Thanksgiving morning I headed to my early translation class, which has a grand total of six Dickinson students in it. We greeted each other in our usual American solidarity, somehow even more solidified through the sharing of what I consider to be the best idea America has ever had: Thanksgiving. It was a bittersweet greeting. We were happy to be spending Thanksgiving together in our little band of merry foreigners, but it was a less-than-unspoken agreement that, if we could, we would all be on the first plane home.
Thanksgiving is an interesting holiday... it's celebrated by almost all Americans in basically the same way, but everyone puts their own little twist on it. For me, Thanksgiving consists of the Macy's day parade, one of my relative's houses in New Jersey, more family than I realized I had, more food than we could possibly consume, and the mayhem of everyone talking and laughing over each other. And, it lasts for days. Time ceases to exist; we do little more than talk, cook, eat, and clean up and sleep afterwards. Of course, there's never work or school to think about.
Not the case in Toulouse. First I had class, then I had my internship. Class went decently, though the professor was in a really foul mood. My internship went as it usually does... the usual excitement that comes from making things up as I go along, given that I really have no idea what has qualified me to teach a room full of students.
After my internship, I was planning on doing an hour's worth of private English tutoring that I had rescheduled from the day before, since the metro had shut down for some reason, and I had no way to get there. As luck would have it, I got one stop down the metro line, and the metro closed again, suit un accident (following an accident). I was stranded, with no useful buses or a map around to speak of. It was dark, the area wasn't the greatest, I had to make it home to change for Thanksgiving dinner at the Dickinson Center, and I was completely lost. Complètement perdue.
I somehow managed to find my way home, forty minutes later, using the maps on the bus station routes, which don't have street names marked. I was heckled the whole way, of course, and was in a total panic, but I made it home. I have to admit, I was more than a little proud of myself. I have the worst sense of direction in the world, but I made it home. I changed quickly into a skirt, threw a little makeup on, and ran (literally) to the bus station.
The familiar Thanksgiving smells wafted from the beautiful Dickinson center; I could see everyone sitting in the common area in the basement, sipping on glasses of champagne and talking. It was packed.
Maybe Thanksgiving wouldn't be that different in France.
I ran in, dropped off my coat, was almost immediately handed a glass of champagne, and was welcomed by my friends and the Dickinson staff. We moved upstairs, treated ourselves to the Thanksgiving buffet of wonderful food. We spoke in a mix of English (since it is, of course, an American holiday) and French; it was hilariously bizarre to listen to some of the Dickinson staff speak English for the first time, despite two out of the three being native Americans. We talked about families, friends, Thanksgiving traditions... and of course laughed when the French that were among us were baffled by the amount of food that was served all at once as opposed to the elegant system of courses that they are so used to.
I can't imagine having done Thanksgiving in France any other way.
So, for all of you back home:
I love and miss you. I hope your Thanksgiving was wonderful, and that you enjoyed watching the parade on TV and spending time with your families. You're lucky.
(Picture from the 2009 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade)Andrew Bird sang It's Not Easy Bein' Green at his Paris show this past April in French (I know. He's awesome.) It seemed an appropriate caption to this picture. Click on the link above to download, and enjoy.
Bryn.
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