For the past few weeks, I've been on a Santa hunt. I was curious: Would the French version of Santa - Père Noël - be in possession of the proverbial 'bowl full of jelly' stomach? Or would French Santa, represented in a culture that does not struggle with obesity, be trim and fit?
In the weeks approaching Christmas, I came across various shop window displays including Santa, however these only added to my curiosity over Kris Kringle's physique, as he was often depicted in contradicting styles. One store window would show his characteristic rosy cheeks and bulging tummy, the next would show a tall, lean man in red. Unable to find a uniform characterization of Santa, I decided that to have my answer, I would have to seek out the real Santa - or at least the one who makes appearances at Christmas markets.
One evening while walking around, Matt and I stumbled upon the Champs Elysees Christmas Market, littered with various tents of vendors selling chocolates, beverages, hats, french fries and Christmas ornaments, and complete with a Carousel and Ferris Wheel. Noticing a strong cable lining the tree tops, we followed it to see where it would lead. Finally reaching the end of the cable, we came upon a sign claiming that Santa and his sleigh would fly through the sky every half an hour until 8pm. Unfortunately, we read the sign at 8:45pm. French Santa had eluded me.
The next week, we decided to attend the Christmas market in the 6th arrondissement, near the famous Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighborhood, a place that Hemingway once called home. Besides being in one of my favorite parts of the city, this particular Christmas market was rumored to be the residing place of Parisian Santa, so of course, we had to go. Meandering down the cobblestone streets, we saw boutiques filled with Christmas trees, ornaments, and winter clothing alongside cafes with coffee, tea and hot chocolate. As always, we also saw the ever-present Starbucks. The streets were filled with tourists and Parisians alike, many of them doing some Christmas shopping, or just going for a stroll along the decorated streets. After taking in the beauty of the market for an hour, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that French Santa had evaded me once again. Père Noël was turning out to be a wily old man.
Day after Santa-less day, I had all but lost hope. I decided that I should stop focusing on Santa and move on. After all, it's only Santa, and I am an adult. As a result, Matt and I decided to spend a day in the Medieval town of Provins, about an hour and a half train ride to the south-east of Paris.
Well known during the Middle ages as a fair town - a designated fortified city where merchants from around Europe would gather to sell their wares - Provins is home to a 12th century castle, and many surviving examples of Medieval architecture in the form of churches, houses, shops and taverns. After spending an hour in the Castle, and then walking the ancient streets and having a Medieval lunch, I had all but forgotten my Santa quest as we entered the Christmas market of the medieval town. While glancing around at the various cakes and candles for sale, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. There he was! French Santa! He was sitting in a booth, having his photo taken with a small child on his lap. As the child's mother thanked Santa, and the child got up, I gaped at the red man: he was decidedly not fat. French Santa was thin! Finally, I had my answer.
Apparently, I must have stared too long. Suddenly, French Santa spoke:
"You can come sit over here," he said, patting his thigh.
"Oh, no thank you," I laughed awkwardly.
"No, it's okay, women can have their photo taken with Santa, too," he said with a smile.
I laughed, politely declined, and walked away.
It was confirmed. I had, without a doubt, met the real French Santa Claus.
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