A white Christmas is a magical time and something many Australians will never experience.
I have been privileged, however, to spend a few Christmases away, and they have all been memorable for one reason or another, a celebration like no other.
My first Christmas away was when we flew to the UK and Europe as a family. Mum sewed furiously to make us our warm “sloppy joes”, woollen beanies were crocheted and packed. We even had that new innovation for lengthy flights, paper underwear! We were ready. It was truly the original Kangaroo Route: Brisbane, Darwin, Singapore, Bombay, Bahrain, London.
As my parents were smokers, we were seated in the smoking section. I was intrigued how the smoke knew to stay hovering only over that section and not move to the non-smoking section. I pictured it to be like the Adams family Storm Cloud over their vehicle. We were certainly exhausted when we landed and were all a little swollen like Michelin Men, as the world was not yet aware of fluid retention when flying.
We did the traditional tour of Europe, seeing lots of snow and then on to spend Christmas with friends in Essex. It was a truly white Christmas. Our friends were in the church choir, so as loyal friends, we sat in the front row of the church. I am not sure if I have ever told you, but I have inherited my fathers’ nonexistent singing capabilities. So with our friends in the choir facing the congregation, dad and I shared our hymnal and belted out the first Christmas Carol. Little did we know, we were singing the wrong hymn! Luckily most people smiled sweetly at us whilst my sister and mother disowned us. I still blush when I think about it.
One year I spent roaming the globe, and my parents decided to spend Christmas with me.
We agreed to meet in New York. What could go wrong! It started with a bang! Dad didn’t say which airport or airline, and privacy laws would not allow the airlines to tell me. Mobile Phones were not an option back then, but a reverse charge call home finally calmed me down, and I was there in time to meet them at the gate.
Dad had hired a car, a Buick to be exact. As a tall man and loads of luggage, it seemed a reasonable choice until the first intersection. With right-hand drive, bumper to bumper traffic and horns blaring, dad jumped out of the car and threw his hands in the air. He couldn’t cope. Needless to say, I took over the reins. I am so much shorter than my dad, so I could only see between the steering wheel and the dash, I am sure an intriguing sight for onlookers. Christmas was fabulous, though. We travelled through the Catskills while the snow fell and spent time in Niagara and Niagara on the Lake, a gorgeous town. It felt like I was in a Christmas Movie.
I spent some time teaching in the US, so I have had several Christmas’s over there. I recall one year I went with a school group skiing to Big Bear just outside Los Angeles. As only support staff, I was free to ski and explore so I hit the slopes. I am not a skier but had fun until I took a nasty fall halfway up the mountain. The rescue team was called and a tall, tanned Scandinavian man was my rescuer. I was in seventh Heaven until the headteacher came barreling through insisting, he must take care of me. Life can be so cruel!
Then there was the Christmas I spent in Rome.
My Paternal Grandmother was Catholic. That meant I felt obliged to go to St Peter's Square and stand to listen to the Pope deliver his message. I remember it well. The Pope spoke Latin, and it sleeted, but I knew my grandmother would be pleased.
Although technically not Christmas, I have been on three River Cruises in December whilst the snow fell. Mulled wine was served in the markets and carollers strolled the street. There is so much excitement in the air and everyone is happy, and not only from the mulled wine!
I hope there will be many more overseas adventures at Christmas time, there is nothing like a White Christmas!
Would you like to experience a White Christmas? Contact me to help plan your dream Christmas Holiday.
