Pascal Leclerc's Blog - Posts Tagged "christmas"
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
- Christmas in Paris -
I had forgotten how cold winter really is in France. I don't return there very often but I usually choose summertime. I'll try to remember next time, maybe I would enjoy more than a couple of days wandering in snowy Paris. I'm no particular fan of French TV but having to watch it in bed for eight days in a row because of fever and flu wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I accepted to take my daughters along to my parents to celebrate a three generations Xmas reunion.
Family gatherings! I guess there're some in every country. Well in France, apart from weddings and funerals, there's Xmas. That's when the whole family let the frog legs run away and devour dozens of live oysters instead. All the gooses of France are by then liverless and everyone's ready for next day traditional "crise de foie" due to large excesses of calories. Don't ask me, it's tradition! Some make you burn entire hills, some others make you paint your neighbours and friends in sharp colours and some command that you stuff yourself sick with diverse bunch of tortured life forms... I'm no vegetarian and I can't argue with such quality of wine but still...
I didn't get sick from food. When you're trapped between two generations at the dinner table, you tend to skip dessert and check if it's really cold outside. That's where I got sick but before any throat ache and running noses, I got homesick because of the cold. 25 years I hadn't breathed such a freezing dry air, it just made me jump back in time! I had never mellowed out like that about my homeplace but believe me, once it starts, everything's an excuse for more! A customer pushes the door of a bar as you walk pass and the smell of coffee is enough to make you sleep walk three "stations de métro" dreaming about the days you were playing pinball and smoking your first "Gauloise". I was getting homesick at home! People looked weird at me as I stood a long time in front of a rusted mopped like the one I had at sixteen. I took a picture of it, you wanna see ?!
Naturally, when you start having these feelings, you begin wondering if you shouldn't, somehow, plan to come back. Parents are getting old, kids should study at Paris university, oysters are much cheaper, sandwiches are much longer, all sorts of excuses. Then you start looking around thinking, hey, what if I was living in that building? There's noone in the street and it's 3:30 in the afternoon, we're ten minutes away from Montmartre, wouldn't that be a cool flat to rent? How much they rent flats in here anyway? Bah, can't be worst than Hong Kong can it ? There's more room space and look at these balconies !
Behind the windshield of a police car parked along the sidewalk, there's a dirty wet teddy bear with a red knot around his neck. Just to see his reaction, I say "Merry Xmas" to the guard at the entrance of the police station. He looks at me suspiciously and surprised. He says nothing, just to be safe. On the window of the neighbouring bar, the waitress has laboriously tried to draw a christmas tree, or perhaps it was a client.. at closing time. A few steps away, there's a tent in the middle of the path and there's a drunk guy in it. There's another one snoring in a sleeping bag on the bench.
I reach a small square that smells Paris all over it, there's an old style Merry-go-round with spinning wooden horses and firemen trucks that need a good repainting and the trailer next to it adds to the flavor of the air as the owner is presently frying some "merguez" despite the absence of any customers. He must have sense me coming, I'm starved for "merguez", doesn't matter how many oysters I had for lunch! As I approach the "bar", I notice a group of homeless looking guys standing near the trailer, smoking and drinking beer. They're wearing thick layers of clothes probably given by some charity but they still look frozen cold. I order my merguez and watch the merry-go-round. A young couple stands in front of it while their post-toddler daughter sits on a side-car, a big grin on her baby face. She must have learned her first steps only a few weeks ago. The trailer man watches her too as he waits for the merguez to be ready. I feel safe about it, they won't be burned for that man respects traditions too. Hooked to the top of the merry-go-round, there's another little teddy bear with a red knot tied around his neck that hangs to a tiny rope. What is it with teddy bears today ? How come that wasn't mentioned in my horoscope this morning ? Perhaps something like: now is a good time for trading honey or today you will meet an old bed companion as it is being hanged by the neck ? Anyway the other end of the rope is now wrapped around the index finger of the merguez chef who lets the teddy slide down as the toddler spins by. Encouraged by the excitment of her parents, she tries to get up and catch the teddy. But it shakes and her legs are still fragile so she falls back on her sit, a bit scared. I take a look at her folks, they're smiling but they look a bit embarrassed... oh come on, she's only a baby, can't expect her to join "Le Cirque du Soleil" yet !
The toddler teaser is now busy spreading butter on my slice of baguette so I turn to the other side and take a look at the square behind. The homeless guys are still standing there, their unshaved beards makes them look even more greyish and pale, they're not saying much, not watching anyone, they just stand there, in a circle, maybe it makes them feel warmer to hold a place somewhere, even just in that circle. I can't tell how old any of them are but there's obviously no Christmas in them nor for them, they're like on standby, on hold, they're stuck in a virtual waiting hall, a sort of urban twilight zone, holding their breath forever.
Say ! Here comes Santa Claus ! He looks so good, so sharp, so clean in comparaison ! A true social contrast on his own ! His beard, immaculate and fake, brightens his face and the golden frame of his pair of glasses. His red costume is obviously new and his boots, made of real leather, would be such a splendid present for a biker like me... This Santa is as fat as the real one, not much younger, he's tanned and healthy, a perfect replica of the image popular tradition holds of the old man, a bourgeois Santa, that is, who's easely recognisable colours, for some reason, match perfectly with some widespread soda...Santa was obviously attracted by the merry-go-round. He probably felt garantied to meet little children there with whom to play his act. He's so into it, he hurries just in case another colleague would get there first, he just rushes pass the group of homeless men without noticing any of them. They don't either.Santa's face brightens up even more, he smiles, here's a little girl under her a woolen hood and matching scarf, holding the hand of her blond permed mom, the perfect match for such a good looking "Père Noël". "Joyeux Noël !" he says, "Ho ho ho!". The play's on...
My merguez sandwich is finally ready. "Sorry Monsieur, I had you waiting..." No worries, I'm not in a hurry, it's just a "gourmandise". I pay the man and turn back. Santa is still acting cute while the little girl and her mom are playing good polite girls. The homeless guys are still emptying their bottles, their cigarettes, their day, their terms of life.I'm about to leave and continue my walk when I spot some odd movements coming towards the square. Another homeless looking guy is trying to cross the street. He's probably trying to join his mates but he's in a much worst shape. He must have been hit by a car or had some sort of accident, perhaps he's got polio when he was a kid, anyway, it looks like he's in a great pain just trying to walk, swinging his whole body from right to left, using only the side of his right foot and a cane. Despite many layers of dirty clothes, he looks incredibly skinny and ill. His lips hold a cigarette but his cheeks are so hollow that the smoke gets trapped in his beard before flying away free. His cheekbones are redish due to the cold but his eyes are in fire. They stopped me right there ! What's with this guy, why is he in such a hurry although obviously, walking isn't really his stuff. Is one of the other guys owing him money ? Has he got some sort of terrific news to tell them ? He looks so excited, there's got to be something going on.
After much efforts and swings, the man finally reached the square. But I was wrong, he had nothing to do with the group I thought he'd join. They didn't pay attention to him either. I should have known, the light in his eyes made all the difference.No, he just stood there, not very far from them, ignoring them, ignoring me, ignoring everybody except Santa. He was looking at him with an almost religious intensity, he didn't dare to approach any further but his whole tortured body was aimed at him. Santa was still busy reciting good words for the well-educated little girl and with his back turned, he had not even seen him yet. So, regardless how impatient he was, he just waited there, a few meters away, respectfully, with fervour in his eyes. Was he expecting something from Santa, money perhaps ? Was he going to beg him ? It really didn't look that way. It looked more like some scene of adoration and I suddenly felt very very cold inside. I knew what he wanted.
Santa had finally reached the end of his play and was kissing the little girl's cheeks, still oblivious to the presence of his homeless fan. He wasn't even going to turn back, he was leaving and he was fast, the guy with the bad leg wouldn't be able to catch him up ! I looked at him and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. Not just your natural short-lived disappointment, a much worst one, one that had mixed feelings in it, sadness, pain, disgust, anger, unfairness, solitude, bitterness and loss. He was defeated, once more. His reaction resumed in raising his free arm half way and I'm the one who turned to Santa and shouted "Hey !"
That's all it took. Santa turned his face towards me, I turned my eyes towards the guy and he finally saw him. He had a light jump of hesitation and looked at me again. Yes, that guy looks very bad but his fervour had come back entirely, all the bad feelings were gone and wiped away and he, again, looked at Santa with an evident adoration, trying to walk towards him as fast as he could. And that's when I saw the magic of Christmas unfold before me. The bourgeois Santa melted and went away with that little girl and her mother and the real one appeared in front of my eyes. Almost with a kick, he quickly walked towards the disabled man, stopping him from suffering at every step and he simply offered his hand to shake while saying "Joyeux Noël!". And it was enough because the homeless guy didn't seem so homeless, so disabled and so hopeless all of a sudden. Something has straightened his back, reaffirmed his look and I heard the voice of a man with a soul, strong and soft at the same time, saying "Merci Père Noël. Joyeux Noël à vous aussi!".
Merry Christmas to you!
Pascal Leclerc
I had forgotten how cold winter really is in France. I don't return there very often but I usually choose summertime. I'll try to remember next time, maybe I would enjoy more than a couple of days wandering in snowy Paris. I'm no particular fan of French TV but having to watch it in bed for eight days in a row because of fever and flu wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I accepted to take my daughters along to my parents to celebrate a three generations Xmas reunion.
Family gatherings! I guess there're some in every country. Well in France, apart from weddings and funerals, there's Xmas. That's when the whole family let the frog legs run away and devour dozens of live oysters instead. All the gooses of France are by then liverless and everyone's ready for next day traditional "crise de foie" due to large excesses of calories. Don't ask me, it's tradition! Some make you burn entire hills, some others make you paint your neighbours and friends in sharp colours and some command that you stuff yourself sick with diverse bunch of tortured life forms... I'm no vegetarian and I can't argue with such quality of wine but still...
I didn't get sick from food. When you're trapped between two generations at the dinner table, you tend to skip dessert and check if it's really cold outside. That's where I got sick but before any throat ache and running noses, I got homesick because of the cold. 25 years I hadn't breathed such a freezing dry air, it just made me jump back in time! I had never mellowed out like that about my homeplace but believe me, once it starts, everything's an excuse for more! A customer pushes the door of a bar as you walk pass and the smell of coffee is enough to make you sleep walk three "stations de métro" dreaming about the days you were playing pinball and smoking your first "Gauloise". I was getting homesick at home! People looked weird at me as I stood a long time in front of a rusted mopped like the one I had at sixteen. I took a picture of it, you wanna see ?!
Naturally, when you start having these feelings, you begin wondering if you shouldn't, somehow, plan to come back. Parents are getting old, kids should study at Paris university, oysters are much cheaper, sandwiches are much longer, all sorts of excuses. Then you start looking around thinking, hey, what if I was living in that building? There's noone in the street and it's 3:30 in the afternoon, we're ten minutes away from Montmartre, wouldn't that be a cool flat to rent? How much they rent flats in here anyway? Bah, can't be worst than Hong Kong can it ? There's more room space and look at these balconies !
Behind the windshield of a police car parked along the sidewalk, there's a dirty wet teddy bear with a red knot around his neck. Just to see his reaction, I say "Merry Xmas" to the guard at the entrance of the police station. He looks at me suspiciously and surprised. He says nothing, just to be safe. On the window of the neighbouring bar, the waitress has laboriously tried to draw a christmas tree, or perhaps it was a client.. at closing time. A few steps away, there's a tent in the middle of the path and there's a drunk guy in it. There's another one snoring in a sleeping bag on the bench.
I reach a small square that smells Paris all over it, there's an old style Merry-go-round with spinning wooden horses and firemen trucks that need a good repainting and the trailer next to it adds to the flavor of the air as the owner is presently frying some "merguez" despite the absence of any customers. He must have sense me coming, I'm starved for "merguez", doesn't matter how many oysters I had for lunch! As I approach the "bar", I notice a group of homeless looking guys standing near the trailer, smoking and drinking beer. They're wearing thick layers of clothes probably given by some charity but they still look frozen cold. I order my merguez and watch the merry-go-round. A young couple stands in front of it while their post-toddler daughter sits on a side-car, a big grin on her baby face. She must have learned her first steps only a few weeks ago. The trailer man watches her too as he waits for the merguez to be ready. I feel safe about it, they won't be burned for that man respects traditions too. Hooked to the top of the merry-go-round, there's another little teddy bear with a red knot tied around his neck that hangs to a tiny rope. What is it with teddy bears today ? How come that wasn't mentioned in my horoscope this morning ? Perhaps something like: now is a good time for trading honey or today you will meet an old bed companion as it is being hanged by the neck ? Anyway the other end of the rope is now wrapped around the index finger of the merguez chef who lets the teddy slide down as the toddler spins by. Encouraged by the excitment of her parents, she tries to get up and catch the teddy. But it shakes and her legs are still fragile so she falls back on her sit, a bit scared. I take a look at her folks, they're smiling but they look a bit embarrassed... oh come on, she's only a baby, can't expect her to join "Le Cirque du Soleil" yet !
The toddler teaser is now busy spreading butter on my slice of baguette so I turn to the other side and take a look at the square behind. The homeless guys are still standing there, their unshaved beards makes them look even more greyish and pale, they're not saying much, not watching anyone, they just stand there, in a circle, maybe it makes them feel warmer to hold a place somewhere, even just in that circle. I can't tell how old any of them are but there's obviously no Christmas in them nor for them, they're like on standby, on hold, they're stuck in a virtual waiting hall, a sort of urban twilight zone, holding their breath forever.
Say ! Here comes Santa Claus ! He looks so good, so sharp, so clean in comparaison ! A true social contrast on his own ! His beard, immaculate and fake, brightens his face and the golden frame of his pair of glasses. His red costume is obviously new and his boots, made of real leather, would be such a splendid present for a biker like me... This Santa is as fat as the real one, not much younger, he's tanned and healthy, a perfect replica of the image popular tradition holds of the old man, a bourgeois Santa, that is, who's easely recognisable colours, for some reason, match perfectly with some widespread soda...Santa was obviously attracted by the merry-go-round. He probably felt garantied to meet little children there with whom to play his act. He's so into it, he hurries just in case another colleague would get there first, he just rushes pass the group of homeless men without noticing any of them. They don't either.Santa's face brightens up even more, he smiles, here's a little girl under her a woolen hood and matching scarf, holding the hand of her blond permed mom, the perfect match for such a good looking "Père Noël". "Joyeux Noël !" he says, "Ho ho ho!". The play's on...
My merguez sandwich is finally ready. "Sorry Monsieur, I had you waiting..." No worries, I'm not in a hurry, it's just a "gourmandise". I pay the man and turn back. Santa is still acting cute while the little girl and her mom are playing good polite girls. The homeless guys are still emptying their bottles, their cigarettes, their day, their terms of life.I'm about to leave and continue my walk when I spot some odd movements coming towards the square. Another homeless looking guy is trying to cross the street. He's probably trying to join his mates but he's in a much worst shape. He must have been hit by a car or had some sort of accident, perhaps he's got polio when he was a kid, anyway, it looks like he's in a great pain just trying to walk, swinging his whole body from right to left, using only the side of his right foot and a cane. Despite many layers of dirty clothes, he looks incredibly skinny and ill. His lips hold a cigarette but his cheeks are so hollow that the smoke gets trapped in his beard before flying away free. His cheekbones are redish due to the cold but his eyes are in fire. They stopped me right there ! What's with this guy, why is he in such a hurry although obviously, walking isn't really his stuff. Is one of the other guys owing him money ? Has he got some sort of terrific news to tell them ? He looks so excited, there's got to be something going on.
After much efforts and swings, the man finally reached the square. But I was wrong, he had nothing to do with the group I thought he'd join. They didn't pay attention to him either. I should have known, the light in his eyes made all the difference.No, he just stood there, not very far from them, ignoring them, ignoring me, ignoring everybody except Santa. He was looking at him with an almost religious intensity, he didn't dare to approach any further but his whole tortured body was aimed at him. Santa was still busy reciting good words for the well-educated little girl and with his back turned, he had not even seen him yet. So, regardless how impatient he was, he just waited there, a few meters away, respectfully, with fervour in his eyes. Was he expecting something from Santa, money perhaps ? Was he going to beg him ? It really didn't look that way. It looked more like some scene of adoration and I suddenly felt very very cold inside. I knew what he wanted.
Santa had finally reached the end of his play and was kissing the little girl's cheeks, still oblivious to the presence of his homeless fan. He wasn't even going to turn back, he was leaving and he was fast, the guy with the bad leg wouldn't be able to catch him up ! I looked at him and I saw the disappointment in his eyes. Not just your natural short-lived disappointment, a much worst one, one that had mixed feelings in it, sadness, pain, disgust, anger, unfairness, solitude, bitterness and loss. He was defeated, once more. His reaction resumed in raising his free arm half way and I'm the one who turned to Santa and shouted "Hey !"
That's all it took. Santa turned his face towards me, I turned my eyes towards the guy and he finally saw him. He had a light jump of hesitation and looked at me again. Yes, that guy looks very bad but his fervour had come back entirely, all the bad feelings were gone and wiped away and he, again, looked at Santa with an evident adoration, trying to walk towards him as fast as he could. And that's when I saw the magic of Christmas unfold before me. The bourgeois Santa melted and went away with that little girl and her mother and the real one appeared in front of my eyes. Almost with a kick, he quickly walked towards the disabled man, stopping him from suffering at every step and he simply offered his hand to shake while saying "Joyeux Noël!". And it was enough because the homeless guy didn't seem so homeless, so disabled and so hopeless all of a sudden. Something has straightened his back, reaffirmed his look and I heard the voice of a man with a soul, strong and soft at the same time, saying "Merci Père Noël. Joyeux Noël à vous aussi!".
Merry Christmas to you!
Pascal Leclerc
