Tuesday, December 12, 2006


"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas,
Just like the ones I knew before
Where the tree-tops glisten
and children listen to hear
sleigh-bells in the snow...."

Christmas in 1983 was the first time I had ever spent Christmas away from my family. I couldn’t have been any farther away from Vancouver than Athens, Greece. It looked as though it would be a dismal time.

I had been living in Athens since October and shared a two-bedroom sparsely furnished flat with another woman. My room-mate’s ill-humour didn’t add to my mood as I faced the holiday season. I had met Connie the year before when we were both tourists in Greece, attracted by her sense of humour which she had somehow lost during the months we shared our apartment and struggled to adjust to life in Athens. We both worked as E.S.L. teachers. What money we earned bought the barest necessities for our flat. I used an upturned drawer to put my typewriter on and bashed out travel stories for newspapers at home. After what we were accustomed to, life in Athens was bleak.

I made friends with two Irish men, Donald and Barry, who made their living busking on the metro enchanting the Greeks with their Irish songs. They were homeless, and as we had an empty salon, I invited them to stay with us. Donald and Barry became my saviours, cheering me with their Irish humour and lively music.

As Christmas drew near I searched for festive signs around town. There were no decorations and in the store windows no sign of Santa Claus, Rudolph or Frosty. A large tree with lights was erected in Syntagma Square, but I missed the cheery sound of Salvation Army bell-ringers and carollers.

I went to the street market where the gypsies sold holly, pine branches and flowers and bought a little laurel bush with shiny green leaves and little wax-like red apples spiked on the ends of the branches. I put it in a flower pot and hung gold garlands on it with three red paper birds for ornaments and a string of tiny coloured lights. Soon parcels arrived in the mail and I placed them underneath.

My room-mate’s Greek boyfriend was opening a bar on Christmas Eve in the town of Chalkis on the island of Euboeia and hired Donald and Barry to play.
The cozy little pub was located near the sea. On Christmas day, as we walked along the waterfront. Barry played his guitar. Some seamen called us over so Barry and Donald sang Irish songs for them, and we all joined in singing Christmas carols. We found a little crèche with models of Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus surrounded by live goats and sheep. It was beginning to feel a lot more like Christmas.

That night we reminisced about Christmas at home, describing in detail the turkey dinners we remembered from past Christmas. We imagined what our families would be eating that Christmas day, savouring every vicarious mouth-full: the succulent turkey meat, the spicy stuffing, the cranberry jelly, the candied yams, mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, the variety of fresh vegetables and best of all, the delicious aromas that went with the food. We imagined the steaming plum pudding smothered in hot rum sauce, and how we would get the piece with money wrapped up inside. We felt comfort in each other’s company like a ‘family’. Because of Donald and Barry, Christmas became special after all, even though we were all so far away from home.

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents."
Louisa May Alcott 1832-1888 "Little Women" 1868 ch. l


Debra Young said...

I enjoy reading about your time in Greece. These are wonderful memories, d:)

Wynn Bexton said...

That truly was a memorable Christmas. (and it made me appreciate my family and all the family Christmases I've had in my lifetime.)