Memories of Xmas Past in Far-Flung Lands

I love Christmas in London. The crowded, neurotic shops of Kensington High Street, the old, familiar bells of St Matthew's in Bayswater calling "come" to Midnight Mass, the sober tone of the Queen's Speech and the cold comfort of a James Bond flick. Not only do I love Christmas in the U.K., I miss it in mind, body and soul just like any other expat. 

Alas, the first time I felt a Yuletide surge of joy overseas was when I caught the scent of a young Balsam fir outside a dirty Brooklyn bodega in December of 2006. Then came the itch: to get back to Olde England for a fix of mistletoe, mince pies and... kazoos. Kazoos? Wait and I'll tell you, as my Old Ma says.  

One Christmas in a far-flung land stands out in particular. It was December 2008 and our plans to return to Blighty from Siamistan were thwarted by the canary shirted denizens of "the People's Alliance for Democracy" who took over the main transport hubs of Bangkok for a week long occupation and persuaded us to stay put. I was doomed, yea doomed, to spend another Christmas away from Notting Hill and the bells of St Matthew's, the same ones I was wont to complain about when I used to hear them through the bedroom window.  

But Christmas comes with perks in Thailand. Hot weather. Sandy beaches. Cold beers. Warm ladies. A stark contrast to unwanted sweaters, ghastly neckties, and family rows round a half eaten turkey. What fool would bin paradise and hurry back to the bleak midwinter of England? For ten years, not this one. Fortunately, the Thais love Christmas and the tasteful, neon decorations of Bangkok put the stingy efforts of London to shame.  

And Christmas Day was always merry at HQ in Bangkok. Those fortunate to get an invite sampled our homemade (and highly alcoholic) eggnog which went down a treat with homesick Yanks and sweet-toothed Thais. Eggnog is not an English tradition per se. Maybe it was in the time of Mr. Pickwick but I first tasted this alcoholic form of custard on a 1990 trip to New York for Xmas. It was love at first sip. Years later, in 2001, on a Christmas Eve visit to Kentucky Jane's (a university mate of Mum's), I sampled it once again and have been addicted ever since (even though it entails the separation of many eggs and the use of the largest bowl in the kitchen).  

On our first Christmas in Thailand, way back in 2003, we greeted astonished American guests to our Bangkok flat with a cup of this sweet, potent brew. Word went round that some Lime Juicers made eggnog and by Xmas 2009 HQ on Sukhumvit Road was heaving with Yanks gagging for the concoction. "Reynolds," barked Phil, star quarterback of the U.N. South East Asian office, "Dude, this is the best eggnog I have ever-had." Supplying expat Yanks with eggnog in South East Asia is no longer a concern. They stock it at the local branches of Kroger and Publix supermarket in Atlanta. No need to separate eggs and find the largest bowl in the kitchen. 

One seasonal ritual that I miss is playing the kazoo with the rest of the family round the dinner table (before the inevitable punch-up with siblings, of course). My mother has, over the years, caused much merry mayhem with her bag of kazoos from Harper's Bazaar. Her addiction began with that legendary BBC radio show, I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue "the antidote to panel games", in which one round features the contestants playing utterly inappropriate songs on the kazoo. Post cheese and port, she tilts her party hat and leads the ensemble through a selection of seasonal favorites. One hardy perennial is Imagine the John Lennon classic. I quite like that tune, but, I must confess, when playing it on a kazoo, you soon realize what a truly awful song it is. Hey Jude, as it happens, is even worse.

This year, like last year, I will be celebrating the heathen tradition of Christmas at HQ in the USA. Fortunately, I have a metal kazoo. Imagine will not be in the repertoire. However, this year, just like every other Christmas overseas in a far-flung place, I hope to keep it well.