Christmas in La Réunion

I tried really hard to make myself feel like it was Christmas. I thought cold thoughts. I listened to Christmas music. I even convinced my Muslim roommates that we needed a Christmas tree (we never actually got one, but they at least were on board!)

It wasn't until I was sitting down at Christmas dinner with my french family that I realized I had it all wrong this past month. I was trying to make Réunion have my Christmas, when instead, I should have been falling into Christmas here.

The Christmas concert on the last day of school--the kids sang songs in  French, Créole, and English too! 

The Christmas tree in the Public Gardens

These trees are so so beautiful and just come out for December and January. They are called Flamboyants and I love them. 

Falling in to Christmas here means getting super excited when letchis start appearing on street markets...because they only come around in December, and everyone adores them, I think, because it reminds them of Christmas. Just like us and I dunno, egg nog or something.
(PS I couldn't decide for a long time if I liked letchis. The part you eat kind of makes me think of eating an eyeball. But after a month of trying to decide, the final answer is yes. J'aime bien :) )

Christmas in Réunion means actually shopping...because you can't just find everything online and have it shipped...instead, there are Christmas night markets with bright strings of lights and beautiful handmade gifts. All the shops downtown stay open until midnight for the last three days before Christmas, and the stores that sell chocolate or coffee have lines out the doors.

night market in st. denis

I don't know who the big headed guy is next to Santa, but I find him slightly terrifying. 

So then there is the Christmas celebration itself, and here's how it goes. Everyone (regardless of the religion you believe in) gets together with their family and friends for a HUGE dinner on Christmas Eve.

I was invited to PA and Nathalie's house up on the mountain, where they were hosting dinner for 12...both of their families, me, and their two friends visiting from South Africa. It rained pretty hard off and on the whole night, but they set up a big table for us outside on the patio under some cover. The girls all used the occastion to get dressed up while the guys wore jeans and t-shirts. (Some things are universal.) After walking through the gates, we immeidately had glasses full of white wine and champagne.

And there we sat, laughing and talking in french, and joking, (I can joke in french now!) playing games with the kids. There were three little ones...Stephanie's adorable son Jeremy, and PA's sister (Laurence) and her husband have two kids, Clémence and Thomas. (The most beautiful kids I've ever seen in my entire life.)  I overheard PA's mom telling the South Africans how well I spoke in French and how much I've improved. I blushed a little and pretended not to hear, but it totally made my night!

The first part of dinner was served about two hours later, around 10:00pm. It was a giant plate full of foie gras!! Like seriously, I have never seen that much foie gras in my life. It's really good when you put the little onion jam stuff on it.

The rain stopped enough so we could take the kids to the street and set off some fireworks. Then we tried to light some giant lanterns...you know, the kind that float away into the air all pretty..but instead ours caught on fire. And then, when PA threw it off the balcony, it landed on his cloth awning, which by some stroke of luck did not catch on fire as he bounced the flaming lantern off of it.

Père Noel came in the middle of all this commotion, for it was midnight and that means it was Christmas Day!! Père Noel brings all the gifts for everyone, not just the kids. I did not understand this fact, and all day, PA and Stephanie were reminding me that the kids still believe in Père Noel...so I thought "okay, sure, I promise I won't tell them that there is no Père Noel." But what it actually means is that us adults have nothing to do with any presents until they show up after midnight, and the kids can't see us carrying anything resembling a present. When I showed up to the car with all my gifts for everyone, Stephanie hurried them into the trunk, and they stayed there until Père Noel came.

So, Père Noel was very, very generous. I got loooots of chocolate, jewelry, real hiking boots(!!) french-sized coffee cups, Réunion-made honey and jam, cupcake baking supplies, and a beautiful notebook.

After everyone was finished opening presents, it was close to 1 am, and we sat down for the final part of dinner...Creole rice and duck. It was amazing. For dessert we had  ice cream cake and fancy french chocolates.

I'm not sure exactly what it was about this Christmas that made it one of the best I've ever had. I think, honestly, that I could feel the absolute love and affection this family has for each other. Even more, I felt included in that. And I feel  that in the US, people can get obsessed at Christmas with allowing each other to use or not use words like "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" and either ignoring religion bitterly or forcing it down each other's throats. I think the Réunionnaise have it right. To each his own. No matter what you believe about Jesus, the general idea of his life is that we should love each other and take care of one another. And that's exactly what I witnessed this Christmas.

My "Winter" Vacation

My job is awesome. We are on vacation from Dec 16th until January 23rd. Most of the other assistants have either gone back to the states or to other countries. Me, I find that there are still too many things to do on this island...(well that, and, tickets off this island are crazy expensive, hahha)

So here are some things I've done in the past week and a half of my "winter" vacation...(ok well technically it's summer here, but, well you know...)

1.) Hiked up the volcano:

lava!

The trail reminded me of following the yellow brick road...

2.) Swam in a waterfall:

3.) Visited the beach of black sand...it's black because it has lava mixed in it, and it is WAY to hot to stay on for too long. But it's beautiful and it makes the water look mysterious and black too.

4.) Got really, really dorkily obsessed with the Harry Potter books...can't believe I never read them before. and now when I go back and watch the movie after I finish the book, I am surprised at how much I liked the movies before...it's like a totally different story! (I know, I know. super dork.) 

5.) Visited the Art Museums in town: This was cool, because they are very old, famous paintings of places here!! It was the first time I looked at a painting in a museum and knew the land. 

Oui, c'est une belle vie <3

The rest of my days are filled with trips to the beach, sunsets, and yummy fresh Réunionnaise sushi. 

I like to make things with the sand. 

Beautiful shell search! 

La Mer

The ocean both terrifies and amazes me.

I'm a strong swimmer, which I owe to our backyard pool when I was growing up. We were in that thing every day. But swimming pools and even lakes don't prepare you for what the ocean can do. I learned this little lesson in Hawaii, where I was seconds away from drowning in a very strong current when I was 19. All I can remember is this feeling of total desperation and horror--caught like a rag doll in a cycle of water where I had maybe two seconds to gulp in more air before the next wave shoved me back down. That's when I learned to be afraid of the ocean.

Despite this, when I watch giant waves crash violently against rocks, and my heart beats fast...caused by something in between fear and a kind of perverse thrill...I know that I love the ocean. The semester in college I spent becoming a certified diver, and the couple of dives I've been on in Mexico, opened up this whole amazing world. The creatures that live under the ocean are like fairy tale monsters in real life. It's really one of those things that mystifies me about the world.

Seriously, though...could you even dream up stuff like this?

So the other day, I went with a big group of friends who rented a giant sailboat to cruise the ocean. It was breathtaking. The sun was glittering on the luminous, blue water. The wind was a warm caress on the cheeks. We drove away from the island for maybe two hours.

Everyone stopped joking about the unusual amount of shark attacks on the island for a second and... (of course) jumped into the ocean. Me, on the other hand, I stayed on the boat. I like having both of my legs. However, after five minutes of (loving) catcalls "oh, it's because she's American!" Pride overruled Fear, and I felt like I had to jump into the ocean in the name of my country! So because I'm that kind of girl, not only did I jump into the ocean, but I jumped off the highest platform with all the boys. So there, Frenchies!! :)

After that I stopped being afraid and went back to being adventurous. I grabbed a snorkel mask and some fins and got back in the water with Yazid, Fred, and this really beautiful French girl whom I hadn't met before. She was perfectly tanned, althetic, and had a really pretty sing-song French voice. She didn't speak any English. She motioned for us to follow as she lead the way to the coral reef. After a few minutes of swimming, I turned around (okay, admittedly to kind of check for sharks...my back felt funny, like it was being hungrily eyed!) but I noticed Fred and Yazid were getting back on the boat. Later, we found out that they chickened out and were indeed too afraid of being eaten by a shark. 

I looked at the girl. She smiled and grabbed my hand, and suddenly we were swimming towards the coral reef in a really graceful, surreal way. Her hair was waving back in stride with her fins and for a second I believed her to be part mermaid. The reef was incredible. Vibrant colors, beautiful fish....weird stuff I've never seen before...all moving with life. (I still checked my back every couple minutes. No sharks.) She tugged on my hand and pointed down below. There was a giant turtle, rising up just under us with two giant yellow fish friends who were almost his size. They took a right and we followed them. I laughed into my mask. How in the world did I end up here? Swimming with a mermaid in the ocean, following a giant turtle like he was the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland? 

We followed the trio until we heard whistles calling us back from the boat and we swam quickly to the ladders. My skin was sticky with salt water on the drive home and I smiled as I drank my coconut rum. Life here is really beautiful :-)

That night at dinner, for the third time since I've been here, I saw kangaroo on the menu. Usually I stare at my friends in fake disgust and say "You people eat Kangaroos!?!?!" (then they laugh and say "You people eat McDonalds?!?!") But after my afternoon on the boat, I was still feeling pretty adventurous. I ordered the kangaroo. Raw, as the waiter recommended. 

It was incredible. 

never never never give up.

I'm learning some things about life from the seven month old boy I babysit.

Every day I see him, we play games for a while on his mat. Then he sees a super cool toy he forgot about in the distance. He must have this toy. It is really colorful and cool and it will make him happy. 

So he reaches for it. Alas! It is too far. He flips on his tummy but still, the shiny toy is too far for his little arms. That's when he starts trying some things. He flails his arms and legs. He puts his head on the mat and squirms. He gets on all fours...and scoots backwards a little bit. 

The boy cannot crawl yet. But oh, does he try. He tries for a good five minutes before he gets frustrated and I help him. This happens every single day I see him, and I'm pretty sure it happens every single day I don't see him, too.

You and I both know that someday in the future, Marc will be able to crawl. But he doesn't know that. All he knows is that every day, he tries, and he fails miserably. Why doesn't he give up? Why didn't any of us give up trying to crawl? 

Nowadays, I get pretty frustrated if I try something every day for a few months and just continually fail. I usually just resign to saying something like "well, I guess that wasn't meant to be," and I move on to something else. In fact, I feel like that about learning French a lot. Why is it so hard for me? Why can't I speak as well as the other assistants here?  Maybe I should just do something else with my life. I should just go home, find a mediocre job that pays the bills, and just be happy that I can speak a little bit of French for when I travel. 

I went to the Préfecture (immigration office) the other day because I have a Russian friend who found she was able to take free french classes here on the D type of work visa, which is what I have. I thought it was a perfect solution...to take classes with other adult immigrants while being immersed. "I'll be fluent in no time!" I thought. Except when I got there, they lady told me that since I'm an English assistant, it's really not important that I learn French, since I'm here to speak English and I'm leaving in six months. She told me to go to the university and enroll in classes if I wanted to learn French. When I reminded her that being an assistant is a part-time job and I barely make enough money to live off of, she could only shrug. 

I waited until I got down to the street and put on my sunglasses before I started to cry. I know you're probably thinking that her turning me down for French classes is a dumb thing to cry about, but it has been a long build up. I almost never hang out with the other Americans nowadays, which means that my ability to do simple things like articulate my thoughts is severely limited. I cannot even describe to you how frustrating it is sometimes, and how much I took simple communication for granted before. More often than not, I can't get out what I want to say in French, and my English-speaking friends aren't totally fluent either, so I have to remind myself to speak slowly, use easier words, and still, sometimes I have to repeat myself three or four times.

But then, I hang out with little Marc and I think...hmm. Maybe someone is sitting back and watching me flail about and try different things, thinking "Stop worrying so much, I know that you don't know it, but you're going to crawl pretty soon. Just don't give up." 

That night, I came home and found a present on my bed. My friend Yazid, after hearing about what happened at the Préfecture somehow found a "Learn French!" program written for English speakers at the bookstore, and bought it for me. He wrote me a very sweet card and told me not to give up. At the bottom, he signed it "Your French Friend," and I laughed for the first time all day. 

That's when I promised myself I would be more like Marc.

The break up story

I am including this information in my blog (in summarized version) because it is part of my story here, and now it opens up a new experience...potentially exploring the dating scene in a foreign country...

The last time we talked over skype was about a month ago. We planned for him to visit me in January, and for us to meet in Paris in March. 

I called on Thanksgiving. He was partying with friends and managed to get out a few coherent words, including I love you, I miss you, and May seems too far away, I don't know...

I wrote an email the next day asking for clarification. 

He wrote back. I love you, I want this to work. I've just been thinking. Missing you so much is really hard. Sometimes I need to block it out. 

I responded. I want this to work. You're my priority. But I understand if your life is changing and you need to do other things to be happy. I will never hate you. 

I never heard from him again. 

I didn't cry, because I do understand. That's life. And we had a good time together. 

I am excited for the future. Everything is possible. 

Le Café.

Lately I've been fighting a lot with my internal clock.

American internal clocks and French internal clocks are very different. For example, normal dinner time in America is around 6:30, right? But none of my French friends start thinking about dinner until 8, and they usually eat around 8:30 or 9. So I have two choices: I can eat alone at 6:30, or I can starve until 9. (Which, by the way, is when I get tired and start thinking of bed...)

I also find that back home during the week, we don't do much socializing. The work week is focued on work. You go to work, you come home tired, you cook dinner, you read a book, watch TV, or visit facebook, and you go to bed. Then you wake up and do it all again.

One day last week, I went to work. I came home tired. I made myself dinner. I started to read my book (Misery, by Stephen King. It was terrible, but it's slim pickins for English books at the public library). And that's when, at 8:00pm, my friends asked me to go to the rec center and play a game of squash with them! (Thank you for gasping over-dramatically at this sentence with me.) 

Basically, I told them: you all are crazy, it's entirely too late to go run around a squash court for two hours, and...don't you all have work tomorrow? Then I explained to them how you are supposed to conduct yourself during the week. They laughed. «So...all you do is just work and sleep? When do you see your friends?» «Well, on the weekends,» I explained. «On the weekends you can do whatever you want.» A pause. «So I have to do five days of unhappiness for two days to see my friends? This is life?» ummm......

Ok touché. Good point. But even so...where do they get all this energy? How do they stay active all day long?? 

I figured it out, the next morning over a cup of coffee. (Which I desperately needed, because of course after that conversation I reluctantly forced myself to go to squash...). It's coffee. Coffee is the source of all the French people's power. This is why they are never tired. This is why they wake up at 6:00 and work all day and cook all night and then go play squash for two hours with their friends. This is why there are entire stores devoted to some VERY special coffee machines and colorful coffee capsules. And why every.single.person. I know here owns one (or two....they also make them for tea!)

Fancy Coffee Maker

The coffee comes in capsules

You buy the capsules (which are the colorful boxes behind the counter) at a store like this...

  

...where they are displayed beautifully like this. And you can sample them for free! 

I never really liked coffee. But I also don't really like the way my head hits the table when I fall asleep either.

Les boîtes de nuit

Last night I went out with some model friends to my first Réunionnaise night club. The night clubs have big patios with breezy palm trees, soft strings of lights, and giant dance floors. They play a surprisingly catchy techno mix of English and French pop songs. Everyone dances. Everyone sits at small round tables, and everyone buys bottles of Smirnoff vodka that cost 100 euro.

Going out with my model friends is quite terrifying. They aren't like my other friends here, who don't mind speaking slow for me and repeating themselves several times. My model friends speak fast and a few seem slightly annoyed if I ask for a repeat. The conversation feels like I am balancing on a giant ball that keeps moving forward...with or without me still on top. At any second, I could fall off. I'm always nervous, I'm always straining to catch any word I recognize in the sentence as it flies by, so I can make some educated guess on what they are saying. It's a stressful game, but I confess that I kind of like the adrenaline. The chance to succeed or fail. To practice.

In the nightclub, though, everyone speaks the same language. The music is too loud for words, so people resort to a kind of sign-body language. I'm good at this language, thanks to the years I spent waiting tables in front of live bands. Last night, I sat back and just watched the conversations for a little while. The girl next to me was complaining about how big her nose was and how she wanted to cut it off (cue scissor hand movement across the nose.) The girl across the dance floor was telling her friend to cheer up (cue constant «smile» movement with fingers across an over dramatic grin). A couple at the table next to ours was arguing because the girl wanted to dance and the boy wanted to leave. (There was a certain amount of  flailing of arms in this conversation). It made me laugh because these are conversations that could happen at a club anywhere in the world. Nightclub language is universal. 

The parties here don't stop until 6am. As an ex-bar employee, I cringe at this. You also don't tip, so I wonder how the bartenders are paid. Maybe it helps that a vodka red bull costs 12 euro. The music is predominantly American, which I found a little surprising because no one knows what the words mean or what the song is about, including the best of my English-speaking friends.

Mostly, I learned that in nightclub language, words don't matter. 

Just dance.