TRAVEL
Settings for Christmas
Carol Wright
Somerset Maugham believed the only place to be on Christmas Day was travelling across France on the Blue Train. He said no one else travelled on that day. If one scorns the cosiness of round-the-family-fire Christmas, there are relatively few places to which one can travel to preserve the spirit of the festival without its climatic discomforts. Like Somerset Maugham, I like the idea of being on the move while the world gorges itself. Certainly travelling first class on an aeroplane with its continual ritual procession of food and drink, produces that seasonal bloated feeling.
Travel writers are inclined to write about Christmas Day in Timbuctoo ' because it is different.' But does one want to be that different and away from home settings at a time of pagan celebration of community closeness? For those who want both sunshine and Santa in his north European heaviness there is cruising. Though' most British cruise ships scrabble around the Caribbean bearing boatloads of Americans to celebrate ye aide Englishe way, some still ply the Atlantic islands, the nearest sun-sure spots: the officers dress up as Santa, and the passengers wear funny hats and eat turkey and plum pud in sweaty temperatures. (The Christmas pudding is a remaining symbol of the dead empire; I'll swear it's served in India on Christmas Day and I once saw the chef of the old 'Queen Elizabeth ' making 1,700 puds on a rough day in mid-August as part of the British cuisine laid on to tempt the American tourist.)
Or there is Safari Village, a less expensive, less alarmingly chic Club Mediterranee. It is a village on the Atlantic coast of Morocco where everything is designed for maximum simplicity and freedom. You live in a simple thatched hut, wearing, if you please, nothing but a bikini or a djellaba. Moreover, in the total cost of £80 for a fortnight you get a lot of other activities thrown in, including a night out in Tangier and water-skiing. Basically, the village provides organised freedom for people who like to fend for themselves.
Though not searing hot, the early almond blossom drifts against the blue, scudded sky of Portugal's Algarve has a country Christmas charm. I'd not stay in the British-monopolised large hotels but in the ' pousada ' inn at Sao Bras above the village of Olhao or up at the inn above the Monchique mountains surveying the coast, descending to the fishing villages for day time walking and cliff climbing.
But dry dust desert and palms have the right biblical image; there are tours to the Holy Land, but I'd shun old Jerusalem with its queues to peer at sacred sights, the overpriced souvenirs, the begging, the pseudo-piety of having ' done ' the world's
original tourist centre that exposes the worst of travelling man. No, I'd go down to Lake Galilee and stay at a kibbutz like the Nof Genossar on the lake shore where after dinner everyone draws together for stories and conversation. I'd see the New Testament sites: the synagogue ruins where Christ met Peter and Simon, the sermon on the mount chapel, and the countryside that meant so much to the bible writers. And I'd see it on horseback on ponies hired from Vered Hagali .(Roses of Galilee), a small ranch in the hills, and with the owners' organisation ride to an Arab hill village and eat rice and chicken with a Bedouin chief in his tent.
In northern Europe, snow and pine trees in Austria and Switzerland are obvious settings. I'd avoid the tinsel-hard clothes parade of the smart ski resorts, choosing the smaller villages like Austria's Fieberbrunn and ski-bobbing for fun even on the mornings after, and always having something to sit on when the apres-ski has been too much.
Big cities cold-shoulder strangers at Christmas. The restaurants and clubs tend to shut and the hotel must be special to compete with this. In Paris, I'd stay in the Georges V and have all my meals on room service and walk them off in the Bois de Boulogne. A smaller town that has the charm of fairy tales with its ruined castle and woods above the old spires is Heidelberg. I'd stay at the Ritter, the oldest building there, built in 1522; its rooms gothic in styling in heavy panelled framing. Or on a budget, and with a car I'd stay at the small, cosy Diana for personal charm of owner-management. I'd walk across the old bridge and up to the wooded Philosopher's way for exercise and views of the town. I'd drive along the Neckar and lunch in the old Gasthaus Neckertal below the fortress village of Dilsberg. In this warm, mountain-hugged corner of Germany, it might be possible to take a glass of wine on the terrace under the leafless chestnut trees overlooking the river before eating massively in the wooden chalet-like interior. In the evening I'd take a different course of my meal at a different student's cellar: Schnizelbank, Seppl, or Schnookenloch (where the menu features in English translation a dish of ' gipsy spit on rice '). Over the river, there's the Hirchgasse where duels are still fought, for an aperitif ' pokal ' of wine before a stately dinner at Perkeo delighting in their wine list and excellent cuisine. With three BEA flights a day to Frankfurt and less than an hour's drive down the autobahn and cars available at the airport, Heidelberg is most accessible for a short stay.
At home, our manor house hotels are historically evocative for those escaping from Christmas chores. The more off-track ones like the Talbooth at Dedham, Gravetye Manor near East Grinstead, Seckford Hall, and the Manor at Weston on the Green, Oxfordshire, would be my choice.
But after all, Christmas is supposedly
for children. Two helps in outing advice are a book called London for Children and a copy of Museums and Galleries which catalogues its museum coverage under
classifications which include things of interest to children.
Previous page
