The things we do for Christmas... (and love)

"Can you tell me where your Christmas tree baubles are please...?" I pleasantly asked a frenzied-looking shop assistant in a store at the weekend.
Laughter ensued. Loud laughter in fact.
In fact the kind of laughter that upon diminishing, would have normally seen said sales assistant beckon to other sales staff to come gather for a good old laugh at the silly Brit.
Once the laughter stopped she pointed over to a small stand in the corner.
"That's what we have left," she said still smirking.
Had it not been the 'season of good will', I would have slammed my sticky iced cinnamon roll in her face.
Believe me I thought about it.
But instead I strolled over to the stand with Jacks now in tow.
"What did she say?" Jacks asked.
"That's all they have left," I answered.
"Seriously?"
Seriously.
Now I was warned about the 'holiday season' starting on Thanksgiving - aka November 28th - but I admit, I didn't really pay much attention.
I didn't hear the start gun, Christmas isn't a sprint... it's a marathon. Surely, I thought.
Wrong.
It seems that Christmas does indeed start on Thanksgiving... midnight on Thanksgiving Eve to be exact.
Overnight every retailer under the warm Californian night sky puts up every twinkly glittery decoration they can lay their hands on.
Overnight San Diego becomes a Santa's grotto.
As I've since explained to many American people here, traditionally retailers in the UK 'kick off' Christmas and it's frenzied consumer-led chaos in November.
For many people in the UK, Christmas doesn't really feel like, well... 'Christmas', until at least December 20th.
This is normally around the time when you read leaked details of the Queen's Christmas Day speech in the national tabloid press, and the likely inclusion of 'Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom' and 'Love Actually' in the TV listings (AGAIN).
Up until then it's Christmas for the sake of Christmas. It's only when families begin to come together that our traditional UK Christmas begins.
I digress...
So there we were trying to buy a Christmas tree, some fairy lights and some baubles, on December 7th - two-and-a-half WEEKS before Christmas Day.
But it didn't matter.
We were late for Christmas.
A deep-rooted feeling of regret and sadness filled our tummies.
Had we seriously missed the boat? We didn't get the memo! Had that ship largely sailed?!
Pants.
Fortunately (because every Christmas story has got to have a happy ending right?) we found a bunch of people selling Christmas trees in the parking lot (or 'car park' as we call them).
And then of course the traditional husband-wife conversation began...
Me: "Which one do you fancy?"
Jacky: "That one!"
Me: "That's way too big."
Jacky: "THAT one."
Me: "Look at the size of the tree's TRUNK."
Jacky: "Okay... THAT one. It's small compared to the other ones."
Me: "Well, it's smaller than the other one..."
Sold.
$20 = bargain.
Now, I should mention at this point that we currently don't have a car here, and we usually rely solely on the good nature of friends and public transport.
Everyone else who bought a tree from that parking lot picked up their trees, placed them on carts and pushed or pulled them to their nearby cars.
As we didn't have a car to push or pull a cart to, I opted to carry the monster.
Of course being a man - a man who shirks at the idea of carrying two grocery store bags in favour of ALL of them at once (because I'm a man and that's what men do - albeit stupidly) - I hoisted the tree up and onto my shoulder, nearly taking out the tree-selling staff in the process as I spun around to locate the nearest trolley (San Diego's train) stop.

No I can't hold THAT pose

'Did Jacks help...?' I hear you ask...
Not unless by 'helping' you mean by taking photos and laughing uncontrollably.
All that was going through my head was 'it's our first Christmas as a married couple, it's our first Christmas as a married couple'.
With friends out of town and unreachable, we decided to try and use the trolley to get the bloody thing home.
Cue further comedy.
There are signs, clear signs, on just about every trolley carriage stating the size of things which may or may not be carried on said trolley.
Somehow, in the listing they forgot to mention that 'no Christmas tree over seven feet tall and three feet wide should be allowed on board'.
Yep, they missed the trick there.
Clearly no-one would be crazy enough to attempt such a feat...? That is until last Saturday.

Where's Wally?

So there I was at the trolley stop, roughly ten stops from the nearest stop to home, thinking there is no WAY we are going to be allowed on the trolley with this beast.

"Not a chance..." or so I thought

But then magic happened. The trolley arrived, we got on (well, I 'stumbled' on), I wedged the tree up against a seat and the trolley's ceiling and I smiled at the other passengers pretending that it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

En route

The 'magic' revolved around two transport police looking up at us, and simply ignoring the tree.

"Nothing to see here..."

It was a strange moment. It was like it was invisible.
And as weird as the rest of the journey was, it was also wonderful in equal measure.
In our crazy randomness we brought a fair amount of Christmas cheer to that carriage attracting smiles and nods of approval from every passenger who happened to get on, or off.
A couple of people commented about how great the tree smelt.
"It's smells like Christmas," one man said before thanking us.

Are we nearly home yet...?

So yes, we made it 'home' seemingly leaving half of the tree's needles on the trolley, in the elevator, and along the passageway to the front door.

Once in the apartment I grappled with the tree to raise it up, cut the string which had held it so tightly together, and then looked on with some amount of smugness as my aforementioned views were realised that this was indeed no 'small' tree.

Oh dear lord...

"Oh my gosh..." Jacky said.
Long story cut short... it looks amazing.
We found some baubles (around 60) from a store across the road at a discounted price because it's 'past-season' (?!) and we bought 75ft (yes... 25ft x 25ft x 25ft = 75ft!!!!!) of lights.
I could have covered my entire house in England with that length of lighting!
Still.
It does look pukka.

Twinkle twinkle in the Casa de los Nichols

America does Christmas well.
And now, so do we.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go and be horizontal for a while and try to soothe this aching back.
Happy holidays everyone!

@tristan_nichols

Whizz Bang Pop!!!

‘REMEMBER remember the fifth of November’ I muttered in earshot of Jacky’s dad this morning as I poured myself a coffee.

“Por que?” (Why?) he asked.

Oh, um… because it’s Guy Fawkes night in England.

“What is Guy Fawkes?” he asked pressing further.

Oh god, I thought. How on earth, after criticizing Mexico’s bizarre behavior in celebrating a national ‘Day of the Dead’, can I describe this?

I ended up giving it to him straight.

“There was this man, centuries ago, who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament. He got caught, and was burned at the stake on a pyre.”

Cue bizarre look from my adopted father figure which hints of shock, surprise and confusion in equal measure.

“We celebrate it every year by building bonfires and throwing a ‘Guy’ effigy… onto the fire.”

Cue further raising of eyebrows.

“But we do let off fireworks too, which are nice…”

“Ah, si si…” he adds.

I think that little dit was lost in translation and he now thinks England is a country of sadistic Satan-worshipping weirdos.

Oh well. On reflection our acts on November  5^th are pretty strange when you actually sit down and think about it.

We celebrate the murder of someone by re-enacting it thousands of times in one day across the whole breadth of the country.

And it’s a real family event.

Here in Mexico Halloween and the days that follow are a big deal.

It’s actually a three-day festival centred around remembering and celebrating the lives of those that have been lost in time.

Of course there is Halloween on October 31st, but there’s also the ‘Day of the Dead Children’ on November 1^st, and the ‘Day of the Dead’ on November 2^nd which is a national bank holiday.

Jacky told me it’s one of the most traditional festivals in Mexico.

Everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE you go there are displays marking the occasion.

Cheery eh?

You go to a supermarket and there, next to the traditional Halloween costumes, sweets and devil forks, are shrines complete with brightly-coloured flowers, lit candles, and food offerings to the gods.

‘Pan de Muerta’ (cake of death) is also sold all over the place.

I’m not sure what ‘death’ tastes like, but these things are good.

Dun dun da... cake of death!!!

This week I've also been practicing my ‘idiot abroad’ skills.

For example, we’re in town and I’m looking for a cashpoint.

I see a sign stating ‘banco’ and amble off to get some money.

It’s only when we’re approaching the building that Jacky starts laughing at me.

“You won’t get money here,” she tells me grinning.

“They’ll take something from you, but they won’t give you money.”

Of course it’s a ‘banco de sangre’ or, in English, a ‘blood bank’.

Hmmmm… that could have been weird…

Clock change confusion

SO the clocks have changed, the nights are drawing in, the heating’s on… wait, no, that’s you guys in the UK.

Here it’s still balmy. Halloween in a T-shirt and board shorts – that was a first.

The kids were trick or treating and knocking at the door, and I had a good mind to give them ice cream.

In truth the nights are drawing in here too. The clocks haven't changed here yet, and when I say ‘balmy’ it’s like 25 degrees as opposed to 40 degrees.

Still pleasant and mild, but you can now feel the winter coming.

But my god, November?! Where did you come from?

The changing of the clocks always gets me.

Spring forward, winter back. That’s right isn’t it? But then, I get my brain all twisted up considering what time everything changes, and what time it is everywhere else.

And this confession of a confused mind is no more relevant than now.

You see, here in TJ we’re eight hours behind (mum and dad) in the UK, and four hours behind (the brother Jon) in New York.

At least we were up until last weekend when the clocks changed in the UK.

Now I’ve had to shave an hour off mum and dad. Brother’s time difference remains the same – at least until “tomorrow”, or so my brother thinks.

He seems to think that the clocks change for NYC and surrounding area tomorrow (Saturday). So they’ll be moving back as well right? An hour?

Last weekend the clocks also changed in Mexico City to the south of us, and next weekend, apparently, the clocks go back in TJ.

But just to confuse things further Jacky claims that apparently the clocks change in neighbouring San Diego a short time later – or before. But not at the same time.

Why? Christ knows.

How weird would that be literally taking one step forward or backwards and being in the future, or the past.

Woah. Confused? Yes, me too.

Can someone not just wake me up when it’s summer again?

Anyway, Hurricane Sandy.

Who comes up with these names? Who gets to ‘name’ a hurricane?! Is there a hurricane-naming committee? Do they draw straws to choose them?

These questions need answers!

‘Sandy’, well… it just doesn’t conjure up images of a devastating force of nature does it? In essence these hurricanes are natural attempted murderers.

Sandy sounds more like a wimpy dog with a sad expression.

Anyhow with much of NYC being without power following the hurricane’s touch down on land, it reminded me of something that happened here a few weeks ago.

You see, we lost power in the house for an hour or so. Apparently there was some fault in San Diego, which crippled the network in a far-reaching area.

At the time Jacks mentioned that the last time they had a ‘major’ power failure in TJ it was out for two whole days.

“People went crazy,” she said.

“They were in a panic and buying all the petrol, the water... the tuna fish…”

Eh… ? Cue confused look.

I couldn’t help but laugh. What she meant was that people were buying as much tinned food as they could, not necessarily ‘tuna fish’.

Still, she got a big kiss for that as it was sweet as hell, and of course it was always going to provide fodder for this blog.

So, the blog’s got a new home on my new website.

Hope you like it. I bought the domain name last year and have been meaning to do something for a while.

Now, it seems, became a good time.

In this modern age I guess a personal website is the same as having a CV, cuttings file or portfolio 15 years ago.

Anyhow, thanks for taking the time to have a read. And apologies about the lack of pictures this time round. There are lots on the website if you're feeling deprived!