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

Caffeine club and the patter of tiny Royal feet

“GRANDE green tea frappuccino, no whip, six scoops macha, no classic syrup, non fat please…” asked my caffeine-starved cameraman at Starbucks earlier this week.

I literally stood back from the long queue in amazement.

“That’s some order… How do you even remember that?” I asked.

“Easy. It’s what I always have.”

Cue wide-eyed employee beckoning to me to step forward…

“Good morning sir, and what can I get for you…?”

“Wow… um… latte… please?” I mustered, stumbling for words.

That’s all I could muster.

Talk about being upstaged.

The words skipped off my colleague’s tongue like a young over-eager thespian with his first crack at the Broadway stage.

I could never match that. How could I?

I didn’t even know what the hell half his order was.

“I used to live with a Japanese guy who claimed that that was the closest thing to how they actually drink their green tea frappuccinos in Japan,” my colleague explained.

I still felt like I’d lost a rap battle with Eminem in front of a packed audience.

“The only thing I change is the milk,” he said nonchalantly.

“It’s like a thousand calories and I don’t want to drink all of my food for the day in one hit.”

By now my head was bowed and I felt embarrassed picking up my sad little latte from the counter.

You can say what you want about our American allies but you know, you have to appreciate their direct approach.

They know what they want. And if they want it, they’ll ask for it.

No matter how complicated it is.

He told me that he felt sure that to some, it was a “challenge”, and “part of the game” when going to Starbucks or another well-known coffee shop.

To confuse staff?!

“Maybe it’s a status thing?” he pondered.

We English are so reserved. We don’t want, or like, fuss.

That’s why over here in San Diego I start most questions… “Sorry to bother you, would you mind awfully…”

I can’t help it. I seem to turn my Englishness up to ‘11’ when I’m surrounded by Americans.

Personally, I’m non-fuss when it comes to ordering wine at a restaurant too.

I spend 10 minutes looking at the huge list of wines and then – more-often-than-not – ultimately ask for a glass of ‘house white’.

There’s been a lot of comedy moments in recent times in Starbucks coffee shops.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have a fairly healthy caffeine addiction.

A little while ago, after ordering my drink the Starbucks staff member asked me for my name.

“Ahhhh…. Tristan,” I said glancing up while looking at my phone.

The result…

Kind of close I guess...

Earlier on this week we were in another Starbucks in Mission Valley. I ordered a venti caramel macchiato (yes, I was pushing the boat out on this particular day), and waited patiently sat at a table ready for my order to be handed over.

I mustn’t have heard my name being called out but I did, out of the corner of my eye, see my name on the side of a cup which a disheveled-looking woman had picked up and claimed.

It turned out that the woman in question was a tramp, or ‘bum’ as they’re called over here.

As she was walking out she glanced up, saw me looking at her and the aforementioned venti caramel macchiato, and quickly – and very obviously – licked the top of the lid to claim it.

I mean, she properly tongued the thing as I sat, open-mouth, in bewilderment.

I felt like shouting at her, but then spotted her T-shirt which said ‘Lifeguard’.

I became almost stricken with guilt that I might just verbally abuse a former lifesaver or hero.

So I let her have her moment of glory.

The cat got the cream. Bitch.

Another daily fascination over here right now is the imminent arrival of the ‘Royal’ baby.

Global coverage

“She’s hot,” is the reaction from most of my American friends and colleagues when we talk about Kate Middleton, or The Duchess of Cambridge, as she’s known.

Turning on the TV it’s bizarre to see every news crew in the world – or so it seems – camped outside the hospital waiting for news of the patter of tiny future king or queen feet.

CNN and other US networks keep jumping back to ‘live’ coverage of the scene – despite the fact that there is no update at all.

No 'news' is still 'news' I guess

News teams on standby

While of course Americans have their President, they do LOVE the Royal family and all the pomp and circumstance which goes along with having one.

I think it’s fair to say that many people here don’t really care for the Queen. They do however care for Prince William and Kate, and of course Prince Harry or the ‘rock star Royal’ as he’s known following his naked Las Vegas antics a little while ago.

One things for sure, with all the sleepless nights awaiting William and Kate, they won’t be seen queuing at Starbucks with the threat of their coffee cup being licked.

@tristan_nichols

Homeward bound

SO blimey, today marks the 159th day since I arrived in Tijuana, Mexico.

In that time I’ve consumed roughly 156 Mexican meals (for the record the missing being MacDonald’s and Burger King); experienced approximately 60 upset tummies from over-exposure to chili; witnessed 158.5 days of sunshine; and spent 0 days regretting the decision to come here in the first place.

Today also marks the countdown to me flying back to England – with a certain Iliana Jaqueline Pantoja in tow.

In 17 days Jacky will experience a). what real ‘cold’ weather is; b). what ‘real’ rain is; and c). why the English moan about the weather all the time.

It will be the first time that Jacky has met my parents and friends, and the first time she will have been to England, or indeed Europe.

And the best part? It’s Christmas!

When I’ve asked her how she imagines England, Jacky’s simply replies “fairies and castles”.

Well, being part-Cornish, and 100 per cent a West Country boy, I can definitely provide evidence of the castles.

But fairies… hmmm… is Zeros still open in Plymouth?!

Coming home with Jacky will be the most amazing experience for me. To show off the most amazing thing I’ve ever discovered on my travels will be well, perfect.

When I first met Jacky’s dad, Pedro, I told him about my background, and the fact that I’m a descendant of Sir Francis Drake (true story by the way).

He jokingly replied: “Well, piracy is obviously in your blood… coming over here to Mexico and stealing the treasure”.

When I first mentioned my intention to simply up sticks and move to Mexico I’m sure most people thought I’d finally lost the plot. More than a few eyebrows were raised.

But here I am with proof of my sanity. You’ll see. (Unless of course I’ve been living out a sort of Edward Norton in Fightclub scenario for the past six months!)

Life is for living. And I guess sometimes you have to go somewhere to really come back home.

Anyway the prospect of introducing Jacks to my world puts a huge grin on my face.

Just imagine… “That’s right Jacky… here is a meal WITHOUT chili”.

In a way I wish I could see all that the ‘Great’ Britain has to offer for the first time too.

When you consider it, there is no place like it.

It has so much history it’s bursting at the seams. In fact, I think I have cutlery at home which is older than American civilization.

Great Britain also has the variety too. I mean, look at the weather for a start…

Then there’s the beaches, the historic cities, the moorland, the highlands and lowlands, the legends, the tales, Led Zeppelin, the Queen... it has it all and more.

You could easily spend a month in London alone visiting all the tourist attractions and sights.

And we have three days or so to cram everything into our visit to the capital.

The vast majority of the 2.5 week trip will be spent in and around home in Devon and Cornwall.

We’re planning to visit the beaches of North Cornwall, castles in around Tintagel, Looe, Polperro, Dartmoor and Plymouth Hoe to name a few sites.

I’d like to take her to Stonehenge too simply because it’s magical.

Hey, if anyone has any suggestions please drop me a line!

Oh, and the food experience...

So strangely enough Jacks hasn’t heard of a ‘pasty’. Or ‘fish and chips’, or in fact ‘shepherd’s pie’, an ‘Indian takeaway’, or even ‘chicken kievs’.

Is that unusual? No, not really. She’s from a different world to me.

But even my mouth is watering at the thought of all the food we can eat, with her trying the vast majority of it for the first time.

So right now Jacky is mulling over what to pack.

You know how we English get when we’re packing for a ‘summer’ holiday?

“How many jumpers do I need to pack?!” - regardless of the fact that we know the climate in Egypt/Spain is not wooly jumper weather.

Well, Jacky is currently asking herself the same question… knowing that no amount will be too little.

“How many jumpers do you own?” has been my answer.

A few wardrobe 'options'

Regardless of the time of year, Jacky sleeps underneath three blankets and duvets at night.

Girls feel the cold more than boys. And Jacky, it seems, is no exception.

It’s safe to say she’s nervous about the whole trip – most of all meeting my mum and dad.

And by the sounds of it I think my mum is also nervous at the prospect.

“Well, what does she eat?” is a recurring question.

Food mum. Food. In fact, see aforementioned food types.

They’ve met on Skype but it’s not quite the same is it?

I mean, in real life Jacks isn’t pixelated. And she doesn’t sound like Stephen Hawking.

So yes… fun times. I might well ask her to write a blog about her experiences.

Few things are guaranteed in life but these: England will be cold, and it will be wet.

But hey, it’s Christmas!!!

While we’re away Mexico will remain hot. Today it’s still around the 26-degree mark which just feels plain weird when you see Christmas decorations being put up around the city.

Christmas trees now on sale at Mexican supermarkets.

Anyhow, drastic change of subject…

How cool is this?

I was sat in the garden one day last week when I looked down and saw something peculiar sticking out of the earth.

Well, I might well be wrong but I’m 99 per cent sure I picked up a Neanderthal Stone Age stone spearhead.

Straight to the point... it's pretty old

The edges are serrated, the point is sharp, and it has chip marks on it where it has obviously been fashioned. I Googled it and it states it could well be 200,000 years old.

We live on a new housing estate which was built on displaced land, so it’s entirely logical to find something like this.

How awesome though? Reminds you that we’re not the first to live our lives here.

We’re just tourists in time.