Strasbourg and Paris: Third Sunday in Advent

Paris, France

December 12, 2017

Latitude 48˚ 51’ 52

Strasbourg had all the ingredients for a good visit.  A light spray of snow lay on the ground as I exited the train station, and a wet, heavy snow clung to branches and on cars.  It was below freezing and white clouds breathed out of my mouth.  Snow.  France.  Christmas.  Cold.  It was going to be a good stay.

It was still the first week of Advent, that deep blue season of darkening days that preceded the white feast of Christmas, and I was in this city, with two-days on my own in what many consider the best French city to experience a Christmas market.  The day was blue and cold—colder than any other day I’d spent on this trip. The air was chill and the wind blowing from the north had winter in it.  I wandered about the city and came upon the center city quite by accident.  Security was heavy and the crowds—even by 1:00 pm they were horrific.  People were everywhere and the only way to move was slowly and in a crowd.  But…once in the center city, with its medieval styled houses, its twin pair of canals, and the blue sky all was forgiven.

Christmas markets, in my opinion, are best seen at dusk.  When I walked into Strasbourg’s central square--Place Kléber--I felt that I had swallowed sunshine.  It was not yet dark, but a 4:15 dimness had set in and the light was at its best to experience this beauty.  Every building was lighted, and in the center, with a backdrop of very old and well restored half-timbered houses, was a massive Christmas tree—one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. It was equal to Radio City’s Music Hall’s tree, to the tree in Old Town Square in Prague. wove from one market to the next.  There were easily ten of them in the city, and were connected in a zig-zag fashion and were easily connected through good signage. It was difficult to enjoy them because of the crowds, but I managed them nonetheless.  There was nothing in particular that I wanted to buy, but walking through them was a treat.

By 6:00 p.m. I’d had enough.  I made my way back to the tram and to the apartment where I’d rented a private room in someone’s home—a young couple, not more than 30, who were teachers.  They were out for the evening which was perfectly fine by me.  I was happy to be alone in a warm room.

Mid-morning on Sunday, a heavy snow began to fall and it took no time for snow to cover the ground.  It blew in great swirls, and I should have been excited.  But the day before had been so cold that nothing I was wearing was keeping me sufficiently warm.  That evening I’d lost a glove, and the prospect of heading out into the cold and snow was depressing.  When I left the apartment, a steady drift of snow crunched under my feet.  It would be a day of going to the movies.  In my travel-weary frame of mind there was nothing more I wanted to do than spend a quiet Sunday at home. 

Monday, I left for Paris on the 10:30 am TGV—first -class.  Ninety minutes Strasbourg to Paris at a speed of 311 km an hour.  307 miles.  Plattsburgh to NYC in an hour and a half!  Is there any hope for Amtrak?  I checked my luggage at the guest house where I would spend the night, then too off.  It was going to be a marathon day.  And a disappointing one.  My sources---the Internet—told me there were Christmas markets at the base of the Eiffel Tower, around Notre Dame and on the Champs Elysees.  There were none.  Well…I was disappointed.  Who wouldn’t be.  I slogged all over places I seen before and wasted an entire day.  Or did I? The city was lit up beautifully for Christmas.  The Champs Elysees was lines with hundreds of thousands of tiny lights.  I saw the Eiffel Tower go electric twice and even got to ride a giant Ferris wheel.  So maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.  It just wasn’t what I’d planned to do.

But I was tired and the day was less than pleasant.  A dismal gray drizzle was what I faced when I stepped out of Gare de l’Est, and even though that stopped it was still raw, gray and cold.  Suddenly it seemed the right time for this trip to come to an end.  I’d seen enough. I was quite happy to get back to my room, pack and go to bed. 

The trip had come to an end and that was OK. 

There will always be Paris.  Another time.