Queen for a day

My favorite French tradition thus far is the celebration of the Epiphany on January 6th, the day when the 3 kings visited the baby Jesus. To commemorate this day, we ate a Galette des Rois, a delicate puff-pastry cake filled with a rich frangipane filling, delicious!! As part of French tradition, a small figurine is hidden in the cake and he or she who finds “la fève” in their slice becomes king or queen for a day. As luck would have it, I almost bit into a tiny ceramic rat in my first slice (not certain of the symbolism of what we consider a rodent in the USA, an insignificant detail perhaps?). I am the Queen! Rather than entertain ourselves with the traditional dance which we have yet to learn, we made a bet in which I would indeed be treated most royally. Needless to say, we have been indulging in this “king cake” every day since. Time now to take off the crown.

swimming in a sea of French…

Some days I experience what I call a ‘French block’. My mind cannot, or more accurately, does not want to think, speak nor understand anything French. It feels too much like starting over, like so many years ago when I moved to NYC and knew but one soul amidst a sea of strangers. I was young and impressionable then, and now? Still rather young and slightly less impressionable, but filled with the same eagerness to know and see and learn and meet. But here in Paris it’s much different. Most of all due to my poor comprehension of the French language and certain cultural aspects I have not yet decided whether suit me (as if I had a choice). Within this particular sea, the faces don’t smile as easily when you glance in their direction, and when looking lost or desperate, rarely will a local offer a gesture of compassion. It is those who have shared this experience, those with empathy (most often possessing a foreign passport), that help me to understand that it is in fact time and a rather liberal amount of humility that will ease this transition and allow the culture to envelop me.

I might add that a good glass of Saint Emilion in the late afternoon sun at the local bistro, can surely serve as a lifeboat.