My favorite French tradition thus far is the celebration of the Epiphany on January 6th, the day when the 3 kings visited the baby Jesus. To commemorate this day, we ate a Galette des Rois, a delicate puff-pastry cake filled with a rich frangipane filling, delicious!! As part of French tradition, a small figurine is hidden in the cake and he or she who finds “la fève” in their slice becomes king or queen for a day. As luck would have it, I almost bit into a tiny ceramic rat in my first slice (not certain of the symbolism of what we consider a rodent in the USA, an insignificant detail perhaps?). I am the Queen! Rather than entertain ourselves with the traditional dance which we have yet to learn, we made a bet in which I would indeed be treated most royally. Needless to say, we have been indulging in this “king cake” every day since. Time now to take off the crown.
Today I began my French classes, a new chapter in my life as a student. When I finally decided that the most successful way to learn a language is to speak with people other than my local baker, butcher and pharmacist (though we were having some rather colorful conversations as of late), I was debated as to where to study. To quote an Italian I know well ‘there is no such thing as a bad school, only a bad student’. Could he be right?
In the end I chose the reputation of the Alliance Française over the prestige of the Sorbonne. Not to mention the myriad of independent language schools. I entered the classroom and felt well amidst the assortment of foreign faces, each with a unique story and all united in a common goal. The teacher, a young and vibrant woman originally from Bretagne, immediately shed any layers of fear as we began conversing with one another. The first lesson I learned as we dove into this advanced French course, is that my genealogy is far too complex to describe in great detail, in any language. The second lesson, a recurring one in my life in Paris, is humility.
What better place to spend the last day of a most memorable year than at the Tour Eiffel, in the glow of it’s hourly brilliance. To toast in a new year reminiscing all the splendor of the last we crossed the Seine to an intimate eatery in Saint Germain (resulting in a typically French eating experience I will refrain from describing in any detail, only to mention there greatly lacks a customer service mentality in Paris) followed by drinks and dancing with the locals until we could cheer in the new year across the ocean. A bi-continental celebration of sorts ending in penne al salmone at 6am (Italian style). Today we strolled around the block with passports in hand, to invite much travel in the new year, a tradition my dear friend Jen passed on to me from her Colombian roots. Cheers to another year of love in the city of lights!
In honor of the Christmas holiday, or simply for the sake of adventure, we took the train to Chartres, 88km southwest of Paris. This medieval town boasts an incredibly impressive 13th-century cathedral, crowned by one Gothic spire and the other Romanesque. This unique architecture is due to the Romanesque cathedral being destroyed by a fire in 1194 (along with much of the town) and being rebuilt in the Gothic style over the following 30 years. Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres is France’s best-preserved medieval basilica.
Most impressive, aside from the ‘Holy Veil’, said to have been worn by the Virgin Mary when she gave birth to Jesus, are the stained glass windows. Almost all of the 172 windows dating back to the early 13th century, and several even to the 12th century, are renowned for the depth and intensity of their blue tones, famously called ‘Chartres blue’.
After hours spent lost and frozen amidst the cobbled streets, dreaming of a gourmet candlelight dinner in this most historic and romantic town, our adventure ended at a British pub feasting on burgers. Fine dining will have to wait.
Christmas in Paris. The many customs of my childhood came to mind as I prepared my first traditional Polish Christmas eve dinner (in France with an Italian, mind you), consisting of homemade borscht (beet soup) and pierogi (a sort of dumpling typically filled with cheese and potato). This dish became a melange of cultures as I could not find the commonly used farmers cheese and concocted a combination of fresh chevre and parmesan. C’est pas mal! I have created a new recipe. Post international feast we were led by a serene path of stars into the melodies of a choir filling the air of Cathedral Notre Dame, followed by midnight mass. No translation was necessary. I was completely taken with the feeling and tradition of Christmas.
