A Lady of Leisure…

...Or, the First (Strasbourg) Noel Part 3.

I am realising that the older I get, the more I enjoy my own company. Over the Christmas period, I have had plenty of time to ruminate over this. I hope I'm not becoming more anti-social with age.

Mum is in Japan enjoying the bright winter sunshine in the company of sis. I’ve just started to settle into life in Strasbourg, most particularly my new accommodation. It’s only been a few weeks. There’s no need to scarper off to London without my closest family members in town.

Besides, the extended Christmas leave from work will be the first opportunity to properly recover from all the upheaval of the past couple of months.

‘Don’t spend Christmas alone' warns my well-meaning colleague Lorette, fervently shaking her head ‘It’s too sad’. Au contraire. It doesn’t have to be, I reply. Plus (as I’ve been telling anyone who will listen), it will provide insight into what the festive season is like for those who are usually alone during this time, for far more heartbreaking circumstances than my own.

I’ve seasoned my meats and blended my root vegetable soup ahead of Christmas day to cut out some of the labour. I am determined to rest as much as possible. I wake up to sunshine streaming through my skylight-like bedroom window. It’s some of the best weather we’ve had in weeks. I am unable to have a proper lie-in. I check my phone for the message that stirred me from sleep in the wee small hours of the morning. It’s the first of several texts and/or phone calls that pour in throughout the day on both my UK and French mobiles. I’m touched that a number of friends have kept me in their thoughts despite their own seasonal busyness.

I Skype mum and sis. There's an eight hour time difference. It’s well into the evening over there and they still haven’t eaten. Something about being slowed down by a long, leisurely afternoon stroll. I take one of those myself later in the day. It would be a shame to waste the sunshine. I remain in my locality. I make a point to wish passers-by ‘Joyeux Noel’. A bus occasionally drive past. Unlike in the UK, there is still public transport albeit on a reduced basis.

Colmar, Alsace @ Christmas
(thegoodlifefrance.com)

Towards the end of my ramble, I spot a familiar spiral and take a diversion. It has piqued my curiosity since first moving into the neighbourhood. It’s a Catholic church, with an attractive modernised interior, virtually deserted. Not being of that tradition, I skip the genuflecting to icons and lighting candles. I take my time around the two nativity scenes; one miniature, the other closer to life size (I seek out a number of these tableaux over the course of my break). On my MP3 Kevin Max’ unique tones bring an extra-haunting quality to his stark rendition of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’, my favourite carol. I decide to loop it with the Swingles livelier, Bobby McFerrin-influenced arrangement. Both are sublime. They help to make this quiet and meditative detour a transcendent experience. Other visitors, come in intermittently but for the most part, I have the building to myself. I start singing a carol medley. Despite the carpet, my medium volume-voice echoes off the stone walls thanks to the great acoustics. Another group of visitors enter. They’re attitude isn’t very festive. Judging by the side eye one of them gives me and her feverish signing of the cross, she finds my impromptu concert-for-none irreverent. That’s my cue to exit.

Later that evening, I light my festive candle and sit down to a decent meal: Guinea fowl, roast beef, mixed-potato mash, turkey sausage and tomato and green leaf salad with homemade dressing. It’s the most I’ve ever cooked at Christmas and it ain’t half bad. I don’t finish everything on my plate. I forgot how filling the root vegetable soup starter could be. The evening entertainment is so-so; a disappointingly whimsical French film clearly adapted from a stage musical.

I have a loose schedule for the rest of the week; a mix of local excursions and further afield. I visit the Cathedral, again but this time venture inside alongside hundreds of others. I roam the streets of central Strasbourg aimlessly, wandering down less familiar side streets and discovering more shortcuts. Signs of the festive market have all but vanished as of Christmas eve. (I pedantically hold onto the 12 days tradition. It's still technically Christmas until Epiphany and I won't be told otherwise).

Mid-week, I pop over to Kehl to shop for household items and hope to take advantage of the winter sales. It is busier than I have ever experienced.

I attend a matinee at an arthouse cinema I come across on one of my rambles. I watch French/Portuguese ‘Menina’; my ideal European language cocktail.

My evenings are relaxed. I use the time to catch up on much-lauded films I missed the first time round; both relatively old (‘The Pianist’) and recent (‘Get Out’-extremely entertaining, yes. Not quite the wheel-reinventing masterpiece as claimed by some, methinks).

On somewhat of a whim, one day I decide to make the most of my newly-acquired train discount card and head to neighbouring town, Colmar. At the station, the sales assistant insists I don’t need to show her the railcard. She then proceeds to apply the wrong discount, for those under 26. I am flattered but I promptly inform her otherwise. ‘Oh my! I would have taken you for 25...’

‘26’ says her facetious colleague. It’s a good problem to have, I reply. My honesty costs me five more euros but the boost to my ego is priceless.

Outside St Matthieu's Protestant Temple, Colmar

Colmar is, as I have been told, very picturesque. It’s like a giant toy town, all the more appealing draped in Christmas paraphernalia. I’ve packed the regional guide that my former colleagues at the North London Council bought me as a parting gift. I don’t follow it religiously, navigating the streets by gut instinct. Still, I manage to hit the main sites of interest and catch a glimpse of the surrounding Vosges landscape. Unlike Strasbourg, the Christmas markets and seasonal artisan enclaves are still in full swing. A smile lingers on my lips, spreading to a full grin as, with the turn of each corner it seems, I am hit by more delightful scenery.

The Cathedral has the most unorthodox nativity exhibition thus far; ethnically-correct, frizzy-haired cloth figures with no facial features. The key scenes of the two principal Gospel accounts of Christ’s birth have been recreated in elaborate detail.

Not being a fan of museums, I skip the pricey Musée d’Underlinden and the tour of Auguste ‘Statue of Liberty’ Bartholdi’s home. Perhaps I’ll save those for when I have a guest.

It’s cold enough to snow in Colmar. It holds off until just before I’m about to leave, having eaten an underwhelming caramel crepe in a cosy cafe next door to the charming Maison Pfister.

New Year's eve is spent at church in the morning and evening prayers at home. At 12am 1 January 2018, I look out of my window. Fireworks, both makeshift and professional, light up my vista for nearly an hour. The air is so full of gunpowder, that the normal view of Strasbourg Cathedral is soon completely obscured.

This Christmas break is the quietest and most serene I’ve had. It's also one of the best. I’ve enjoyed myself in ways that couldn’t be planned to the letter. A mix of foresight and happenstance. I doubt I’ll have the chance to experience the festive period in quite these circumstances again. All the more reason to savour this particular life season.