Un Noël Blanc

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicolas soon would be there." *

an ice cream yule log
This year was definitely a very white Christmas, and not only because of all of the gently falling snow that created quite the winter wonderland, but also because of its newness. I experienced a whole new kind of Christmas this year, first and foremost because it was the first without my family. Although this year marked my third Thanksgiving sans famille, it was my first Christmas. Luckily though, I was still able to spend it with a family, even if it wasn't my own. This was also my first Christmas abroad, in la belle France.


So the big event in France is the réveillon, the big, family, Christmas Eve dinner (and Christmas mass for those so inclined). Around 5pm, we headed to Belley, a town of 12,000 where my host dad grew up, to have dinner with his family at his sister's apartment. His 91 year old mother and brother's family joined us as well. I quickly got over the awkwardness of being the sort of odd-man-out and meeting a bunch of new people because they were so warm and
welcoming, and most importantly, hilarious. After the first half hour, my cheeks were already hurting from laughing so much.

the dessert spread

As this is France, we of course had round after round of food, (though I abstained from certain parts of it), small hors d'oeuvres, then huitres (oysters), foie gras (made by my host mom's brother), salad, saucisson chaud aux truffes (a lyon specialty, hot sausage with black truffles), then an entire spread of desserts. My host mom said that in Provence, it is a tradition to have 13 different desserts and we came pretty close--chocolates, chocolate dipped oranges, clementines, meringues, 3 buches de noël (yule logs)...needless to say I was rather stuffed by the end of the night, and warm too after champagne and at least 4 different kinds of wine (a couple of which I was politely forced to try, though I didn't put up much of a resistance), including a fabulous 1985 Burgundy, from a dusty bottle, saved for just such an occasion. I happily savored it with a wedge of comté, a match made in heaven. The evening's entertainment included a rousing round of "Silent Night" (en francais of course) sung slightly off-key by the adults crowded around an iphone from which they read the words (one of the cousins captured the magic on her camera haha). I answered all of the typical questions about where I'm from, what I'm doing here, Obama, explaining my masters and what I want to do with it, etc. They especially liked my answer to the "why France" question, toasting me when I explained that after spending a semester in Paris, I fell in love with France and voilà, the rest is history. At one point I made a point of defending California wines, though I didn't get a chance to tell the "Bottle Shock" story. Another time, another time Frenchies.


After the meal, it was present time, and to my surprise, I had my own little pile of cadeaux! Around 1am, the snow had finally stopped falling, the food was almost gone, and (after the typically lengthy French au revoir) we headed back to Lyon for "a long winter's nap."

The next day I stayed up late again to have a skype Christmas with my family. I finally got to see them open their European presents and I finally got to open my American ones from the box I had received a week earlier. Despite the thousands of miles separating us, and the blurry webcam, it was almost like I was there, a true Christmas miracle.

"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

*Stockings are definitely not a part of the French Christmas tradition. When showing "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" to my students, I had to explain the concept to some very confused faces.
Also, in general, their idea of "christmas decorations" is a Santa climbing in the window and a sad, lonely string of lights hung randomly from the roof. They are clearly much more energy conscious than we are, and are just beginning to catch on to the Hallmark, commercial-y aspect of the holiday, but I definitely missed driving through neighborhoods past extravagantly decorated houses (à la National Lampoon) listening to the 24/7 Christmas radio station.

Chocolate & Other Drugs

It's Christmas eve eve and I just returned from five days in Switzerland. Three years ago, during my undergraduate study abroad in Paris, I stepped over the border and spent a few hours in Geneva and Lausanne, but this time, I went deeper, tracing a route from Geneva up to Zurich, stopping in Interlaken and Lucerne along the way. Switzerland is really a very unique country; it is most definitely not another mini-Germany (like Austria for example), even though German is spoken in a large chunk of the country. Despite this, it actually has four official languages: French (west), German (middle), Italian (southern areas around Italian border) and Romansh (east). This linguistic and cultural diversity has created a very decentralized country, where each canton is like a US state, so that each one has different laws, unlike centralized, single-law France. As well, the country's official name is in Latin: Confoederatio Helvetica, hence the "CH" abbreviation you might notice on websites, bumper stickers, etc. This name comes from the Celtic Helvetii tribe that originally settled here.

To be more accurate, the German most often heard around here is actually "Swiss-German," which seems less harsh than German-German, and is sprinkled with French words, like "merci" for example. It must be odd to travel across your own country and hear so many different languages, and perhaps not even be able to understand them (though I'm sure most Swiss learn at least German and French.) Often, things are written in English, the language of globalization.

In Switzerland, swans glide gracefully through crystal-clear rivers, lakes are encircled by snowy Alps, which often dominate the horizen, tall, thin church spires punctuate the city skylines, while their clockfaces survey the scene below, larger versions of one of the country's non-edible specialties--watches. Wooden chalet-style houses dot mountain towns and valleys, and the red flag with its white cross, synonomous with neutrality, waves proudly in the crisp, alpine air.

Each stop on our (ie Lindsay and I) journey had its own atmosphere. Geneva, home to the UN, is a truly international city, just across the French border, where Italian, English, French, German and more can be heard from every corner. Even though French is the dominant language here, it is just as often tinged with an Italian or German accent, and seems to be only one of 2,3, or 4 languages they speak fluently. Geneva is also a commercial center, with neon signs topping luxury stores such as Rolex and Cartier surrounding the lake, a classier version of Times Square. We would have to wait until the next day to experience the "Swiss charm" awaiting us a couple of hours away in the Alps.

Nachst halt: Interlaken! We sped away from the urban, commerical Geneva, gaining in altitude as we ascended to this town between two lakes (Thun and Brienz) and surrounded by ginormous Alps. We used Interlaken as our home base for exploring this mountainous area, known as the Berner Oberland. Our hostel was rather quiet for the winter, as the avid skiers opted for rooms higher up, such as in the resort town of Wengen (Vengen), where we attempted to take a lift up to a trail, but because of the snow, the trail was closed, so we ice skated on the natural rink instead! Day two was gloriously sunny, after a cloudy morning and a menacing forecast, and we rode a gondola up to an elevation of 5360 ft to Murren, caught a panoramic view of the big three (peaks that is): Eiger (13,026), Monch (13,449) and Jungfrau (13,642), and were once again stymied in our attempt to go higher up to the Schiltorn for our James Bond breakfast in the revolving restaurant, this time because of the wind rather than the snow. The 007 film On Her Majesty's Secret Service was filmed up there.

Eiger, Monch and Jungfrau

Click on the link for live-cam action from Schiltorn:
http://www.schilthorn.ch/en/schilthorn/

We once again suffered this setback with dignity, sighing that we had at least saved ourselves 92 francs. Heading back down to the Lauterbrunnen Valley, we admired the sun glinting off of the reinforced waterfall, as the blazing sun melted leftover snow, causing avalanches every now and then, sending snow tumbling down the mountainside with an explosive crack. We stopped in a charming coffeeshop to enjoy warm drinks (including a chai latte!) and friendly locals before returning to Interlaken to explore our homebase, where were actually able to shed some layers under the afternoon sun.

I found this area to be a combination of rustic and real small village life and major tourist outpost, especially in Interlaken, the largest town in the area, and the transportation hub to the outside world. Swiss army knife, watch and chocolate shops line the main drag between luxury hotels, quite a contrast with the tiny mountain enclaves of Murren and especially, Gimmelwald (vald), with its 120 residents, cow farms and perfectly Swiss wooden chalets. I imagine this area is crawling with families and college students in the summer and fall, but in the winter, its mostly skiiers, Japanese tourist groups and a few stragglers like ourselves, spending Christmas vacation in real-life Christmas villages. Santa should really consider a move down to Switzerland.

Finally, we hit up two more Swiss cities, the charming, medieval/renaissance Lucerne and the larger, more buisness-like Zurich (with a nonetheless lovely Old Town center). Lucerne is truly as cute as a button, and gorgeous to boot, with two medieval, covered, wooden bridges, the more famous of which is Chapel Bridge, supposedly the most photographed monument in Switzerland. Though we had descended from our alpine retreat, huge mountains still surround the city, rising up as a beautiful backdrop to Lake Lucerne, and with Mount Pilatus (7000ft) hovering behind the water tower end of Chapel Bridge, completing one of the most picturesque sights I've ever seen. Our last day found us in Zurich, and unfortuately, Lindsay wasn't feeling well, so she took an earlier train home (apparently I have a penchant for getting my travel partners sick?), so I took on this last Swiss city on my own. At least I still had trusy old Rick Steves to guide me and keep me company on his "blitz tour" of the center of town, through 3 churches and their competing clock towers, a delicious hot chocolate break in a plush Christmasy cafe, Conditorei Schober, and a cruise on Lake Zurich. Though the morning started out rainy, by noon, the clouds had parted and the sun came out shining once again, thankfully proving another forecast wrong. I climbed 200 steps up the Grossmunster ("Big Cathedral") tower for a grand city view (and to work off that hot chocolate), wandered along glizty Bahnhofstrasse, and purchased a few mini-macarons known as "Luxemburgerli" at Sprungli, a perfectly soft, creamy and flavorful snack I enjoyed on my long train ride home. Three trains and 7 hours later, I was finally back in Lyon, as usual relieved to be back in familiar France, though I'm missing the mountains (they're just a little smaller from Lyon than Interlaken). Financially speaking, I also breathed a sigh of relief. Though the Swiss franc is about 1:1 with the US dollar, and thus things are technically cheaper for me, Switzerland is an expensive country, be warned!

Everything is Illuminated

Every year, during the second week of December, Lyon holds its biggest event of the year: the Fête des Lumières (the festival of lights), also known as "le 8 decembre," as the celebration is to commemorate an event that occurred on December 8th, 1852. For 4 days, the city is beautifully illuminated, transformed by an inundation of colors, lights that sparkle, blink and twinkle, light shows projected onto familiar monuments--and of course, a flood of visitors from all over the world, attracted like moths to a flame (but much pushier).

The story begins in 1643, when the south of France, including Lyon, was struck by the plague. The municiple councillors promised to pay tribute to Mary if the city was spared (which it was), thus inaugurating an annual procession on this day (actually September 8) up to the Fourvière Hill to light candles and present offerings in her name.

It wasn't until 1852 that December 8th became a day of festivities dedicated to Mary. When the statue of Mary was erected next to the Fouviere Basilica, the inauguration was meant to take place on September 8th, but a flood forced them to move the date, and they settled on December 8th, which had already been a celebration of the Immaculate Conception in Lyon. On this day, the statue was lit up, fireworks were set off from the hill, and many residents even placed candles in their windows, lighting up their own buildings. Today many people still take part in this tradition, placing candles along their window sills.

I had been anticipating this event since I applied to the program, determined to attend even if I didn't get Lyon. Luckily for me, I didn't have to fight the masses for a cheap hotel room. Right at 6pm on December 8th, I eagerly waited in Place Bellecour for the festivities to begin. A projection on the ferris wheel put up for the event flashed images from past Fête des Lumières. Then the dramatic countdown began--10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1! Balloons burst into the air, the Fourvière Basilica turned blue, and the Fete had officially begun! Lindsay and I wandered around the unusually warm evening (no hats or gloves necessary!), past colorful teepees (still wondering about that...), windmills, blue and red streetlights and an endless number of vendors shouting "vin chaud! vin chaud!", pausing to enjoy the fireworks just after 8. The next night (Thursday) we complemented our tour, hitting all the big sights before the out-of-towners poured in for the weekend. Our favorite was the fountain in Place des Terreaux (pictured above).

On the last night, we headed up to the big park--Parc de la Tête d'Or--where they had set everything on fire! Well, sort of...they had little flower pots of fire placed in trees and other sorts of displays. This was pretty cool (but can you say fire hazard?? in a PARK?? with millions of people??!!), and the fire kept us warm while wondered around.

All in all, it was quite an experience, but a lot of people--including my host parents--commented on the fact that it wasn't as good as previous years, and having seen postcards and pictures from other Fêtes, I have to admit, I was a little disappointed. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed it, saw a few really great displays, and am happy to have had the experience. However, the millions of toursits invading Lyon made it feel like Paris in the summer (minus the dripping sweat), so I'm glad they will have all returned home by now. While the sign next to Fourvière says "Merci Mary," I'll end this with a "Merci Lyon!"

The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men...

...Often go awry. Yes indeed they do. Yesterday, I set off for a day trip to Colmar with some other English assistants. Colmar, like the larger Strasbourg, is also located in the region of Alsace and known for its Christmas markets. For those not familiar with Alsace, it is located near the German border, and spent much of its history flip-flopping between France and Germany, thus a trip there is like traveling to Germany, but everyone still speaks French (apart from the many German tourists of course).

After a 4.5 hour train ride, we arrived in the Colmar, and stepped straight into the pages of Hansel and Gretel. Colorful, half-timbered buildings, snow-dusted Christmas trees, and a marchés de noël around every corner--add a few gum drops and you've got a veritable gingerbread village! Despite the cold and the Disneyland crowds, we shoved our way around the town and through the many Christmas markets, even managing to déguster (taste) some vin chaud (mulled or hot wine) and eventually find a restaurant that wasn't complet (full). After sitting at said restaurant for about 45 minutes waiting to order and then get our food, we devoured our meals in 10 minutes flat, already thorougly defrosted and anxious to finish winding our way through the markets before our 17h44 train. After wandering through the quartier of Petite Venise, lined with--what else--a canal, we made it through the last couple of markets (at one of which I bought a bag of thé à la noisette--hazelnut tea!), we numbly marched back to the train station, a little early for a our train, but in need of a second round of defrosting. Unfortuantely, as the sun had just set, we missed the town being lit up. Apparently, every night (during the holidays or no), the town is beautifully lit with different colored lights. Dommage.

Anyway, though we didn't yet know it, our real adventure had just begun. First, the train left 20 minutes late. Ok, no big deal, we would still be able to make our various buses, trams and metros. Well, the train gods had other plans in store for us. At about 20 till 11pm (after we'd already been traveling for 4.5 hours--we had stalled in a couple of other stations), the train just stopped en plein voie as they say, ie just in the middle of the tracks. We didn't fully understand the problem, because they used a couple of words we didn't know, but suffice it to say, because of the cold, stuff was frozen, and the train couldn't go any farther. We were about an hour outside Lyon (probably about 30 min on the train). Super. Next announcement: if we don't move in 40 minutes, they'll send buses. What?? Why do we have to wait 40 minutes? What is that going to solve?? It's not getting any warmer out there! So for about 2.5 hours, we boiled inside the train (luckily we could cool off in the sections between the cars), exhausted, hungry, thirsty, etc waiting for something, for anything to happen. When they finally announced the buses had arrived, we still had to wait another 45 minutes or so for them to clear the tracks or whatever so they could slide the train 10 minutes to the nearest station.

At 1:30am, they piled us into 3 coaches, and an hour later, we finally arrived in Lyon. Then we got to wait some more while they got organized, splitting us into groups (those who needed a hotel, those who needed taxis, then grouping the taxi people by location), giving us refund forms and a prepackaged box of unappetizing food, before I finally got into a taxi with 3 other people who lived in my neighborhood, and walked into my room at 3:30 am, only 6 hours later than I should have. Thus a 4.5 hour trip turned into a 10 hour trip. Moral of the story: take a tip from the bears and hibernate for the winter. At least we got to speak some French with the nice people in our train car and play some trivial pursuit (where we learned Americans are smarter than Brits--duh).

On the way home, the taxi driver (like every single French person) asked me what I liked about France. The food, the beauty, the language. And obviously, the reliable trains.

Just another Saturday in France.

Lyon en noir et blanc

One of my favorite things about Lyon is its color, such a contrast to the Parisian monotone of white/gray limestone. Vieux Lyon is a delicious sorbet-colored palette of rose, orange, peach...even the more Parisian Presqu'ile has shades of pink, blue and yellow, not to mention the many trompe l'oeil frescoes, incredible works of art that often cause viewers to double-take when they catch one decorating the wall of a building. Still, there is something so romantically timeless, so effortlessly vintage and magical about black and white photos, creating a completely different image of the exact same city. Alors, enjoy!

Beaujolais Nouveau and Amélie Poulain

Yes yes, these topics seem completely unrelated (except the French connection), but the magic of Lyon has brought them together.

First, the Beaujolais Nouveau. I know that for many of you, these words might just be total gibberish, so I shall explain. "Beaujolais" is a wine region just north of Lyon, full of cute, little villages and rolling hills covered with vineyards. I almost got to go on a tour of this region, but because of the strikes in October, it was, of course, cancelled. Dommage. Beaujolais is also a type of wine, that is really more famous because of the festival around it, than because of its taste. It is a very young wine which is released on the third Thursday of November every year (sort of the kickoff for the holiday season like Thanksgiving is for us). The release of the Beaujolais Nouveau (nouveau=new) is a big celebration all over France and in fact, around the world, as the wine is shipped all over, including to the US. You too can hop over to your local wine store and sample this year's vintage yourself! Around this time, signs start appearing in wine stores and restaurants announcing the arrival of the Beaujolais Nouveau, and free samples can often be found when you're not even looking...

The big festivities take place in Lyon, the big city in the region, the night before its official release. There is a saying that Lyon actually has three rivers: the Rhône, the Saône and the Beaujolais. Fireworks, free tasting and barrels rolling across the city see the new vintage off in style. Unfortunately, since all of this starts at about 11:45pm, the night before I have to wake up at 6am for work, in a city where buses stop running at midnight, and add to that rain and cold, I was unable to join in this experience.

However, the next evening (enter the Amelie Poulain part), Lindsay and I had bought tickets to see a sneak peek, or avant première of Audrey Tautou's newest film, De vrais mensonges (English title, Full Treatment, which I definitely recommend whenever it comes out in the US or on netflix!), which would be followed by a q & a with the director (Pierre Salvadori) and three stars, including, evidemment, Audrey Tautou! Anywho, we decided to grab dinner before the movie, but of course we were a little too early for French dinner time (restaurants generally open for/start serving dinner at 7), so we wandered into a grocery store across the street. Not the best idea to distract our starving stomachs. BUT, while sampling some fromage, a man standing next to me asked if we would like to sample his Beaujolais. Baah oui! Bien sûr! And voilà! Beaujolais Nouveau 2010. Check. How was it? you may ask...well, as one lady said during the post-film q & a in response to the same question, "C'est une tradition!" It's a tradition! I think I'll stick with the other local wine--Côtes du Rhône.

De vrais mensonges - Bande annonce VF
envoyé par _Caprice_. - Regardez des web séries et des films.

For the French speakers out there, here is a preview of the movie and then (also if you just like Audrey's voice) here she is talking about her new movie!

Home Sweet Home

It's been a few weeks since my last post--apologies to what are surely thousands of avid readers, waiting with baited breath for new entries (je suis modeste moi!). My excuse is also the subject of this post--I recently got back to Lyon after 10 days of traveling around Germany and France with my dad during my fall break (also known as the vacances de la Toussaint--Nov 1, All Saints' Day, is a national holiday in France and some other European countries).

I met him in Cologne, Germany where he had gone on a business trip. If any of you are thinking of going to Cologne, don't, unless it's just for 15 minutes to check out the amazing and giant cathedral, which seems to be pretty much the only thing that was left standing after WWII. Otherwise, there are many more exciting places to explore in Europe, and in Germany. After that, we spent two days visiting different small towns along the Rhine River, first by train, then on our second day, on a 3 hour boat tour (luckily we didn't meet the same fate as Gilligan and co), on which we saw many a medieval castle and oogled the gorgeous fall colors painting the hills of the valley. With the tourist season there pretty much over, we often had places practically to ourselves, which definitely spoiled us right before Paris, which was still overrun. From there, we went to Paris, did a D-day beaches tour and ended in Lyon, where my dad got to talk politics with my French family, while Oscar (the son) and I did our best to translate words, concepts and cultures. We had a great time, and I even had a few revelations along the way.

First of all, while in Germany, I suddenly became very aware of being an American tourist. It might seem odd that I remarked on such a feeling, when it's not like this was my first, second or even third time traveling to a foreign country, nor even to a country outside of France. Nonetheless, I began to feel like an "ugly American," something I have always done my best to avoid, and criticize whenever I see it (something I mostly do while in France). It made me realize that perhaps I have been a little unfair to the vast majority of Americans who are not in my special position of speaking the language as well as the culture. Normally, when I travel, I try to "do as the Romans do," and at least say hello and thank you in the native language, but I found it difficult to remember to do so, as I fumbled for the right words, and found myself assuming (whether right or wrong), that everyone spoke English. Spending so much time in France, somethings I forget how overwhelming and even scary it can be to not understand one word that is spoken or written, and hoping that that announcement they just made wasn't important. While it's nice to get out of France for a few days--I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to Amsterdam this summer, and the Rhine Valley was lovely--I can only last for so many days before I start grumbling about getting back to France ASAP. Hey, I need my buttery croissants!

More than ever before, this country is feeling like my home away from home. With the states currently out of the question, France is definitely the next best thing. Though while I'm there, I usually feel a bit out of place and I'm always certain I'm missing something, I'm missing a whole lot more when I'm elsewhere and I realized just how comfortable--and at home--I do feel in France. On the train from Cologne to Paris, I sighed with relief when we crossed the border, and smiled to myself when we reached Gard du Nord, where I could once again read the signs--and, more importantly, the people.

An even more shocking realization came over me on returning from Paris to Lyon, a realization which really materialized as my dad and I ate dinner with my host family, taking a break from politics to compare France's top two cities. I will always have Paris. It was my first love. Before New York, and before Lyon, there was la ville lumiere. I have far too many memories there--good, bad and all life-changing--and am far too fond of the Eiffel Tower, the Orsay, my Bastille neighborhood and my favorite boulangerie, for anything to change that. Cependent (however), after only a month in Lyon, I found things that bothered me about la capitale, that never had before, and kept hearing myself remark: "Well, in Lyon..." First of all, despite the fact that it was the beginning of November--theoretically the off season--I wanted to murder all of the tourists that were still flooding the city. Granted, I was technically one of these tourists, but after living here twice, I hardly feel that that applies to me anymore, but nonetheless, I had already gotten used to a city ten times (or more) less touristy than Paris. Second, the metro I had always loved so much began to lose some of its hold over me, and I started resenting how much time we spent underground--and how dingy, dirty and crowded it was compared to the metro lyonnais. In Lyon, I normally use a combination of walking, buses and trams--all of which are obviously above ground, and much more scenic than the subterranean metro. Even when I use the metro, rides are generally shorter than in Paris because Lyon is so much more compact--there are only 4 lines, and far few stops on each than in the big city. As my host mom remarked after returning from a weekend in Paris: "The problem with Paris is that you spend so much time underground that it makes you feel like a rat."

Lastly, the contrast between the calmer, less touristy, less metro-dependent smaller city and the comparitively crowded and harried capital really struck me. I'm a big city girl through and through, and NYC is still my life-plan, but returning to Lyon, I breathed a second sigh of relief to be back in the provinces (ie the rest of France outside of Paris). Still a big city (second after Paris), life moves a little more slowly down here (I know, it's France, isn't everything slow around here?). Just because the Eiffel Tower is practically the universal symbol for France, doesn't mean that this extraordinarily diverse country can--or should--be reduced to five letters (no I don't mean merde). It's really only outside this city that one can really taste and appreciate the delicious Frenchness of France.