Thanksgiving in France

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Violence is all around us today. At this time of year, when families get together to share, to reminisce and to celebrate, it’s doubly difficult to comprehend our modern world.

As we went to Newark Liberty Airport a few days before Thanksgiving, we wondered how the recent attacks in Paris would affect our flight to France. There seemed to be increased security and some of the TSA people were more cantankerous than usual, but we noticed little except for a barely half full plane.

We wondered if that was because of the time we were traveling or if people had cancelled plans to travel to France and Europe because of fear.

The relative calmness changed when we arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport. As long as I’ve been traveling to France , there has been a military and police presence at the airport. However, French police are rarely armed. That day we were aware of many more armed soldiers and police roaming the airport in twos and threes. They appeared more frequently and seemed to be much more alert and vigilant than I remember

Surprisingly, we sped through immigration and any fears of missing our train connection to Lille in northern France vanished. But our adventure had just begun. Our train arrived – a few minutes late – but we thought nothing of it until staff passed through each car of the train matching passengers to their luggage. When they found one unclaimed case, we had to move all our suitcases from the car we were in to another while the TGV sped ahead rocking from side to side.

What a relief to finally arrive in Lille to the gray, lowering sky and threat of rain.

However, the violence that we had read about and watched on television had marked this relatively peaceful large northern city. We were required to open purses and packs on entering stores and had to unzip coats, too. As we entered La Piscine, a unique art museum set in a repurposed 1920s municipal swimming pool, staging a wonderful exhibit of Chagall painting, pottery, and glass, we were scanned and crowds were carefully monitored. This was something new in France, though familiar to us since 9/11.

But street life is normal. The cafes and brasseries are full. The children go to school and the adults to work. People shop and dine out and take the added security for granted just as we do now in the U.S.

In the Place de la République , which lies between two major municipal buildings, thousands had gathered just a few days before in tribute to the victims of the recent attacks. Signs and flowers were still piled up and many people stopped for a moment or two.

But meanwhile, we prepared for an American Thanksgiving. There were no falling leaves, definitely no American football, and no Black Friday sales. It wasn’t even the fourth Thursday in November; we celebrated on Saturday. But there was a fresh killed turkey from the poultry farm. Fortunately, now the owners know that Rebecca wants her turkey defeathered and cleaned, though it does come complete with head. And Rebecca , as usual, had scoured the local markets for (very expensive) fresh cranberries and other traditional fixings.

Around the table was a varied group of mostly English speakers…some expats, some married to Anglophones, others who learned English in school. The close to thirty guests all lived in the area but they had come from Peru, Australia, England, the U.S, Italy and France.

Nelida and Carlos from Peru, whose native language is Quechua and who between them speak at least four languages fluently, supplied empanadas and a Peruvian confection. Sid, born in the U.S but who has a French father, made a pumpkin pie while his British wife Nicola made cupcakes. Emma, the American aide to the English class at Suzanne`s school, brought a lemon meringue pie. There were cornbread and green beans, roasted turkey and stuffing, Brussels sprouts bon bons and glazed carrots and mashed potatoes and homemade cranberry relish, as well as our family favorite radanchos, a Sephardic pumpkin pastry. It felt like home although people did not gorge themselves as they do at Thanksgiving so we even had leftovers from our 7 kilo (about 16 pound ) bird for sandwiches and croquettes. And yes, there was TV, but what hypnotized the kids were French cartoons, not American football.

For a few hours, the cares of our dysfunctional world were left behind as our group of Americans, French, Brits, Peruvians, Italians and others shared a meal, enjoyed conversation, and contemplated what would happen in the coming weeks as world leaders gathered in Paris for the Climate Conference, as French regional elections heat up, and the American presidential hopefuls continue to confound the French.

As for me, I’m on vacation basking in the glow of family and leaving the real world behind until December 9. The French have a word for coming back to one’s everyday world after the long summer vacation…la rentrée. Mine will be minor and will be in the midst of Hanukkah (but we will celebrate the beginning of the holiday with Hanukkah apple cake)…but that’s another story.

Image by Howdy, I’m H. Michael Karshis used with permission via Creative Commons: Attribution License

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