Love Letter to France: Festive Magic
Carol enjoys a peaceful Christmas and celebratory New Year.
I possess a child’s excitement when it comes to celebrating the Christmas holiday. This year we have no guests for Christmas but a houseful for New Year’s Eve, known here as Le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre because December 31 is his saint’s day. Whether alone or with loved ones, I insist that we have a tree. A blue pine, if possible, from the Vieux Port in Cannes where a whole area of what is usually the local boules place is given over to a sea of sapins. We purchase ours in the last few days so that it will last until Epiphany without dropping needles everywhere. I love the holiday vibe down at the old port. After the tree has been loaded into the car, we pause for a hot chocolate at the Café Californie across the street from the Palais where, in May, the film festival is held.
Growing a tradition
For a while we stopped buying a tree because I was against its felling for the pleasure of two weeks over the holiday season. However, the lack felt sad so our compromise is one with roots. After the hols, we drive it north and plant it in the garden at the Mad Old Château, our old stone home in the Brie. Most survive, occasionally they don’t. Last year’s didn’t make it, sadly, but some are decades old; tall and splendid. Together, we dress the tree. When the job is achieved, I uncork a bottle of champagne and we sit outside imbibing the winter sun along with our bubbly. For me, this is when Christmas begins. Lights blinking indoors just beyond the tall French windows and the warmth of the winter sunshine outside. Lunch on the terrace is a Provençal privilege. By late afternoon, when the sun sets, we slide indoors and curl up in front of a roaring log fire to watch a film. Winter here in the south is the season of citrus fruits. Our groves are bright with lemons, oranges, grapefruits and tangerines, all ready for picking. Nature’s baubles!
Michel loves to make marmalades. All through the year he serves these jams for breakfast. And if we’ve had a good olive season, we’ll spend a day decanting our recently-pressed oil. The bottles are stored in a cool, dark corner to last us through to the next harvest. The French tradition is to serve the family meal on Christmas Eve rather than on the day itself. Traditionally, the Provençals dish up a 13-course menu! But that’s too much for us.
We spoil ourselves on New Year’s Eve when surrounded by loved ones. Oysters are a must. They are very inexpensive but still seem a luxury. This year, I baked a salmon, garnished with our own olive oil, lemons and herbs from the garden. We enjoyed it with plenty of fine wine and then cheese followed.

Le Cannet town hall © Carol Drinkwater
A starry new year
As the clock creeps towards midnight, we take our glasses and climb the hill to “The Royal Box”. We built this stone lookout point a while ago, and the views across to Cannes and the Mediterranean are stupendous. Beneath the stars, we await the fireworks. At midnight all the boats in the harbour toot their horns and light flares that pink the sky. We raise our glasses and offer each other the traditional bises (kisses) and hugs. “Happy New Year!” we cheer the world of Provence. ‘Peace on Earth.’
Carol Drinkwater is an award-winning actress and the best-selling author of The Olive Farm series. Her latest work is An Act of Love, set in WWII France.
From France Today Magazine
Lead photo credit : © CAROL DRINKWATER
Share to: Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email
More in Christmas in France, column, life in France, South of France
Leave a reply
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *