Thanksgiving Française

Marseille and the Mediterranean… and the Chateau d'If!

This past week, I took my nose away from the grindstone and took myself off to see a Fordham friend and colleague who's living in Marseilles. Being an American medievalist means mandatory travel in nearly all cases. This means coping with new challenges, academic and personal, without a social support system, of course… but also: living in Europe. It was my first time visiting France outside of Paris, my first time “en province,” as well as in Provence. The soil is different from that of my part of Germany; the building materials are different. (Parenthetically, I’m sure I wouldn’t be as conscious of this if 2 of the 3 weeks I spent tramping across northwestern Spain a few years ago hadn’t been alongside a professor who kept calling our attention to slate, to stone, to clay.) The countryside of Provence is the country of Marcel Pagnol, who managed to write tender and lyrical novels about how punishingly hard it can be to wring a living from the wind-weathered hills, as well as about the ecstasy of springtime there, and the unexpected enchantments of cultivated gardens. It’s also the territory which so often appears as “Countryside, near...” on museum plaques next to paintings by Cézanne.

Ein Lichtermeer zu Martins Ehr!

When I was growing up, my household always observed the 11th of November with some solemnity as Remembrance Day. My father remembers seeing and hearing the Blitz over London when he was a schoolboy at Winchester; some 25 years earlier, his father flew reconnaissance missions in the war that was to end wars. The question of how collective mourning for the First World War was done differently here in Germany is one I might explore in another post. But in Mainz, the 11th of November means just one thing: St. Martin's Day, and therewith the festive opening of the "fifth season" of Carnival. I didn't go to hear Carnival declared open at 11 past 11 in the morning, but I left the archives a little early, and went to the cathedral to see the Martinsspiel and procession. 

The procession gathers...

Martinstag, or, Why is there a bonfire in front of the church?

St. Martin, atop Mainz's cathedral

Tonight, when fellow choir-members and I disembarked from the Straßenbahn and approached the church where we practice, we were greeted by an enormous blaze. The fact that people of all ages were standing around it was partially reassuring. As we turned up the path, the group around the fire started singing, and my companions joined in lustily on the chorus. I was fascinated, but not enlightened. As we stood around waiting to get into a practice space, there was opportunity to observe more closely. "Oh look!" exclaimed Carina. "How sweet; they've made their own lanterns." "As it should be," rejoined Adrian; "it's not a proper celebration otherwise. Charlotte sidled up next to me. "I'm guessing," she said, "that this isn't a tradition you know very well?" I confessed that I knew it not at all, and received an explanation accordingly.

Cooking and eating abroad

As many of you, Loyal Readers, may know, I like to cook, and I cook often. I don't hold myself to a high standard of culinary creativity. Recipes found on the internet, in library cookbooks, and "let's take what's in the fridge and throw it in a pot" experiments all make me happy. It's my belief that no recipe, written or created on the fly, can go far wrong if apparently-excessive quantities of butter and/or garlic are used. Due to an irresistible combination of nature and nurture (thanks, Mom!) I like love to cook for other people. And even when I'm only cooking for myself, I find the process soothing. It requires creativity and attention, but not too much mental effort; it allows physical activities rhythmic (slicing and dicing) or vigorous (smashing garlic! punching dough!) and results not only in good smells, but a concrete product, after a relatively short amount of time. For a variety of reasons, then, it's a great way to take a break from academic labor. It's also something that requires a whole raft of adjustments when moving to a new place.