I always liked a traditional Christmas, though it has to be said that my traditions are my own! The basic ingredients are a pint (or more) of Guinness on Christmas Eve, followed by a day of eating and a hike on the 26th to finish me off entirely. I say the 26th, because if I call it Boxing Day as they do in the UK, I'll never live down accusations of being a West-Brit. If I call it St Stephens Day, or in the Irish Vernacular "Stephens's Day " nobody else in the world will know what I'm talking about. I'll also run foul of the recently invented International Campaign for Fretting about Apostrophies and I don't want to anoy them if at all possible.
This year was to be a little different. Because of my location if nothing else, I had decided that should go either of two ways: I would celebrate it with somebody I knew, or not at all. I had no desire to sit alone in a pub in Thailand with a funny red hat on and my "Kiss me I'm Irish" teeshirt, in the vain hope of being invited to join in somebody else's party. I had already had a family Christmas dinner in early November (thanks Mum!) closely followed by Thanksgiving in Texas, so I would not miss the celebrations if I had to skip them. As luck would have it though, I knew two people in Thailand and both were in, or on their way to the vibrant northern capital of Chiang Mai, just six hours by bus from the Burmese border towns where I was hanging out. Anne and Zoe did not know each other, I had met them in the old Thai capitals of Ayutthaya and Sukothai some time earlier and I figured we had enough conversation left in us to last the Christmas weekend without having to resort to competitive travelling games which mar so many conversations over here.
Questions like "How long have you been in Thailand?", or "Is this you're first time in Asia?" are often the opening moves in a tit-for-tat game of travellers oneupmanship which under-confident backpackers love to play with each other. It seems to make some people happier when they know where exactly they stand in the hierarchy of world travelling experience. This game can go on for some time if it is not properly played and there are typically two possible outcomes. Either you put your opponent firmly in their place beneath you in the hierarchy, or you aim to stop the game in a more concilliatory manner, rather like drawing a vicious looking weapon with a mad grin on your face and then softening your expression to a smile and allowing your opponent admire the ivory-inlaid handle.
Concilliation takes a little more effort and imagination, but with skill it is possible to achieve this end in only one move, usually by sidestepping the actual question so as to knock the opponent off balance.
"So, is this your first time in Asia? (typical opening move)
"Ahhhhm, I'm Sorry? (useful delaying tactic to give me more time to draw my weapon. Can also serve to disconcert questioner)
"Is this, eh, your first time in Thailand? (slightly off balance, but really expecting a definite answer this time)
Pause for a moment, then offer a wide smile and reply:
"Of course not..." (showing the weapon, blade forward) "...it really is a wonderful part of the world though, isn't it?..." (showing a bit of the handle, but still in control) "...and I found the best place for fried noodles, you have really got to try this place!" (isn't this really impressive ivory?)
Most people stop at this point and take the opportunity to discuss food, some really persistent players will push on, in which case you continue in the same vein, but maybe scrape a cheek with the tip of your blade by exposing the game itself. "But we don't need to keep swapping war stories do we?" and trying to get back to a normal adult conversation. Alas there are often failures here too in which case I often let the sparring continue until the opponent scores a small victory and relents.
I have succeeded in disarming quite a few opponents with these tactics and occasionally even had an interesting conversation afterwards. Much more enlivening than an endless comparison of minor stastics: how long have you been here, how far are you from home, how much longer will you travel. I'm working on what might euphamistically be called a 'pre-emptive counterattack' so as to safely disarm potential combattants before they make the opening move, but I have to be careful that it does not look like I am making an opening move myself. Tricky one this!
So, Christmas was looking like fun, fun it was to be too. Meeting with Anne and Zoe was not the smooth operation I had hoped for and Anne missed our Italian Christmas Eve dinner. By the time she caught up with us we had hooked up with a bunch of Norwegians and Swedes and were merrily playing darts in the Red Lion English Bar. The Irish Bar was closed because of elections (lame excuse!) but I had my five dollar can of Guinness in the Red Lion as tradition required, and then continued the night with more affordable German Weissbier. The drinking had started earlier in the Italian restaurant when the Norwegians produced a bottle of JuleAkkevit - a special Norwegian Christmas whiskey. They had been sailing for six months and had come prepared. They and I would like to pretend that the whiskey had been gently rocking in the hull of their yacht for half a year, but their original bottle had fallen foul of a drunken night in Scotland and this one had been airlifted in for the occasion. Nobody complained and it went down well with my brocolli and pasta dinner.
The evening's conversation in the Red Lion was quite typical of that in an Irish pub. We talked about the weather - it was unseasonaly cold for Chiang Mai - and this led on to the scourge of the vikings and the politics of Northern Ireland. I can't remember if we concluded that the two were related. Two jolly German Santas arrived at midnight and serenaded us with their harmonicas. I tried to join in on the spoons, but Thai teaspoons are tinny little things and my percussion sounded like the strains of a tapdancing ant. I gave up and tapped my feet instead. Like most of these sorts of nights, I don't remember actually leaving, but I do remember five of us stuffed into a tuk-tuk and heading off to search for munchies. There were no chips to be had, but seven-eleven do a mean microwaved burger at any hour. I settled for a small donut.
Christmas Day was spent by the pool. At seven degrees, it was a mite too chilly to get in and I admit I was wearing a fleece, but it was a pool and it was outdoors. This at least I can boast about. That evening was cooler however. Downright freezing in fact. Our viking friends had left for the warmer south of Thailand, leaving Anne, Zoe and I to celebrate an Anglo-Irish Christmas feasting on vegetarian Thai food. Scrumptious, despite the now bitterly cold weather. The restaurant owner did his best for our comfort by placing what looked like a flowerpot of glowing coals under each table. Laying on a live guitar band which played Jimi Hendrix on into the wee hours helped our spirits too, so I can't really complain.
Two late nights of feasting took its toll on Stephen's Day and I was in no condition for a walk. With apologies to tradition, I postponed the excercise until the 27th when I trekked through the forests of Mt Suthep replete with secluded waterfalls, and invisible scuttling wildlife. It was different, as was the whole festive season. No pudding, no sleigh bells, no pressies, no regrets. I'd do it all again and it gives me a few ideas for next christmas season. But that's a long way away :-)