Antics in Strasbourg

And without further ado…on to Part 2 of my Alsace-Lorraine adventures!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum...

To briefly recap: Carol and I took a magical French train into the land of the French-Germans (who may or may not agree with that title) for an equally magical weekend in the cities of Metz and Strasbourg.

In my last post, I detailed the Metz portion of our adventures. If you got the sense that I loved Metz, you would be perfectly correct. So you should have an immediate sense of my feelings toward its sister city when I say that Strasbourg was even better.

Let’s set the scene: the streets, narrow, cobblestoned, and not quite straight, are lined by half-timbered houses, their window boxes overflowing with evergreen bows, their lintels bedecked with ribbons. The smell of German sausages and hot, salty bretzel fills the city streets, and tourists rush about every which way—not rushing the way people rush through Paris or New York, but rushing because they are suddenly so filled them with glee and excitement that half-speed is not an option. You round a corner and a towering Christmas tree rises in the middle of a vast plaza, taller even than the one in Rockefeller square—or perhaps it only appears that way because the buildings are so much smaller. You keep walking, and the city unfolds in front of you, revealing its tiny treasures one by one. The exploring could go on for days.

Rue des Orfèvres

Strolls along the river!

We had specifically chosen to go to Metz and Strasbourg at this time of year because of the Christmas markets. Metz’s markets were nice, but the minute you reach Place Broglie in Strasbourg, you know that you are in another league entirely. The original market, Christkindelsmarik as it is known, stretches four rows thick down the length of a block. At each counter, buyers and sellers engage in a time-honored ritual, exchanging everything from pottery to candles to knitwear to jewelry. Most crowded of all are the Christmas-themed booths, where people go to “deck the halls” with boughs of holly, and just about everything else imaginable.

 Place de la Cathèdrale

 City nights and street lights.

 Christkindelsmarik at Place Broglie!

So. Many. Bretzel.

Of course, Place Broglie is only the beginning; Strasbourg can proudly boast of no less than twelve marchés de Noel, each tucked into a different section of the old city. And each one has a theme; if you’re looking for jewelry, for artisanal products, for Swiss-themed goodies, for a children’s village, for an ice-skating-and-luge obstacle course, or for the best bredele* Strasbourg has to offer, there’s something here for you.

More importantly, coming from a relatively poor college student living in Paris, everything is actually affordable. I made my gift purchases early on, and after that I was able to concentrate on getting to know the marvelous city I has somehow ended up in.

Most of visiting Strasbourg, it must be admitted, is about just taking in the architecture. From what I saw in a brief day and a half, the must-visit places in Strasbourg include the central cathedral, the old neighborhood of La Petite France, and absolutely anything along the river. When the central city is located on an island, that’s actually quite a bit.

The cathedral is not the most stunning one I’ve ever seen, but I’ve also seen some truly spectacular cathedrals. Strasbourg’s is lovely, however, and because the surrounding buildings are so tiny by comparison, it towers over the landscape. Particularly at night, when the lights of the marché at its base illuminate the entire façade, the cathedral presents an impressive sight. It is also surrounded by a dense web of little streets packed with wonderful shops and boutiques, all lit up for the holidays. The shopkeepers are, as a whole, some of the friendliest people you will ever meet in your life, and you may find it hard to extricate yourself from some of their overtures of welcome.

 Sadly, we did not get to ride in the horse-drawn coaches.

Somewhere in La Petite France

La Petite France, one of the oldest neighborhoods in Strasbourg, is a water-lover’s heaven, built on and about a series of peninsulas stretching out into the river. A brief warning: the houses lining the river and its inlets will inspire house envy of the highest order. It’s hard to imagine anything more picturesque. The numerous bridges spanning the waterways also offer wonderful views of the city. One of the oldest bridges actually features a series of immense stone watchtowers.

As mentioned above, the central area of Strasbourg is entirely surrounded by the river. For visitors undaunted by a bit of a walk, it’s a wonderful way to get a nicely-rounded sense of the city (no pun intended). What’s more, both sides of the river are lined by houses, shops, and restaurants (Alsaciens seem to be excellent eaters, and their food is filling and unfussy). We didn’t actually try any restaurants in Strasbourg, sticking to marché fair, but a brief glance through the windows and an even briefer whiff of the aromas emanating from the kitchens will tell you all you need to know.

Monday morning, we did a quick run through the city before heading to the train station. Each moment confirmed that I would be coming back here, sooner or later. In between savoring a breakfast of cinnamon-topped streusel, ogling bakers in a sinfully aromatic demonstration tent, watching horse-drawn coaches clip-clop their way along the streets, and standing in the middle of the bridge drinking in the sights, I think the world conspired to make me as happy and relaxed as I could possibly be. When we finally waved goodbye the next morning, loaded down with packages, bredele, kugelhopf, and gingerbread, I was already planning a trip back. Strasbourg had better get ready.

*A brief note on bredele: at first glance, these traditional Christmas cookies look like every other tiny, stale biscuits handed around the office at the end of December. However, one tiny bite, and you will become an instant convert. Bredele come in dozens of different varieties, and each one is fresh and bursting with flavor. Some choice varieties: star-shaped gingerbread topped with a dollop of frosting, mounds of rich, dark chocolate, buttery rounds that crumble at first bite, and tiny, tender cookies bursting with chocolate chips. I bought 250 grams’ worth, and they were gone within two days. The best bredele is sold at the Austerlitz market, across the river; the market also features cooking demonstrations of mannele (man-shaped brioche, simply scrumptious) and the equally delectable kugelhopf, a sweet bread usually studded with raisins and dusted with powdered sugar.

Chocolate chip mannele

 Baker in the demonstration tent preparing chocolate-chip gingerbread kugelhopf...

 ...and here's what it looks like in the pan.

 Based on the painting of Napoleon crossing the Alps; I can't tell you how hard I laughed when I saw this, but it pretty much sums up French culture.

 Gingerbread EVERYWHERE.

 The most beautiful madeleines that I have ever seen.

Me along the river, being very happy.

Website: http://www.noel.strasbourg.eu/

Into the Land of the French-Germans

Looking rather French, if I do say so myself!

I should preface this post by saying that most denizens of “the land of the French-Germans,” otherwise known as the northeast provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, would probably not consider themselves German at all. 

However, considering how many times this land has changed hands, it's fair to say that Alsace-Lorraine is far more German than anywhere else in France. In fact, this mixed cultural heritage is part of the region's charm. Carol and I experienced this charm first-hand last weekend, when we visited two cities in the region: Metz, the stunningly picturesque capital city of Lorraine, and its equally picturesque Alsacien counterpart, Strasbourg (or Strasburg, as it is called in English).

To say that this trip was dream come true is no exaggeration; I have been wanting to visit the region since my fifth-grade French project on the provinces of France, when I learned how to bake quiche Lorraine. Both cities held adventures aplenty for us. However, as discussing my excursions in both cities would take far too long for one post, we’ll begin with Metz.

Metz—pronounced “mess,” as I learned rather late in the game—dates back to the time of the Gauls, the ancient Celtic people who inhabited France over two thousand years ago. Over the centuries, the city has been taken over by (almost literally) everyone, going from the Romans to the Huns to the Franks to the Merovingiens to the French to the Germans to the French to the Germans to the French to the Germans and finally back to the French (if that was confusing, it should be). 

Present-day Metz, however, shows little sign of this frenzied heritage. Maybe this is because I have been living in Paris for almost four months, but what first struck me about the city was how calm and quiet it is. Paris is, well, Paris, but it's still a modern city, with all the elbowing and jostling and honking that entails.

Yet when we arrived in the Metz train station around 9 a.m., I could have sworn Carol and I had walked onto a movie set—still, empty, and almost too perfect to be true.  Lights were strung above all the streets and garlands festooned each window and window box. Occasionally a resident, more often than not toting a half-dozen baguettes or wearing a beret, would stroll by and disappear again. As the day went by, the city filled to bustling, but the usual multilingual babble one encounters in Paris had evaporated, leaving only French and the occasional German. Nothing could have been more magical, or more foreign for two American students used to a far more cosmopolitan, international city. It seemed like all of Metz was a giant playground, one intended especially for us. Every cobblestone street was an invitation to explore, an invitation that we took up with enthusiasm. 

Tourism-wise, Metz has several key selling points. On the historical side of things, the city is the home of the beautiful Saint-Étienne, a Gothic cathedral located in one of the central squares (see above), and of Saint-Pierre-aux-Nonnains, the oldest church in France, built as a Roman gymnasium during the 4^th century A.D. (fun fact: Saint-Pierre was also one of the main birthplaces of Gregorian chanting). 

 Looking up at the cathedral and feeling very, very tiny...well, more tiny than usual.

Early morning in Metz, with a red Vespa

For more light-hearted fare, however, Metz is known for its many shop-lined streets and, at this time of year, for its Christmas markets.

Christmas markets, called marchés de Noel, seem to be found across France. They tend to be composed of tiny, Swiss chalet-like stands selling food, hot wine, and all manner of odds-and-ends. The ones lining the Paris avenues, while festive, are often horribly overpriced and highly commercial. The Metz marchés, while constructed along the same lines, are far less expensive and more simply charming.

The marché at Place Saint-Louis, which was just opening and mostly deserted when we arrived Saturday morning, by 9:30 p.m. could probably rival Times Square on New Year's Eve, in terms of the sheer amount of people crammed into a very, very small space. Place de la République, an enormous square bordered on one side by a park, provides a bit more breathing room (although where is the fun in that?). The two centerpieces of the market are the brilliantly-lit Ferris wheel and a small skating rink.

There was a moment, as Carol and I were regarding this small skating rink, when we both sort of looked at each other and asked if we were really going to do this. The answer was yes, of course, and for the next two hours, we had our own Rockefeller square Christmas experience: skating in endless circles around the rink, beaming, laughing, and doing our best to avoid the (wildly out-of-control) children going every which way.

Afterward, trying to get used to the motion of walking again, we made our way through the park and down to the lake below. The lake couldn't have been more lovely if it tried: its glassy surface refracting brilliant rays of sunlight, with mountains in the distance and dozens of imperious white swans floating with the water's current. It was yet another scene in a movie, the sort of scene where momentous revelations occur.

Until, that is, the swans noticed that people were standing on the dock. Convinced that lunch had arrived, ten swans suddenly began frantically flapping their wings. Before we could quite figure out what was going on, they were water-skiing on black-webbed feet across the water's surface. The lack of food did not seem to discourage them, considering they continued following us around...

Swans (and an enterprising goose) pursuing us, in the eternal quest for bread crumbs.

As the sun began to set, we scurried over to the Centre Pompidou-Metz, a fabulous example of modern architecture (this coming from someone who very much prefers old-fashioned things), then back to the hotel for a fortifying nap. When we got up, the sky was dark and the Christmas lights had lit up the city. The marchés, deserted before, were packed to the brim; purchases and money were exchanging hands to quickly to see, and the wine vendors were ladling out cups just as fast as their arms could move.

After squeezing our way around the square and indulging in a warming cup of spiced hot wine, we headed back to République to try and catch a glimpse of the ice show that had taken over the skating rink. The theme seemed to be international, so of course it wasn't long before the French pulled out that classic American stereotype: a bare-chested cowboy, grinning roguishly and dancing it up to “Cotton Eye Joe.” I was somewhat taken aback when the audience asked for an encore; more evidence that, despite their griping, the French really do like us.

Several hours later, our feet on the point of utter surrender, we ambled back through the empty streets and collapsed into bed. The next morning, we would be boarding an early-morning train bound for Strasbourg. 

But that, my readers, is a story for another day!

 Place Saint-Louis, around 9:30 a.m.

Place Saint-Louis, around 9:30 p.m.

 Park at République; it's shots like these that make me want to take up painting again...

 Outside the Centre Pompidou-Metz

Ferris Wheel: Up, up, and away!

Alsacien pizza: flammekueche with onions, mushrooms, and lardons

An Evening at the Cabaret

Of all the classic stereotypes of Parisian nightlife, few are quite so emblematic as the French cabaret.

The first Parisian cabaret, “Le Chat noir” (you may recognize the name from the iconic painting currently gracing tourist t-shirts and mugs across the country), opened in Montmartre in 1881. It was conceived as a café where artists and art lovers could meet and drink while being entertained by performers. Over the next fifty years, the cabaret would become a center of Parisian bohemian life, immortalized by artists like Manet and Toulouse-Lautrec. Such notable figures as Josephine Baker, Edith Piaf, Mata Hari, and Artistide Bruant would all make a name for themselves by performing in the cabarets.

Tournée du Chat noir, by Théophile-Alexandre Steinlen (1896)

Nowadays, cabarets are much more touristy destinations (and they have a price tag to prove it). But the shows still feature some of the features that cabaret performances were known for: feathers, frills, and enough skin to make the average spectator blush, if it weren’t for the fact that the nudity is treated so matter-of-factly that it stops being the least bit erotic and just becomes vaguely noteworthy.

Last Thursday, I found myself attending an evening performance at the Lido, one of the four main Parisian cabarets—the other three being La Folie bergère, Crazy-Horse, and, of course, the Moulin Rouge.

The Lido, located on the Champs-Elysées, immediately evokes a former era, with its red carpets and crystal chandeliers. As our group entered, a band and cabaret singer were serenading a multitude of dancing couples. But as everyone took their seats and indulged in wine and champagne, the curtains closed and the room became quiet. And then, in a swirl of multi-colored feathers and elaborate, bedazzled headdresses, forty dancers took to the stage with the alarmingly bright smiles and precise but uninspired movements of performers putting on three shows a night.

The two-hour show that followed included everything from a comedy routine to an ice-skating rink that rose up in the middle of the stage to a very real horse performing a nice bit of dressage—to mention nothing of some excellent high kicks. The whole thing was a bizarre succession of relatively simple choreography based around elaborate set pieces and expensive, barely-there costumes.

And yet, as artificial as the show was, there was something undeniably and incomprehensibly enjoyable about the whole evening. Capping the night off with a midnight cup of hot chocolate at a café and a circuitous trip home on the Noctilien bus, I felt as if I had just undergone an important Parisian rite of passage. And an excellent one, at that!

Below: all photo credit belongs to my lovely friend Sara, who is a far better photographer than I.

The "artistic shot," inside the Lido

Julia, myself, and Carol, with our French teacher in the middle!

Feathers!!!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

I have been getting this gnawing sense of guilt these past few weeks, as I realized that it has been a little over a month since my last post. In my defense, however, I have been busy experiencing a lovely little thing called France, so at least there has been a genuine reason for my neglect.

So what has happened in the past month? My lovely, lovely roommate Amy came to visit me, and I had the equally lovely opportunity to experience Paris through fresh eyes. I learned that, despite all the tempting things to do in Paris, school still demands a certain amount of attention. I have discovered that nothing warms you up on a chilly day like a cup of hot wine, dark and sweet and tinged with cinnamon. Hot chocolate also works, of course.

I have even experienced my first Thanksgiving outside the U.S., and although I missed my beloved Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (and my fantastic family), I have rarely spent a Thanksgiving feeling quite so aware of how much I have to be thankful for. In many cases, they’re the little things; it’s the people you’re with and the emotions you feel that make life so magical.

For instance, when Amy and I climbed up to Montmartre Thanksgiving afternoon, we didn’t actually “do” much. And yet it was one of those afternoons where you are intensely aware of simply living. As we stared through the fog at an obscure city; as we watched the unsteady hand of an aging artist flying across a page with astonishing confidence; as we sat in front of a wall inscribed over and over again with the words “I love you,” in nearly every language imaginable, while children rushed in all directions and leaves drifted down over our heads; at each of these moments I felt as if some eternal, mysterious meaning of life was right in front of my eyes.

But enough with the metaphysical musings. Where to start? Well, considering I am on Day 3 of my advent calendar, let’s talk about Christmas.

Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, all decked out in its holiday finest

I will save my official “Christmas in Paris” post for the end of December, but that doesn’t mean the holiday season isn’t in full swing on this side of the pond. I have been becoming increasingly convinced that winter in Paris is my favorite time of the year here. The mobs of tourists are gone, but a cheerful, optimistic bustle remains. Strings of lights and stars hang overhead on many of the streets. Garlands and ribbons decorate stores and cafes, and the windows have been steadily changing over into festive extravaganzas. There is a giant Christmas tree in front of Notre Dame, Christmas carols floating out of all the Starbucks, and (so I’ve heard) two temporary skating rinks: one at Hôtel de Ville, and the other ON TOP OF THE EIFFEL TOWER. Yes. There are ice skating rinks on top of the Eiffel Tower. Who knew?

While Paris has been gearing up for the holidays for quite some time, they officially began for me last Wednesday night, when Audrey Tautou (of Amélie fame) lit up the Champs-Elysées Christmas lights. Not that I actually saw her; Amy and I were on top of the Arc de Triomphe at the time, happily watching the Eiffel Tower sparkling away across the river. But the Arc de Triomphe, being located at one end of the Champs-Elysées, does offer a stunning view of the lights from above, and of the enormous, shining Ferris wheel at the Place de la Concorde. After the initial fanfare, we came down and ambled along the broad avenue, which as always was bustling with activity.

At the opposite end of the Champs-Elysées, the annual Christmas market is in full swing. Hundreds of little huts and booths line each side of the avenue, selling everything imaginable. There are also enormous quantities of hot wine (also known as “vin chaud,” or as “glüwein” in German) and raclette, a dish involving potatoes, cheese, and bacon, being sold every fifteen feet.

All in all, that familiar seasonal cheer is in the air, and commercial though the holidays might be, I can never resist them. Now, if it would just begin to snow…

Painter at Notre Dame

Fall Days in Paris Part 2

It occurred to me that my previous Fall Days post was directed towards outdoor-lovers (which I unabashedly am).  For those less inclined to spend a brisk day outside, however, here are several other excellent autumn expeditions.

One such expedition is a trip to la Musée de l’Orangerie (www.musee-orangerie.fr).  This tiny museum is tucked into one corner of the Jardin de Tuileries (otherwise known as the home of the Louvre, that international behemoth of art museums) and also offers visitors a top-notch view of Place de la Concorde and the Eiffel Tower, as seen here:

 Place de la Concorde...former home of the infamous French guillotine, now a hub of even more infamous French traffic

Although less well-known than its cavernous sister just across the river, the Musée d’Orsay, l’Orangerie houses a breathtaking collection of Impressionist and post-Impressionist artwork, the centerpiece of which is a collection of Monet’s Waterlilies.  Eight paintings were donated to this museum after World War I by the artist himself, who believed they expressed the universal human spirit.  The paintings, each one at least fifteen feet in width, are now hung along the walls of two white, circular rooms, so that visitors are surrounded on all sides by incredibly abstract waterlilies.  The overwhelming size of the exhibit creates the impression of suddenly having entered a strange and utterly extraordinary world. 

So much for the cultural side of Paris.  But, of course, Parisian autumn would not be Parisian autumn without the passionately adored Salon du Chocolat.

This annual festival, which takes place over four days at the Porte de Versailles exposition center, is as much a feast for the eyes as it is for the tongue.  For these chocolatiers, who come from all over the world to display their delicious goods, chocolate is not simply a food; it is an art form.  That means chocolate figurines, chocolate sculptures, chocolate jewelry, chocolate paintings, and, I kid you not, a nightly fashion show of clothing made from candy and molded chocolate.

That being said, no Salon du Chocolat would be complete without imbibing some—well, a lot—of the titular sweet.  In part to justify the  €12,50 admission price, every single stall in this football field-sized exposition center is handing out samples. And believe me when I say that every kind of chocolate imaginable is available for consumption.  Some stands offer bananas drizzled in fondue, others soft-centered truffles and crunchy caramel delights, handmade hazelnut chocolate spread, and flat discs of chocolate studded with nougat.  There was even a surprisingly delicious sugarless chocolate. 

The minute a tray of some of these goodies was extended over the counter, hoards of eager French men, women, and children descended upon it as if their lives depended on it.  Caught up in the sudden surge of insanity, we followed suit.  It took us about an hour and half to realize just how much chocolate all those tiny samples add up to.  

Just to give you an idea:

  Yummm...

  It's SANTA!

  It's SUSHI!

  It's CHOCOLATE WAFFLES!

Me and a very tiny seahorse

 Sculpting a chocolate ballerina

In which the definition of a feast for the eyes is epitomized

Chocolate Fashion Show: words cannot even begin to describe...

After all this epicness, Carol and I retreated to a nice, quiet park to recover.  As we sat there nursing the chocolate equivalent of a hangover, it occurred to me that Americans are completely outclassed by the French when it comes to eating. 

Despite all being the approximate diameter of a toothpick, the French can put away food the way my family does at a Thanksgiving dinner.  And unlike my family at a Thanksgiving dinner, they don’t loll around in food comas afterward.  Rather, they stand up from their four-course meal—served with a bottle of wine on the side, thank you very much!—slip on a terribly fashionable coat and scarf and stride off in four-inch high heels (or polished leather shoes, in the case of men) looking thin, carefree, and fabulous.  The mechanics of this process defy comprehension.

Yes despite the mad delight of a visit to the Salon du Chocolat, I must admit I’d rather just take an autumn walk through Paris.  It’s a love affair of the best kind, and one that I hope will last a long, long time.

Photos from Ireland!!!

 Me at the Cliffs of Moher

 Panorama of the Cliffs of Moher

Very happy cows at the Cliffs of Moher

Me with James Joyce :)

Fall Days in Paris Part 1

I love fall.  No, let me rephrase that.  I adore fall.  If fall was suddenly transfigured into human form, we would elope right then and there and spend the rest of our lives cuddling by the fire, jumping in leaf piles, and eating pumpkin pancakes. 

Fall in Paris, while not quite the spectacular panorama of color that it is in New England, is nevertheless a magical time of year.  The last stragglers of the summer tourist season are making their way home, and the city seems suddenly able to breathe again.  A seasonal crispness grips the air.  Outside le Jardin de Luxembourg, a vendor roasts chestnuts in an enormous black pan.  Children bundled in coats, scarves, and brightly-hued hats, toddle along like awkward penguins, flapping puffy sleeves.  

It’s moments like these that make me fall in love with humanity.

But fall days are not merely chances to marvel at the adorableness of children.  They are invitations for adventure—a chance to try something new, go somewhere as yet undiscovered. 

Last week, that undiscovered something was le Musée d’Albert-Kahn (http://albert-kahn.hauts-de-seine.net/).  Located on the outskirts of Paris, this magnificent collection of gardens can be visited for the rock-bottom price of €1 students, €2,50 adults.  Perhaps most importantly, it is a guaranteed crowd-free area. 

So, upon hearing about this hidden jewel, Carol and I decided to make a picnic of it.  We packed up our paper plates and plastic cups, water bottles, sandwiches from the boulangerie, and the requisite Kit Kat bar, and took the metro over to Port Saint-Cloud, located at the end of line 10.  Basking in the sun, we delighted in the finer things in life: the crunch of a fresh baguette, the blue sky overhead, and the sensation of complete and all-encompassing relaxation.

The gardens are actually divided into four sections: the elegant, rigorously symmetrical, and admittedly boring French garden; the decidedly less symmetrical and far more interesting English garden; the forest section, which is meant to feel like an alpine woodland; and the museum’s crowning jewel, the Japanese garden and village, where tea ceremonies take place in finer weather.

At this time of year, one of the most wonderful attractions to the Japanese garden is the collection of Japanese maples, whose vibrant red leaves provide a burst of color amongst the regional trees.  Unlike the French garden, for example, which is now merely a collection of arbors covered in brown vines, the Japanese one continues to radiate color and life.  Streams and ponds are scattered throughout, spanned by red-painted bridges, and tiny walking paths wind up hills, past pagodas and tiny statues of Buddha, in a glorious whirl of fantasy.

 Tea House in Japanese Garden

 River through the Japanese Garden

The Japanese Bridge

The English garden and the woodland have their own charms, of course, with paths taking visitors through groves of silver birch trees and through rocky passageways suspended over ponds.  It's all the more beautiful, in fact, because it's so unexpected: you would never know that you were a three-minute metro ride away from the heart of metropolitan Paris.  And if it ever gets around to snowing in Paris, I may just hop on a train and rush over to Albert-Kahn.  I have a feeling it would be absolutely breathtaking.

 Expedition through the English Garden!

 We are supposedly near Switzerland...

 Close-up of tree vines, still near Switzerland...

 Me in the middle of an epic trek through the English garden

View of the French Garden with a steeple in the background