I have made a point of escaping Christmas for as long as I can remember. Not escaping for Christmas, but avoiding it altogether – the stressful buildup, consumer chaos, panic buying, the enforced jollity and parties. When the first festive gifts start appearing in the shops in September, it’s time to confirm my travel plans, ideally to include New Year’s Eve as well.
Sometimes I travel independently, but more often in a group, and while it’s not always possible to avoid the tinsel and baubles – even in non-Christian countries thousands of miles away – I just relish not being at home at this time of year.
It’s not that I crave a week in the sun, although the Canaries or Madeira always appeal. My favourite Spanish city of Granada is a regular escape for Christmas, for despite the surprisingly cold temperatures compared with the Costa del Sol, the skies are always a dazzling blue, so I never tire of a stroll up to the Alhambra. I always stay high up in the Albaicín, the old Moorish quarter, where a walk along the winding, narrow, cobbled streets feels as it might have during the middle ages. I like the fact that even on Christmas Eve the squares are full of locals eating and drinking, wrapped up well in blankets and coats. The Spanish do love eating outside in all weathers.
Nor is it a case of bah humbug! I still send 80-plus Christmas cards by post and enjoy buying gifts for family and friends. When my parents were alive, I would always travel over to see them in Northern Ireland just before or just after the festivities. But everything changed in 1990 when my brother Brian, whose birthday was on Christmas Day, tragically died aged 45 the month before. Getting away appealed more than ever.
Over the years I’ve had some very memorable times. Travelling with a group of friends in Myanmar, after Aung San Suu Kyi had been released and encouraged tourism, I came down for breakfast on Christmas Day to find the receptionists wearing Santa hats, a fake tree in the lobby, and cotton wool for snow on greenery in the garden. The temperature was 30C.
That was the start of three days sailing down the Irrawaddy River, before exploring the Buddhist temples at Bagan, many held together by thick jungle vines. These cover 67 sq km (26 sq miles) and were built over a period of 230 years, until the city was overrun by Kublai Khan and the Mongols in 1287 and many were destroyed. For a bird’s-eye view, I went up in a hot-air balloon at sunrise on New Year’s Day and descended to a champagne breakfast.
As a vegetarian, turkey and all the trimmings are not for me, and while I’m very happy with the local diet wherever I am, somehow it’s assumed that, being far away from home, I long for a traditional British meal. After travelling by boat through the Sundarbans of Bangladesh, watching boatmen send otters on a leash into the water to corral fish into nets, we arrived at our next port of call to find the table laid for Christmas dinner – in my case, cauliflower cheese with yorkshire pudding, followed by tinned fruit salad and custard.
Other unusual festive dinners have included a packed lunch of pakora with cold chips, a cheese sandwich and a boiled egg (India); “warthog on spit” in Eswatini (I opted for rice and beans); and soggy pizza in Cuba – but then you don’t go there for the food; Cubans have to queue for basics such as rice, oil, sugar and eggs. Hunger pangs were forgotten when we scrambled up the hills to explore Fidel Castro’s hideout.
In Europe, many countries celebrate on the 24th, so Christmas Day is thankfully quiet and relatively normal. In Prague one year, under communism, the family I stayed with followed the Czech tradition of buying a live carp from a barrel in the street and keeping it in the bath until Christmas Eve, when they prepared breaded fillets, served with potato salad, for their meat-free dish in reverence to Christ. (I don’t remember how the bathtub fish was dispatched.) New Year’s Day required lentils for prosperity, and pig’s knuckles. I ate a lot of lentils on that visit in the 1980s, before the Velvet Revolution, when the only other vegetarian food I could find was Olomouc cheese (aroma of sweaty socks) and knedlíky (dumplings) with sauerkraut, when not doused in goose fat.
During a walking week on the Greek island of Evia on a group tour, it was a joy to find all the tavernas in the town of Karystos open over Christmas, despite it being the low season. We dined in a different one each day with “real people” then returned to a family-run hotel, our base for the duration. Our guide went the second (or seventh) mile after our day’s hike on the 25th by showering us with gifts, which were local and thoughtful; definitely worth taking home.
I like small group tours – fewer than 12 or you never remember their names – and I always pay for a single room. I’ll join the group dinners, but often head off alone to dine and discover something new (there is always one annoying person in the group – if you think there isn’t, it’s probably you). I like the fact I am only responsible for myself and don’t have to worry if my friend is having a good time. You can dip in and out of company but also have time to yourself, and privacy. The organised trips are usually a mix of couples, friends and solos like me.
The nearest I have experienced to a firework-free New Year was in 1999 in the mountain kingdom of Bhutan, a Buddhist country with a Buddhist calendar – there it was already 2542. The turn of the millennium was another reason to get away that year. I spent 31 December hiking up to Tiger’s Nest Monastery, one of the holiest sites in the Himalaya, on a cliff above the Paro Valley at an altitude of about 3,000 metres. This was followed by a restorative stone bath, with large stones heated for four hours and rolled into a wooden tub fragranced with lavender and herbs. It’s a ritual that beats any expensive spa treatment back home.
So this year, on 18 December, I’ll be hanging my age-old recycled wreath on the front door and heading off to Gran Canaria, hoping for like-minded escapers with walking boots and definitely no Santa hats. Merry Christmas!