La neige*

It’s been snowing kind of a lot in Paris. Today I woke up to a whisper-light dusting of about, oh, 2.5 centimeters, only to see a headline later on the Daily French Whatever that said something to the effect of COUNTRY PARALYZED BY KILLER SNOWFALL. Given that I come sort of from Chicago, I find this hilarious.

But apparently snow isn’t really a thing here. I’ve nearly killed myself by slipping on some hardcore ice slicks several times, despite the diligent droves of green-jumpsuited city employees chucking rock salt everywhere. People look more miserable than usual on the morning tram.

Still, I find it kind of comforting, perhaps because it’s so un-Parisian. After no Halloween and no Thanksgiving, I need something to signal that winter is actually coming. Snow does that nicely, and so I am content with it, even if the cold temperatures are making my fingers all stiff and purpley-pink, even with gloves.

The other signs of approaching holidayness are there: Christmas lights at the Asian-food-cum-vegetable-market, un “party de Noël” planned for this Friday night in my dorm, the guys who sell roast corncobs in shopping carts by the metro switching over to roasting chestnuts. And then there’s me, making my own traditions, like asking for an after-class thé au whiskey at the British-themed pub by school, which is the best translation I can manage for hot toddy**, or listening to Sufjan Stevens’ Christmas album like, every morning. France may be paralyzed, but I’m doing okay.

*To be pronounced à la Québecois: la NAYGE
**It had whipped cream on it, but it was still delicious.