Thanksgiving and Beyond

Thanksgiving. A time to gather with friends and family and recognize the blessings and gifts (intangible, more than material, in my opinion) present in your life. This was my first Thanksgiving away from home, and I definitely missed my family, yet I was thankful to have the opportunity to celebrate not only once, but twice with two special groups of friends.

My Thanksgiving holiday started Thursday evening, toting my weekend bag over to the 5eme arrd. to arrive at Molly and Yann's apartment for a Thanksgiving feast prepared by Edith and Molly. Everyone was gathered around their living room, sitting on the couch, floor, and even a mattress, drinking champagne and wine, enjoying the generous portions of turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, home-made macaroni and cheese, and much more. It's definitely an American holiday, but here I was surrounded by a mix of friends from all over--France, America, Britain, Cuba, and Morocco. Unfortunately I only had an hour from the time I arrived until I needed to get up to the train station to catch an overnight train to Munich.

I walked into Gare de l'Est, overwhelmed with excitement to embark on a truly European journey. I was standing at the base of my platform when Karina, Abbey, and Abbey's boyfriend Brad walked up behind me. We bounced around, got chocolate for the ride, and boarded the train. As we put our bags into our sleeping car, and others were busy finding their bed or seat assignment, unfolding sheets and pulling out books and bottles of water, I couldn't help but feel like I was a part of something bigger. A mentality? A social ritual? Riding the train is so traditionally European, and all around me people were searching for empty cabins, speaking different languages, closed into tight quarters, into beds stacked 3-high. The four of us tried to stay up to talk or maybe play cards, but it was after midnight, so we climbed into our couchettes, turned on the reading lights and talked about Thanksgiving recipes until our Tylenol PM lulled us to sleep.

I woke up to see snow on the ground as the train sped through thick forests and across wide fields with scattered farms and homes tucked into the snowy hills. We arrived in Munich, had time for a coffee and German pretzel, and then boarded another train for Garmisch. This time I watched the landscape change for the entire hour and a half. I tried reading my Economist, but I couldn't keep my eyes in the magazine. The landscape was Wisconsin and Germany, covered with snow, with more falling the further we traveled. We arrived in Garmisch to a full snow storm, Abbey's dad picked us up (after a minor fender bender from sliding through an intersection), and we drove through the village of Garmisch to get to their house. I wish I could've video-taped the whole drive, as the trees hung heavy with snow, the chimney's were spouting smoke, people were shoveling sidewalks, and the road wound around snowy river banks. We drove past the Marshall Center, the European Center for Security Studies where Abbey's dad teaches a course in counter-terrorism, and he explained that the compound used to be a training facility for one of Hitler's Alpine divisions. During the war it was converted into a hospital for wounded German soldiers, and when the Americans took over, it was where they housed German POWs. Driving around the stone-fenced compound, covered in snow, it was amazing to come so close to a history that on one hand seems so distant yet only occurred 50-60 years ago. We arrived at the Pratt family's house, warmed ourselves, took photos outside, and welcomed the others as they arrived--Abbey's sisters, and Vicki, a friend of Karina and Abbey's from England. We then bundled up for a 30-minute night-time walk to a local restaurant. The walk was perhaps one of the highlights of the trip, as the snow had finally stopped but our path to the restaurant took us over wooden bridges, on narrow ledges between a forest and a river, between homes lit up inside, their porches and wooden decks heavy with fresh snow. We traversed a field, knocked the snow off of fence posts, looked up at the expansive sky, and shared bottles of beer during our course. At the restaurant we ate stroganoff, schnitzel, spaetzel, and wursts and discussed politics and family trips over large steins of weiss beer.

Saturday was the Thanksgiving feast. Karina was the head chef, having put together the menu the night before. Vicki and I helped her in the kitchen the whole day, together making the entire turkey, doing the gravy, potatoes, vegetables, and doing a ton of dishes. Other families started arriving as we were transferring the turkey to some hot coals outside and moving all other dishes into the oven. The meal was a fantastic menagerie of everybody's collective work, and the other people were fascinating to talk to. I got into a discussion with a man who teaches international law (and is one of 8 people in the world working on re-writing the manual on international law) about the pedagogical differences between American and European instructors. (Anybody who wants to know more...I'll be happy to engage...but I'll leave all of that off the blog!) We took a post-dinner walk, returned to five different dessert varieties, and drank a lot of wine. On Sunday we all put on the Pratt family's snow pants and boots and went to an open field to play a game of tackle football in the snow. That evening we packed up and had to go back to the train station. The snow was still heavy, and it was hard to leave the country behind. But when I awoke on Monday morning, 15 minutes before pulling into the Paris train station, I looked outside at the changed urban landscape. The French buildings and plethora of chimneys, red tile roofs, white facades with wooden shutters, wrought iron balcony railings. The announcements on the train were in French, instead of German as they'd been on the way to Munich, and I sent up a thankful prayer to be back in Paris.

Overall, my Thanksgiving prayers were abundant. I am thankful to have the opportunity to live in Paris, to be in Europe where I can easily experience many distinct cultures, to be surrounded by friends who can serve as family in my family's absence, and to know that I have a wonderful and loving family at home who supports and encourages me to take this time in my life to do exactly as I've always dreamed. I have friends at home whom I love and miss dearly but who also know me so well, understand, and support my need to be here. I have remained healthy and out of harm's way over this past year, I have strengthened my sense of self, and I have been financially able to take the necessary steps to do so. And while Thanksgiving is a great reminder of everything I have to be thankful for, I simply walk down a narrow street in Paris, cross through a street market, look up at the newly-strung Christmas lights, walk into the warm, buzzing cafe on a cold evening, or catch a glimpse of the North star through my window, and I fill up with a sense of thanks-giving.