I know what you're thinking: "Wow, hey, that one France girl finally updated her blog. How long has it been, a few years since the last post?" and I'll just come out and say it, you're perfectly justified being a little annoyed. Sorry. I did have an excuse, but even excuses have time limits...
My first excuse (just to sate your curiosity) was that, in December, I was forced by some pretty awful circumstances to change host families. I don't want to go into any details, or incriminate anybody, I just want to say that my new host family is better than amazing, and everything is fine now. I've also changed towns and schools, but that was mostly because my old coordinator really wasn't all that great, and I wasn't making too many close friends at my old high school. No harm done there, and I've already made tons of new friends at the new high school.
That's life.
But, anyway, back to the awesome super-cool blog posts you guys are always looking forward to! (Right? ...Right.)
So, I know all of you are just dying to know about Christmas, here. And so, twenty-two days late, here goes every little detail.
I had actually arrived in my new host family n the twenty-third of December, so Christmas was just a little bit awkward. I had brought a gift for them and everything, but there was still that kind of "new person" feeling lingering about. (For reference: It's about the same type of feeling as when you have a new pet, but like...times ten. New exchange student. Ooh.)
As it turns out, Christmas Eve here in France is just about as important as Christmas Day: it's when you get your presents. I gave out my little box of expensive chocolates (you gotta love those French Chocolatiers), and was surprised in turn to get some presents from my host family; namely a scarf, some awesome leg warmers, and a CD from a popular French singer. We all sat down for an hour long aperitif, a sort of snack before a meal to whet your appetite, usually including alcohol, and I was allowed a tiny glass of champagne, just enough for a taste. (It was surprisingly okay, but I don't think I'm a huge fan.)
And then came dinner.
I've come to understand that, in France, Christmas Eve dinner can be...extraordinary. Every stereotype I'd ever heard about French dining (foie gras, escargots, lots of wine, staying at the dinner table for several hours, tons of baguettes) seems to come together for that one spectacular meal. It's really quite a sight. Thankfully, my host family dialed it down a few notches. There was still the foie gras and some traditional mushroom-and-fish type of stew (I didn't like it much, to tell the truth) but there was absolutely no staying at the dinner table for hours on end, for which I was extremely grateful.
After spending an extra hour or two gushing over presents (notably my host sister's new cellphone, which didn't leave her hand for the next several weeks) we all went to bed at a reasonable hour so that we could wake up at Dark o'Clock and start driving up to visit my host mom's family for Christmas. (Don't ask me where they live, because I don't know. I completely forgot to ask. I have no idea if we went north, south, east, or west. I just know we all crawled into the car and bored ourselves silly for two hours listening to the radio and looking desperately out the window for something amusing to engage our attention.)
We finally arrived at the family's house, I had a small heart attack trying to kiss everyone hello and pretend like I remembered names and faces, and then...
The Meal began.
The Meal was unlike any meal that I, even as an American, have ever undertaken. The Meal is not to be joked around with. The Meal is a sacred and time-honored tradition.
The Meal is eight hours long.
It consists of several courses, each with about an hour in between to rest your stomach and allow you time to digest the food you've already eaten. Adults will stay at the table the whole time, talking. Children will very quietly get up out of their seats, sneak over to the door, and go wreak havoc on the rest of the house, playing board games that they've been given for Christmas. They will, however, return for every course, and will eat just about as much as the adults.
I'll just say this now: I have no idea how the people in this country stay so skinny when their stomachs can be like bottomless black holes. Seriously. I was full to bursting after the first course, and I only ate half of it!
(Did I mention that after The Meal is over, about an hour later you're supposed to eat dinner? Yeah, I don't think so. I passed.)
I don't think there's very much to say after that, though. After dinner we all crawled upstairs to try to sleep with our upset stomachs, woke up in the morning somehow hungry again, ate a small breakfast, and sat around lazily for the whole morning. I think the adults were in the dining room talking some more: I personally was tucked up in my room trying to read a little bit in English to get rid of the awful headache I'd gotten from speaking and trying to understand French for the entire day before. (You can think what you want about learning another language, but it's sure painful sometimes.) We all dragged ourselves down to the dining room at around 12 to have a small lunch, and then packed everything in the car and went home, spending the next few days getting up at eleven in the morning and doing absolutely nothing. It was recovery time, I swear.
And that was Christmas.
There is, however, a reason the French say "Happy Holidays" more than "Merry Christmas", and it's not our sissy American reason, either: The French, from what I've seen, really couldn't care less about offending someone's religion by wishing them a Merry Christmas. It's because, in fact, they have two major holidays around this time of year, one of which I was woefully ignorant until a few days before it took place.
The French call it the "Réveillon", and it takes place on New Years Eve.
(This is, actually, the second day of the year to be called the "Réveillon": Christmas Eve is the first. The word, as far as I can tell, comes from the verb "se reveiller", which means "to wake oneself up".)
My host mom gave me the best description of the two holidays: "Christmas is high-strung, very noisy, and it takes a lot out of you. You spend it with your family. Réveillon is whatever you want it to be, because you spend it with your friends."
On the day of New Years Eve, I got all dressed up, put on more makeup than I'm strictly used to, and went to a party.
It was so. Much. Fun.
There was dancing, food, a few "name-the-song" contests that I was awful at, and even some karaoke, which was amusingly awful. I was forced to stand on my chair and wave my paper napkin around for one of the songs, an action I still don't understand, and learned the lyrics to an old 80's French song with some of the most clichéd words I've ever heard. The DJ made me come up and sing the only English song on the Karaoke CDs ("Can You Feel the Love Tonight" from The Lion King), I sucked spectacularly at it, and I danced until my back and feet were on fire. (I was, of course, the only one that knew all the lyrics to "YMCA" by the Village People, and I belted it out proudly.)
At exactly midnight, everybody started counting down, and as the clock hit midnight, a gigantic wave of sound exploded over the room as noise-makers went off and people started yelling. There was no ball dropping in New York, no Auld Lang Syne, and I have to admit, I didn't miss it. The energy going around that place was absolutely overwhelming. It was all I could do to stay awake for the next few hours, and when we left at around two in the morning or so, I was exhausted. When we got back home, I tumbled into bed almost without changing into my pajamas.
And then, of course, I woke up early in the morning to celebrate the proper New Years. (Those silly French people, nine hours ahead of the rest of us.)
~Jocelyn Harris
