Miracle

I have been walking around Paris this week, thrilled (and chilled) to the marrow. I learnt in some sweltering primary school science class that water becomes solid at zero degrees. And I still get a spine-tingling kick every time I see that distantly-gained knowledge confirmed somewhere other than a freezer.

Having grown up in Sydney, where you buy ice from the service station to put in the bathtub to keep your Christmas beer chilled, the fact that it can be so cold outside that water freezes is something still so exotic and extraordinary to me that I have been going out of my way to visit bodies of water, just to see if they’re congealed or not.

The lake in the Parc Montsouris? Completely frozen over. The sight of its strange, grey, flat solidity makes me want to laugh with joy, even though my fingers feel as if they’re about to drop off as I doggedly jog through the pre-dawn frost. I watch intrigued as the park gardiens break the ice around the edges of the lake with long-handled wooden mallets, sending thick transparent triangles sliding into the centre. The round lake in the Luxembourg Gardens is frozen too, the central fountain austerely festive with Christmas card icicles. The Stravinsky Fountain next to the Pompidou Centre is solid as well, its bright creaking sculptures reflected dully in the scratched silver below.

It’s all quite wondrous, the cold transforming even the ugly and mundane into things of wonder and allure. Crackling puddles, sparkling gutters, even dog pee takes on a new and fascinating sheen when criss-crossing the pavement in brilliant crystalline streaks.

I know I should be more ho-hum about this phenomenon if I’m ever going to be a real Euresident, but the little boy from Sydney in me can’t help but be enraptured by this marvellous wintry mystery. This miracle of the season. May the novelty and wonder never fade.

Warmest wishes for a glittering Christmas!