The First (Strasbourg) Noel Part 2

Angels we have heard on high...Strasbourg Cathedral
(c) me.

Now that I am settling into my new flat, it’s even more incumbent on me to make concerted efforts to build a Strasbourg community.

Church, as always, helps. I return to EPIS mid-December. By now I have developed a soft spot for it. It’s starting to remind me of my church back in London. I happen to attend on yet another fundraising Sunday (every third week of the month). December’s cause are the persecuted Christians supported by Portes Ouvertes; the French equivalent of Open Doors, a charity with which I am very familiar. A number of EPIS members do stirring presentations about stories that have impacted them on attending a recent Open Doors conference. It’s a challenge focussing on both their words and that of the sermon. A woman behind me noisily translates proceedings for her Serbian, non-French speaking family. A kindly congregant later explains when she notices my agitation.

I love learning the French translation of worship songs and carols I already know. As well as great language practice, it gives me a fresh appreciation of the message. Sometimes the lyrics are virtual transliterations. Others are approximations of the general sentiment. As the offering buckets are passed round, I am moved to tears by the rendition of ‘Le Premier Noel’.

I catch up with Jeanne after service. She’s up for hanging out in town, walking around the Christmas market and accompanying me as I pick up pastries and my usual Sunday takeaway (no cooking for me on my Sabbath). Jeanne is easy company. We meet up again a few days later after work. I want to see her before she leaves to spend her Christmas holidays divided between Lyon and Sardinia, where her sister’s in-laws reside. I remark how blessed she is to have such a close relationship with her extended family. She seems to come from very wholesome stock.

Jeanne listens patiently whilst I take the time to formulate my sentences in French as accurately as possible. I veer towards some complex topics. Jeanne is attentive, encouraging my efforts but also readily correcting me, as I have asked. It’s a small gesture but it means a lot for her to listen so well. It’s not as if she can recourse to English if I struggle to get the words out as quickly as I’d like.

We plan to do more organised language exchanges in the New Year, God willing.

In the lead-up to Christmas I finally meet my kindly HR contact Klara in the flesh. We spend a lunch hour catching up in one of several of THRO's eating establishments. Speaking at least five languages, with a heart of gold, she's an impressive young lady.

Strasbourg City Centre@ Christmas
(courtesy of Eurostar)

As part of my endeavour to expand my Strasbourg networks, I sign up for a Market-related event organised by Internations; an globetrotting variant of Meet Up. 18 guests register. Typically, only five of us attend. I get to kill two birds with one socialising stone; to see more of the Market in its full illuminated glory after dark and meet new people. Three birds, in fact as it’s another opportunity to communicate solely in French. None of the party are native Francophones. They are a multi-lingual set hailing from Eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. Most have lived in France for so long, I dub them honorary countrywomen. Our first stop is the artisanal end of the Christmas Market. Event organiser Martina says this is the authentic Christmas food market, not the overpriced made-from-a-packet stuff sold in the commercial parts. It’s the middle of the week and reassuringly mellow. The crowds are less dense. Martina wants us to sample the varieties of warm beverages on offer; from soups to hot beer. I stick with some hot blackberry juice, with no added naughtiness. We talk about their shared experiences of being global citizens and, one of my favourite subjects, what is fluency and how to attain it. Latvian Nina thinks it’s no more complicated than making yourself understood. Bulgarian Leona believes any aspiring linguist has arrived if s/he can properly articulate themselves in a confrontational situation. I am inclined to agree.

It’s a cold and damp evening and my frozen toes feel like they are dissolving into mush, whilst I can still feel them at all. It’s a school night, I inform the group apologetically. I need to run. Martina is having none of it. She entices me with promises of more beautifully lit streets and Christmas related displays such as the itinerant Icelandic Village mock-up which is passing through Strasbourg in 2017. It’s all right for Martina. She lives within walking distance.

I admit, the City looks stunning despite the drizzle. I am forever captivated by the magnificent Notre Dame Cathedral. Whether in daylight or after nightfall, it’s one of the most arresting I’ve come across; at once beautiful and grotesque. The German translation for Cathedral, 'Munster' feels most apt.

In advance of Christmas, the offices of THRO seem to be emptying in inverse proportion to the number of international visitors pouring into the City centre. By Friday 22^nd it’s a ghost town.

Most of my department have already gone on leave. Some will not be returning in the New Year. The Organisation is facing financial challenges. Temporary contracts are not being renewed. There are rumours of redundancies. Claudia has been a veritable Cassandra of late, prophesying doom at every turn. I can’t understand. If she’s so unhappy with THRO and is ambivalent towards Strasbourg, it seems obvious she should return to London where her gentleman friend awaits. She has her reasons, I'm sure. It’s too personal to ask. Plus, I wouldn’t want to seem like an ingrate. Her guidance in this early stage of the role has been invaluable. But I am still relatively new and don’t want to be infected by her jadedness. I am looking for tactful ways to stem the steady stream of negativity that comes out of her these days. I am somewhat relieved when she starts her Christmas break a day early.

(c) me

All THRO buildings close around midday the Friday before Christmas for a week and a half. I remain behind to try (in vain) to complete some detailed proof-reading Sophie has assigned before she goes on leave. My colleagues who are still present urge me not to stay too late. By the time I head to the exit after 1pm, even the security staff have vacated the building.

The day is still young. I pop into town to do some last minute food shopping. I have my Christmas playlist on repeat; a mix of modern classics (Donny Hathaway), obscure stone-cold Gospel gems, contemporary versions of a favourite carol and more recent additions to the Festive canon like the 'Black Nativity' soundtrack.

I’ve already bought most of my festive meat. I haven’t had Turkey at Christmas for years and have no intention of starting now. I opt for some Guinea fowl to be seasoned with a MENA region touch and roast beef.  I'll vary the menu slightly for New Year's Day.  As I’ll be cooking for one, I can’t justify over-indulging in too many seasonal treats. I choose my cheeses carefully with an eye on the calories. I have one packet of mulled wine seasoning left. My cranberry & raspberry juice is at the ready. Mum has already sent me a number of sweetmeats before flying off for her Eastern holiday. I stock up on a few more, with the intention of spreading them over January and beyond. Not quite ‘famous last words’. I’ve managed before.