Christmas in France...

This really is my favourite time of year, and I am truly thankful not to be celebrating Christmas in neither a bikini nor air conditioning.  As we all know by now I could never, and will never, adjust to such an anomaly.

 

 

Even though France has the same seasons and similar weather to Britain in December, not everything is exactly the same for Christmas.  Yes, there are trees and lights, holly and mistletoe, hopes and wishes for a white Christmas (usually delivered in the French Alps and Pyrenees etc.) and excessive eating and drinking to be looked forward to.
 

But some things are different.  Father Christmas seems to climb up rope ladders here to deliver the toys and goodies.  This drives me crazy!  Santa Claus arrives on sleigh pulled by reindeer and goes down the chimney! Everyone is aware of this - the legendary stuff of Christmas - so I do not know where the notion of an abseiling Santa originated. I do not approve.

The French don’t really send Christmas cards, and the ones that are on offer are hugely expensive, really quite boring and often in the form of a postcard rather than a ‘proper’ card complete with envelope, glitter, robins and snow scenes.  Knowing this, I wisely stocked up on cards on a recent trip to London and sent them out in a timely fashion – probably my first and only bit of pre-Christmas planning.

 

 

French shoes rather than stockings are put out in front of the tree or by the chimney for Father Christmas/Père Noël to fill with treats.  France also has a Père Fouettard who patrols looking for naughty children to spank...

 

So very French is the law (passed in 1962) that all letters posted to Père Noël receive a reply – no room for negligence here! Not sure who hands out the punishments to workers from La Poste who fail to follow through on replies - Père Fouettard perhaps?!

 

The traditional Christmas meal can be on Christmas day but is usually in the middle of the night, after midnight mass is over with cafés and restaurants staying open all night. We are still mulling over whether to give this a try.  I’m inclining towards keeping it a daytime event, as there’s nothing quite like coming downstairs and opening the presents – with the breakfast 'toast' being champagne.

 

France has a very special place known as the Capital of Christmas, a city called Strasbourg which sits on the edge of the Black Forest in Alsace, all gingerbread houses, fairy lights and frosty pine trees and that’s where we are going for Christmas.  Famous for its Christmas market and starry eyed crowds, we plan to over indulge in mulled wine, late night shopping and sightseeing. A must will be a chilly ride in a horse drawn carriage, and even though I know there won’t be any, I am still secretly hoping for snow and maybe a sleigh ride instead.

 

We will have to track down some traditional fare for lunch and I will be avoiding the seafood bonanza the French – in common with the Aussies – enjoy over the festive season.  Turkey and mince pies all the way for me. Although, having attended a Foie Gras Fête and seen all the poor ducks and geese piled up, plucked and gutted waiting to be polished off, I might be tempted by a nut roast. It was all too much for hypocritical, squeamish me. 

 

Not sure what gifts may be waiting under the tree for us, but the trip alone is the best of presents.  And talking of presents, Christmas came earlyish for our indefatigable old neighbour Pam, a big fan of a bottle of wine, a packet of fags and Johnny Depp.  Imagine how thrilled she was when he did eventually drop by to light her up....

 

And all that is left to say is, in the words of Clement C. Moore in The Night Before Christmas, “I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight, ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!’”.  Wishing you all the happiest of holidays and the jolliest of Christmases....