Nov

Cultural Traditions: Thanksgiving in Paris

by Meredith Mullins on November 22, 2012

Turkey in Butcher Shop for Thanksgiving Cultural Tradition

Paris Butcher Wilfried Gardil Shows Off the Dinde Fermière
© Meredith Mullins

Crossing Cultures at the Dinner Table

The simple truth: we should vow never to grow tired of giving thanks or saying thank you. Thanksgiving should be a verb, a word of action. And certainly more than once a year, we should remind ourselves of all the good things in life. Family and friends. New adventures. Discoveries. Meaningful moments. Freedom. Saying Oh, I see with awe or with compassion.

The OIC blog has provided a world tour in the past week, from the Senegal sheep festival to heart-felt memories of American family life. At the risk of Thanksgiving overkill (and because today is the day), I share the American-in-Paris view of this cultural tradition.

Paris Store with Goods for Cultural Traditions of Thanksgiving

My First Thanksgiving
© Meredith Mullins

Searching for Everything American

My first November in Paris, many years ago, sent me straight to the store in the Marais named Thanksgiving. (It is at this point in the story that I freely admit that I am not a cook.)

I was nostalgic for American things, and this was the place to browse (and to be thankful that you could find crunchy peanut butter in Paris).

The tiny shop, reminiscent of a 1950s general store in the heartland of America, is crowded with products that the owner thinks Americans might miss most— from Fruit Loops to Saltines to Pepperidge Farm stuffing to a shelf full of jello to fresh cranberries.

For Thanksgiving, of course, they have it all. I ordered my pre-cooked, fat, white-meat laden American turkey and stocked up on stuffing.

Cultural traditions illustrated by Thanksgiving store window display in Paris

“Thanksgiving” Store Window
© Meredith Mullins

I bought cranberries, sweet potatoes, beans, french-fried onion rings and Campbell’s soup (to make that bean casserole that Mom used to make).

About 500 euros later, I left the store and wondered what exactly had just happened.

Finding French Options

As the years passed, many different approaches emerged (all of which cost much less than 500 euros).

You can have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner out (at some of the favorite expat places with names like “Breakfast in America,” “Joe Allen’s” or “Blues Bar-B-Q.”

You can go to the local American churches.

You can create your own French version of Thanksgiving (with oysters and organ meats . . . yum).

Or you can visit your friendly local butchers (mine are Wilfried and Jean-Paul) to order an American style turkey (lots of white meat) or the leaner and gamier French turkey (dinde fermière), with feathers and all. (Some say once you’ve tried the French turkey, you can never go back, although there may be a bit of sticker shock.)

Paris Butcher with Turkey for Thanksgiving Cultural Traditions

Jean-Paul Gardil with the De-feathered Turkey
© Meredith Mullins

Blending French and American Traditions

Now, after eight years of living in France, I still order my pre-cooked turkey (my oven is too small to cook it myself . . . at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it).

But I invite friends—all of whom are good cooks—to bring a dish. Then, we put into practice the idea of crossing cultures at the dinner table.

The French Influence: We look each other in the eye and toast with champagne, and we have a cheese course before those pumpkin and pecan pies.

The American Influence: We start a few hours before a normal French dinner (at most French parties, you’re lucky if you start to eat by 10 pm), and we warn the French guests that at Thanksgiving we eat everything at once on a huge plate stacked with food. The French guests should also be warned not to spread the cranberry sauce on everything just because it is called a sauce . . . (although they may have something there).

Somewhere over dinner, I savor my Oh, I see moment: Lean turkey or butterball, dining at 6 pm or 10 pm, the idea remains consistent—We are here to give thanks and say thank you for all that we have.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

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Crossing Cultures/Cultural Heritage & Traditions/France (Paris)

Oct

How a Paris Mime Made Me See Things Differently

by Meredith Mullins on October 18, 2012

eyes of Paris mime seeing things differently

Eyes of a Paris mime
© Meredith Mullins

Street Sweeper or Zen Master?

Street Sweeper. Silent Statue. Performance Artist. Zen Master. The character poised on the Pont St Louis (a “bridge with a view” across the Seine in Paris) could be any or all of these. He stands suspended in mid-sweep, as the flowing crowd passes around him.

Some bridgegoers glance at the silver sweeper and smile at the surprising oddity of it all. Some stop for a moment and stare, waiting for a sign that he is real, a twitch of his little finger or a silver blink. Yet, he remains frozen in time.

Paris Mime as Silent Statue

Every day, Robert Gheorghe comes to work. He’s a normal guy. A Romanian in Paris, trying to make a living, just like most people. For his job, though, he stops in the park behind Notre Dame, changes to his “work” clothes, covers himself in silver paint, and strikes a pose on the bridge. He doesn’t move. In fact, he can stand perfectly still for 40 minutes.

Paris mime sweeping street, causing the writer to see things differently

There are certain skills required for the art of being still.

Stage actors use shallow breathing and meditation techniques.
Buddhists use mantras and focused concentration on the now, finding peace beneath the clutter.
Martial arts practitioners use kamae (postures) to control their entire body (including mental “posture”) where countervailing forces help the body to stay still.

Things to Do While Frozen

Robert uses his own form of kamae.

He thinks of gentle lapping water or cello music . . . or he passes the time by watching people’s shoes (all so different!) in his limited range of vision.
He also creates featurette films on the gray pavement within his gaze.
He replays memorable conversations, practices one of his five languages in his head, dreams of traveling to other countries, or imagines himself with his older brother’s job (at the other end of the bridge) blowing giant bubbles and entertaining children.

He longs for a time when he is not in a frozen state. “A statue can’t communicate,” he says. “I want to get to know the people passing by, but I must remain still . . . and silent.”

Oh, I See—Things Are More Than What They Seem

Diving into deeper layers and going beyond an immediate response can almost always give you an Oh, I see moment. I had one the day I looked at Robert and realized that things are more than what they seem.

Head of Paris mime who made the writer see things differently

As I walked across the bridge most days, I saw Robert as a curious “statue” with an amazing command of inner and outer silence.

But, one day, after talking with this silver sweeper, I learned that he sees himself differently, and I began to see him differently, too.

He may be the only thing on the bridge that doesn’t move, but he is not a statue . . . and he really doesn’t want to be silent.

He wants to get to know the people who are wondering about him . . . and marveling at his performance. He wants to see beyond the shoes.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Meredith Mullins 1 Comment

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