It's beginning to look a lot like winter

I'm told by locals on a near daily basis that this has been an incredibly mild winter. Terms like "sunbathing weather" are thrown around with the casual nonchalance that only true hardweather boys possess. But what these crazy northerners are forgetting is that the rest of us (sane) folks are not used to this kind of climate. Whilst I was sadly deprived of the White Christmas I've dreamt of since childhood, I can no longer deny that winter is well and truly here. Snow has fallen, melted and fallen again, matches are regularly postponed for weather, the sun doesn't rise til it's almost time for it to set again and the walk down the hill to the bus stop becomes more and more treacherous every day. Black ice, as it turns out, is very likely to be the cause of my early demise. 

A wariness of spending too much money before I've received some decent sized paycheques means there will be no fancy skiing holidays for me. A trip to Edinburgh was the highlight of the new year so far but with southern England buried in snow and sitting at a comfortable negative seven degrees; it looks like I won't be doing much tourism for a while. So the question becomes: what is the humble traveller to do when leaving the house comes with oversized coats, frostbite and horizontal sleet flying in your face?

Winter can still be a grand old time of year for those of us who are sensibly unwilling to risk pneumonia. The humble thrills enjoyed back home can still bring comfort abroad. Restaurants, movies, bars and cafes are just as enjoyable. Museums, galleries and shops are still open and whilst good television seems to have gone on hiatus lately, a night in watching one of the many award ceremonies that kick off during February is just as fun here as back home. One of the difficulties modern travellers face is getting over the belief that you have to be doing something every day in order to justify your trip. Sometimes simply enjoying yourself is more than enough.

A Very Merry Christmas

And so ends my first Christmas abroad. Or at least; the first Christmas abroad without family. In a modern world of instant email and video calls this is much less of a big deal than it once would have been, but the wonders of Skype are bittersweet at this time of year. But of course, when does the festive season ever pass us by without a little bit of drama?

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.