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! 

Une Toussaint plein d'aventure: deuxième partie

The second half of the instalment is now a little out-dated, but better late than never….

Playing the part of keen year-abroad-er during my holidays meant my voyage touristique did not end on the TGV back to Mulhouse. Instead, after joining Sophie at the Jardins du Luxembourg (a pretty impressive meeting point…such is life in Paris) we stepped aboard a train east, direction Reims. It must be admitted that our choice of destination was not exactly based on long held projects to visit the region, but more the result of picking somewhere on the map that would be a reasonable distance to travel. However, we rapidly realised that our choix au hasard was well made.  Not only did the region of Champagne offer a welcome step down from the intensity of Paris that us Paysans at times find overwhelming (the tram system proved much more to my liking that the Parisien metro), Reims is not without its share of guidebook highlights. . Au contraire, we found more than enough to keep us entertained.

We browsed museums and galleries at random… some of which we would give higher ratings than others…. enjoying being able to wander and not worry whether it was worth a visit, as after-all our student status got us free entry (France 1: England :0). We used our meandering cultural visits also to exchange our parallel experiences of life as The Language Assistant in two similar but distant small French towns. I was once again confronted by the surreal experience of walking around another new French town, immersed in the language yet strangely distanced by the company of a friend, conversations of ‘home’, and realising I wasn’t returning ‘back’ to Birmingham, or Bristol, but Alsace. Safe to say I spend a lot of time in France feeling rather confused.

My musing was however luckily interspersed with a more concrete activity, of course being that of tasting the regional beverage.  One cannot go to Champagne without having a flute or four.  Feeling ultra cultured and sophisticated, we booked ourselves onto cave tours, making sure to ask for those conducted in French. The names “Moet” and “Pommery” didn’t mean much for this amateur (my approach to wine is more “not-too-dry-white-s’il vous plait” than connoisseur) and truth be told still don’t. And it goes without saying that we were were the youngest and least sophisticated looking on the tours. We enjoyed playing the game “who will buy a bottle at the end”, it being obvious to all that the only champagne consumed by the keen English students would be that given to us for free (Degustation being the final stage of any worthy cave visit). This lack of expertise (and money) did not stop us making the most of our cultural experience, and I left Reims satisfied that I had not only tasted very nice champagne, but could also now explain the stages of its production (in French).

And my inner language geek that is slowly but surely making herself known was a little too excited about noting all the new and useful (?) champagne- vocabulary afforded by what was an enjoyable and illuminating séjour in Reims.

Santé!

Une Toussaint plein d’aventure: première partie.

With the beginning of November came les vacances de la Toussaint – two weeks holiday just 4 weeks in to my clearly taxing role as a Language Assistant. I decided to make the most of my temps libre (well, the addition to the free time that already seems to characterise my working week…) to travel slightly further afield. First stop: La Paris. Not only the most obvious where-to of the francophone world, and thus a year abroad essential, but also home to my good friend Lauren. Wearing more clothes than contained in my suitcase, I stepped off the TGV into the heaving pre-rush hour Gare du Nord. Considering where I live passing traffic equates to a dog walker or pensioner on a bike (it seems literally everyone cycles…) the task of navigating the metro amidst a crowd of clearly time-poor Parisians left me more than a little flustered and very much in need of the cup of tea that awaited us chez Lauren. . Following a traumatic arrival, I luckily adapted to city life in time to make the most of my visit to the Capital, and by Monday I could handle the claustrophobic maze that is Parisian public transport (A particular highlight in this domain was an amusing moment on Saturday evening when I found myself directing some Italian tourists on the RER…. slightly odd considering that my tourist status was double-fold that weekend) We made sure to fulfil all the touristic requirements of a sejour a Paris, and added a few particularities of our own to the itinerary. The highlights were as follows:

A walking tour encompassing all the post-card hotspots: Notre-dame, le Louvre, les champs elysées…. with ample refreshment breaks to fill a chocolat-chaud quota and make the most of wet weather…

Seeing the Eiffel Tower lit up in the evening… and an embarrassingly keen run from the metro to make it in time to see it twinkle on the hour

A matinee performance of the comedie musicale “1789: Les Amants de la Bastille” – with power ballads, dance numbers and a bit of French history thrown in, what wasn’t to like?!  (Bonne anniversaire Lauren!)
A romantic evening walk along the Seine, followed by dinner out. I even summoned the courage to sample un escargot, reasoning when offered that it must be done at some point. Verdict? Not as degoutant as i had feared. Indeed i was slightly underwhelmed - it had the consistency of a mushroom and all traces of snail were covered by an overpowering but agreeable sauce. At least it's one to tick off the list however. 

A trip to Versailles, which left us feeling sufficiently cultured (and with better interior design taste than had the French monarchy…)

My very own personal tour-guide, with habitant status and knowledge, and not to mention the welcome dose of familiarity and good company that came with it.