The Place to Be On New Year's Eve...

....is, evidently, our apartment. Or, more specifically, the bridge in front of our apartment. This is not the place to be if you are the masses, mind you. Then you head over to the Champs Elysées -- the Times Square New Year's spot of Paris. But if you, like us and our friends, would do almost anything to avoid huge crowds and drunken twenty-somethings groping each other on this very special night, then our place turns out to be a very fine place indeed.

We throw a rather last-minute party, planned out only over the course of the past few days, because some of our local friends tell us that the pedestrian bridge between the two isles -- the one we overlook -- is a lovely place to meet up with people and toast at midnight. The weather cooperates, and it works out extra perfectly because one of our guests, who hasn't felt well and is too tired to go down to the bridge, gets to spend New Year's Eve (which happens to be her wedding anniversary) with her husband on the deck, overlooking the madness instead.

There are illegal fireworks set off over the Seine around midnight, and we are out there toasting with champagne. Our girls and their friends are running around, chasing each other (and some boys), having a blast. A group of teenage boys sees us with plastic cups, champagne glasses, and a bottle and asks for some. I feel so American and prudish saying "no" but even the French parents we are with are shaking their heads "no." Somehow, this fact makes me feel both better and worse: better in that I feel less like I am a prudish American, but worse in that I feel more like a stodgy middle-aged parent.

We have a half dozen families, with kids, and fully expect to get the children, especially the younger ones (3-6 years old) to sleep well before midnight in a slumber party on the floor of the girls' room. But surprise, surprise, these are children being raised in Europe, and they have no problem staying up till 2am! OK, I exaggerate but only in one tiny respect: The three-year old starts to fade around 1am and is taken home in the arms of her father (awake, but at least tired). P falls asleep during the bedtime story just after 2am, but one of her adorable seven-year old friends who is sleeping over asks for more books to be read.

 

P's comment when she wakes up this morning is, "That was the best party ever! Can we do that again?!" I have to explain to her that it only happens once a year. Then, in a sudden epiphany, I realize she has no idea what New Year means, or even that midnight means a new day, every day. It's funny how I will immediately explain to her new French concepts (cultural or linguistic) but my assumption -- incorrect it turns out -- is that she understands everything about the American culture and English language already. And then something like this reminds me that much of what we say or do is going above her six-year old head. What has she been imagining all these years when we talk about midnight? Or said "Happy New Year" for that matter? What has she thought it signified?

We welcome new friends, and even newer friends, and even some friends of friends, and I can't say I've enjoyed a New Year's Eve more in years. Great wine and champagne, Just Dance competitions on the Wii (G is the undisputed champion), and the table is laden with delicious food. That includes chocolate chip cookies I've made, knowing they are not a very elegant food but that they will be a big hit with Americans, French, young and old alike. And the pièce de résistance -- this is not hyperbole, mind you -- the best cheese platter Anthony and I have ever enjoyed in our lives. One of our guests, Agnes, has completely outdone herself in bringing cheeses. Believe me, you will be hearing more about this cheese platter. For now, just know that it makes the cheese platter that was at your New Year's Eve party look like Velveeta and Cheez Whiz.


Happy 2012 and a Bonne Année to all!