| Having made the decision to stay home for the holidays I find myself with all sorts of emotions. Marseille is getting so beautiful for Christmas and it is exciting to explore such a foreign city in the throws of holiday spirit. The city is decorated in lights of all kinds that flash and shine in ways that are both pretty and tacky at the same time. We had not been expecting the extent to which this Riviera seaside town would celebrate a holiday that to me has so much to do with snow yet the traditions here are abounding and everyone is getting all geared up. It is beautiful and interesting to see and share in the excitement but it is bittersweet on many levels as well. Aside from the obvious fact that we will be missing our friends and family this holiday season, I find myself missing the most random things. I have been getting all sappy and nostalgic as I teach my kids about "gingerbread houses" and "candy canes". I find myself salivating at the idea of hot chocolate after a snowball fight. I get misty eyed as I teach them the lyrics of traditional Christmas carols. It's amazing how the most mundane and seemingly simple things are what you miss the most. I am sad that there will be no nieces and nephews to lay out cookies and milk for Santa and the reindeer on Christmas eve. I want to hear at least one rendition of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" and stare at a decorated Christmas tree with the lights off. I want snow. All this being true, the most painful thing to process about being so far away, not only this holiday season but every day that we live here, is the not sharing. I had not realized how much of an experience has to do with those you share it with. Jeremy and I find ourselves exploring cities and countries we have never seen before and through all the excitement, we can't help but make lists in our heads of all the people we wish we could share this all with. There are so many wonderful people in our lives---family and friends---that are always in our thoughts. We see something funny and feel ourselves bursting with the desire to share the joke with people back home. We see toys in store windows and imagine the faces of our nieces and nephews pressed up against the glass. It's amazing how you carry the people you love everywhere with you. Having been here for nearly three months now, we continue to talk about everyone back home as if you are still a part of our everyday life. And in that way, you are. It is cheesy I know but it is unbelievable how true it is. It's as though you travel halfway across the world only to talk about the same people plus a few new additions along the way. I am still taken aback when I think of a funny anecdote that someone would appreciate and when I reach for the phone, remember the time difference and consequently the distance between us. Seeing as to how the sharing is what I miss the most, I guess the best antidote for that would be to write more journals and hope that you read them. That being true, here are some anecdotes to give you an idea of some of the things we are experiencing this season: Yesterday we stumbled upon this parade down the Canebiere (main road here kind of like Woodward for you Michiganders) with all of these people in traditional clothes doing dances and playing instruments. We had a hard time determining whether it was an actual parade or just a bunch of crazy people since no one had made the decision to close down the street. It was actually pretty hilarious and very typical of Marseille---all of these random people dressed in traditional clothes dancing around, and then all of a sudden there would be a random car in the middle of it all, honking and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. People like to honk in Marseille. Apparently they think that it is an effective way to make the traffic move faster. I think they teach it in driver's ed here. So here goes this parade, random dancing people, honking cars trying to get home from work, and then random French people weaving in and out of the dancers, seemingly unaware of the fact that they are dodging dancers and near death on their way to and from their destinations. We just stood on the curb watching the show and asking ourselves which was better---the actual parade itself or the chaotic mess it was creating? By the time we looked up from our entertainment after the last honking car was set free, night had fallen and Marseille was ablaze with Christmas decorations of all kinds. There are these huge snowflake-looking decorations all over town along with these impressive arcs that loom above the streets and shoot lights back and forth across their arches. It all looks very Vegas if you try and take it all in but in it's own way, it is very beautiful. For those of you who don't know, Marseille is an extremely windy city seeing as to how it is right on the sea, and when the wind blows there is no stopping it. It can blow a can off the street right into your face before you even get a chance to see it coming. (I can say this with confidence because it has actually happened to me.) Umbrellas don't stand a chance. So let me just say that walking home at night with the wind practically knocking you over and these gigantic snowflakes dangling by what look like threads over your head is a daunting experience. It has caused me on many occasions to contemplate my own death---would it be poetic justice for someone missing snow for Christmas to be crushed by a plastic snowflake of gigantic proportion? Which brings me to another funny anecdote. You know how the South of France is notorious for never being on time? Well this rumor could not be more true and it has been the plague of our experience here so far. We are getting used to it but sometimes it is enough to drive you crazy when you really need to get something done ASAP. But they don't know that saying here. I think it's more like ASAIFLI (As soon as I feel like it). They measure everything by a different system and so if their office hours are clearly posted 9-11h30 and 12h30-5h30, this may mean a variety of things---a) once a week this MAY be their actual schedule, b) the schedule is the exact opposite, or c) give an hour leeway on everything. Well by our apartment there is this little "place" where there are a bunch of cafes and restaurants near the port. Lately there has been a lot of action going on in that courtyard because they appear to be constructing something massive right in the middle of it. So yesterday we are walking home from all of the Christmas hooplah and as we pass through the courtyard, there it is---an ice rink! They have constructed an ice rink right in the middle of the "place" which just to give you the visual, is right across from the port which is, I remind you, part of the Mediterranean Sea! This is unbelievable to me. Here I am miles away from home and snow, and what should I stumble upon in the middle of Marseille but an ice rink. And not just any ice rink. This rink is done up in all of Marseille glory, with not one but three gigantic snowflakes suspended precariously over the ice and random frosted fake trees peppered all around the periphery. And don't forget the necessary Marseille men hanging over the barrier of the rink, eyes like saucers watching the ladies skate by, undressing them with their eyes. Only in Marseille could the men turn an ice skating rink into a meat market. Anyway, needless to say we decided that there was no way we were going to miss out on ice skating on the Mediterranean. Before racing home to call our friends and put on the few layers necessary for a "chilly" Marseille December, I was sure to ask one of the guards at the rink what time the rink would be open to that evening. He politely told me they were open until 10h00. I asked him if he was sure and he said, "Of course---it is posted over there." (Should have been my first tip-off.) Optimistically naive, however, we raced home, invited some friends, got changed and at 8h45 we were there and ready to skate. But as you probably have guessed and as I probably should have anticipated at the time, when we rushed excitedly up to the gate, we were told it was closed. I was furious and sad because we were all so pumped up and I was embarrassed because we had invited friends. I don't know what happened but I decided I wasn't going to take this one lying down. For some reason in my head, this became symbolic of all of the bull-shit we have had to put up with since we set foot in Marseille---all the paper-shuffling, all the being turned away, all the faceless people on the phone who insisted that they could not help us. I saw all of those people in the faces of those guards and furious, I told them that this was ridiculous and unacceptable and that I came by no less than an hour ago and was told they were open until 10h00. They grumbled amongst themselves, smiling and saying the all too familiar---"It's not me. I don't make the decisions around here." Ugh they couldn't have picked a worst line to spark my anger. If only they had known how many times I had heard that phrase over the past two months of starting up in this city. There was no way I was going to take that as an answer now. "Well then," I said, "Please tell me who does make the decisions so I can talk to them." They smirked and pointed out this man rather amusedly and told me he called the shots. They cleared out of the way and let me through but put an arm in front of Jeremy, which thinking about it now is quite comical, as though they didn't want us to attack this guy or something. I must have looked insane in my frustration. So here I am walking over to this complete stranger with only anger on my side and as I am walking over, I realize I have no idea what I am going to say and start thinking---"Um. . .what am I doing?" Of course there was no way I could turn back by then seeing as to how my friends were watching in awe and the guards with amusement. All I could do was keep walking and tap this unexpecting man on the soldier. "Are you in charge of the hours here?" I blurted out before he even had time to turn around. He confusedly said yes and I proceeded into my tirade. With rather forceful language and an American accent that was intensifying exponentially with my anger, I explained the situation. I still can't remember exactly what I said but I know that I told him that I live in the "quartier" and that I was planning on coming regularly with friends but if this is the way they start the season out, I will not be returning. I am sure I looked like a small child having a tantrum. . .I mean who gets so upset about not being able to skate? But like I said, this was about a lot more than my desire to skate. Well I think this poor guy must have been shocked, either that or he just didn't really care that much, because before I knew it he was behind the counter selling us our tickets. I felt rather sheepish in my victory seeing as to how I had just made a stink about wanting to spin around clumsily on a rectangle of ice in the middle of nowhere, but I must admit I also felt a level of pride when I was handed my skates. I suppose this classifies as a victory in Marseille. I have no illusions about the score: Jessica=1; Marseille=100 but at least for that night I got to feel like I came out on top. |
| Holiday Sentiments and other Anecdotes |
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