am privileged to be able to simply spend time with people I wouldn’t normally. Simone and Jean Pierre are of a different generation, social background, nationality, culture, language… on the surface we couldn’t be any more different.  However it is learning from, and seeing the value of, such difference that constitutes a veritable voyage.  It may not be what I was expecting, but with fresh eyes it brings more than an answer to loneliness.  I may not be having the “year abroad experience” raved about (to me existing only in myth) but I have a feeling it is the seemingly insignificant conversations, small acts of kindness, and an afternoon spent baking that I will remember.

*Andrew Marvell, "To his coy mistress" ("Had we but world enough and time... /But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near") ... Reference to the evocation of the swift passage of time, in a poem i rather like, but with the knowledge that its not all that relevant to this post.

You can read the whole thing if you're keen.... 

All book-ed out.

This weekend I went to the annual Salon du livre in Colmar. With 25,000 visitors each year, it was a ‘book fair’ of rather large (and French) proportions. It consisted of expositions, stalls, interviews and meetings with authors, and of course more books than I thought was possible under one roof. Being very English and very much an amateur (in the French sense of the word…) I of course did not recognise any of the authors present, or the works discussed, but this did not restrain my excitement in any way.  Anyone who knows of my long-held (*idealistic) project to one day have my very own miniature library chez moi (alphabetized and categorised by language and genre….oh, and with a highly functional sliding ladder) will appreciate that simply being surrounded by book-lovers and the specimens themselves was enough to render the visit worthwhile.

What’s more, just when I was content with perusing the stalls and soaking up the bookish atmosphere, I ended up taking more from the event than originally anticipated. I had decided to purchase the novel of a Francophone African author, after watching an interview and being intrigued by his works set in the Congo. I realised it was about time I broadened my literary horizons beyond the continent and this seemed the perfect excuse to give into my book-buying compulsion (after all, I couldn’t attend such an event and leave without new material). As I was in the process of parting with cash well spent, the said author sat down in front of me and asked if I had any questions. Being a simple amateur du livre I of course did not, and thus followed a slightly awkward exchange in which I laid all cards on the table and admitted my French literary ignorance but mere desire to read, and in this case, read something a bit different. Luckily this was well received, and I parted not only with a new novel to enjoy, but a signed one at that. Win-win all round.  Another more random highlight happened earlier in the day. Whilst browsing, I noticed a stall devoted to Joseph Joffo, author of Un Sac de Billes, the first French novel (all be it written for children) I read in its entirety. Just as I was reminiscing, it was to my utter excitement to see that the small, old man taking his place behind the stall was indeed Joffo himself. Those around me probably did not see why I felt the need to exclaim regard, c’est Joseph Joffo! but after 2 years of “A Bag of Marbles” during A level French lit, this brief encounter had more amusing significance for me than others can probably appreciate.  If Monsieur Harvey had been there, I am sure he would have shared my enthusiasm.

Alors, two contrasting rencontres, several hours, and lots of literature later, I departed the salon all book-ed out. Luckily we had a little time to visit my first marché de Noel of the festive season before going home. The day ended on a high with the commencement of Christmas cheer, and of course a vin chaud to toast a day well spent. Bonne lecture!