Stories from fellow travellers about their experiences of foreign Christmases have always varied. Some, like my boyfriend, remember massive backpacker barbecues under a scorching, summer sun. Others remember joining distant, rarely thought of relatives and the awkward attempts at family bonding that followed. Those staying in hostels usually remember terrible food, masses of cheap alcohol and a giant tree, but stories from these folks usually detail hour long walks through cold streets looking for the one off-license that stayed open on Christmas (and I'll bet you anything the owner of that store has a much, much sadder story to tell). Some remember sponsor families from their student exchanges whilst others, like myself, are temporarily adopted by the families of friends.
My Christmas involved a full Christmas dinner, champagne and sparkling juice, baileys (how could it not) and a near heart attack after realising how much chocolate I'd eaten. Christmas eve was probably more fun as I got to watch my boyfriend's mother and sister spend most of the day in the kitchen producing not one, not two but ten different kind of sweet treats; from mince pies to hob nobs to a pavlova and chocolate log. An evening in the local pub resulted in a slightly hung over Skype call to my family on Christmas morning, but the time spent listening to Christmas hits and nineties pop was well worth it.
My family back home worried a bit more than I would have hoped and have rather over done it in terms of gifts this year, as the pile of twelve books now sitting on the bed can testify to (I am being persistently mocked about how I intend to transport all my presents back to Australia in a year or two). A funny hat from my sister and online vouchers from my father were reminiscent of gifts from last year, but the difficulties of overseas postage and online orders were evident. The detailed declaration of content (or the "Surprise Ruiner" as I now like to call it) on the packages from back home and the book written in German that my grandmother accidentally ordered from the Book Depository are clear evidence of that. But as the saying goes: it's the thought that counts.
And so it does seem that a merry (although not snowy) Christmas has indeed been had, despite all odds. Next comes New Year, which I can only hope will be appropriately epic and, of course, completely soaked in alcohol.
