Le Course des Brasseurs

"Bienvenue à le troisième Course des Brasseurs!"

The small crowd of runners behind the thick white arch applauds, chats, or continues their warm-up routines. Strangely, I am one of them, despite my obvious lack of physical fitness. Seven months earlier I could've probably run the 10k, but the rich french food dragged me, wheezing, into the 5k. 

My maman suggested the race several weeks earlier. Roads are blocked off around Schiltigheim for the event, which raises money to help young low-income mothers. We weren't inscribed, but she had emailed the man in charge of the race, who assured us we could do so in the morning. At the sign-in table, two woman firmly told us we could not run without a paper from the doctor. Fortunately, there was a friend of maman supervising, who cheerily waved us through. 

Walking from the building to the starting line would normally take about 3 minutes. However, every few meters we were stopped by people greeting maman. As she commented the night before, all of Schiltigheim has her cellphone number. People at the vestiaire, runners, spectators, city officials… everyone seemed to know her. The mayor, who still looked professional in running clothes, stopped shaking hands and taking pictures to greet us. 

The crack of a gun sounded, we were off. The race was harder than I'd expected. I've gone running maybe five times since my arrival, not nearly enough to combat the disappearance of my muscles. I was breathing heavily after 5 minutes. 

Step. Suck air in. Step. Release air. The old men are passing me. Okay. Rhythm against the gray cobblestones. Eyes on the gray sky. There's a twist up the little street between the rows of colored houses. I can hear musicians playing for us up ahead, one of four little groups placed around the route. Turn the corner. A guy behind me curses in french, "What? There's more?"

About halfway through the race we pass my street, and my papa who applauds and gives everyone a grave "bravo bravo." 

Up the bridge. My breath is too fast, I slow down. A young woman in black clothes and hot pink sneakers offers a smile and "Courage, aller!" as she jogs on. 

A man with a megaphone gives us our times as we reach the fourth kilometer. "Now," I think, "is the time to push yourself." I can't. I feel spent, and jog slowly onward. Then, just as the finish line comes into sight, I feel fine and break into a run. Frustrated for not using this hidden energy sooner, I pass a man for the first time since the beginning stretch. 

Done. Walk dreamily through the barrier, a man scans the barcode on my number, another writes something down and I'm handed a black gym bag. I greet a boy I know from Scouts who hands me a glass of something pink and sweet, and then walk off to the nearest park where I lie down, even though I have a notion that you aren't supposed to do that after running. 

After a few minutes I make my way back to the finish line to cheer my maman as she finishes. She runs with a Europe ecology sign pinned to her back and a smile on her face, despite the strenuousness of the course. Instead of walking straight through like the others, she stops just after the finish line to greet people. 

After meeting a dozen more members of the community, the two of us walk over to the starting line and applaud as the gun sounds for the 10k. She stays for the awards ceremony, and I pedal home to shower and relax before leaving for the theatre this afternoon.


http://www.ville-schiltigheim.fr/canal-schilick/1796

La capitale de Noël

I'm back! It's been quite a while. The busyness of school and the holiday season is not any less in France than anywhere else, and it was difficult to find time.
To write everything that's been happening is impossible, but I'll take things bit by bit.


The marché de Noël (Christmas market) is an enormous tourist attraction for Strasbourg. Despite the typical drizzly gray weather, the streets are packed with pedestrians to the point where it's impossible to ride a bike through certain sections, much less find a free stand to lock it. The shops and trams are filled, and sometimes one can barely see what's being sold in the stands because of all the people pressed up against them.
Like advent, it begins four weeks before Christmas. I caught a bit of the opening ceremonies, but had to leave for a play. At the finale, the Christmas lights all over the city are illuminated.
I believe Strasbourg could singlehandedly keep the entire lighting business in business. Purples, reds, and golds flood buildings, trees are roped with silver, everything sparkles and shines.
Lavishly decorated buildings and shops can be found throughout the city, but the marché de Noël has several specific locations. For example, la place Kleber has an enormous Christmas tree that towers over the nearby buildings and little wooden shops. Ornaments, toys, clothing, useful things and souvenirs of all sorts are sold. Crepes, hot wine, french christmas cookies, candied apples, baguette flambées, and an infinite number of other foods perfume the air.
But the alleys away from the marketplaces are more lovely. Store windows glow, displaying chocolates, clothing, books... one street in particular is hung with crystal chandeliers (publicity, but beautiful nonetheless).

I looked out over this scene when I climbed the winding steps of the cathedrale for the first time. Faint accordion music drifted up from below, where figures glided around the skating rink and the people moving through streets were mere dark spots against the lights.

I didn't buy any souvenirs, I don't think they would've reminded me much of the marché de Noël. I think of the warm drinks, street musicians playing carols, hot chestnut vendor, and wandering groups of tourists. 

Strasbourg is certainly not the only place with a marché de Noël. Other cities have smaller versions and even country villages set up little wooden houses to sell their crafts and food. My family stopped at one during a hike to buy mistletoe and Christmas tea. The churches sometimes set up crèches (manger scenes) which can be very elaborate. 

Strasbourg has been celebrating Christmas with a market since 1570. That's right, America. This party started over 200 years before you were born.

By the way, the stork is a symbol of Alsace, which is why my fellow exchange student bought this hat for his brother and let me wear it while we were clearly being tourists in Colmar.