A glittering London Christmas

Some of the trees were bare of leaves, but nobody noticed. A light rain fell, but nobody noticed. London during the Christmas season was transformed by glittering lights and fanciful window displays. It was Christmas in London as I had always pictured it: trees draped with white lights and garlands of pine boughs tied with red velvet ribbons. The air was crisp and men were wearing black overcoats, derby hats and carrying fashionable canes.

Big Ben was striking six and I was walking towards Westminster Bridge with hours of shopping already behind me. I had just taken the Underground from Piccadilly Circus where the lampposts were festooned with garlands and the window displays were striking. Pine bough garlands lined the windows and staircases of Fortnum and Mason where I was fortunate enough to find some of their house-brand cranberry sauce and Christmas pudding.

After a brief respite at Westminster I planned to head for Harrods in search of more Christmas pudding and other goodies to set under my tree. The Harrods motto is “Omnia Omnibus Ubique” which is Latin for “All Things, For All People, Everywhere,” and I am a firm beliver in their motto. If Harrods doesn’t have it, I don’t really need it. My friend Kathy’s husband, Russ, says I am “obsessed” with Harrods. I confess that I am. Those green plastic bags with “Harrods” in gold lettering are probably only worth about three pounds, but I will pay a good eleven pounds for one and not blink an eye. The Harrods Food Halls will make an Epicurean out of just about anyone. The chocolates are a dream and the frilly cakes are so tall they seem to extend to the celing. Kathy tried to explain to Russ that Harrods isn’t just a department store—it’s an Experience. But because Harrods is such an intense sensory experience one must visit it in person, even if if means traveling for ten and a half hours across land and sea.

I did just that, nonstop on an American Airlines Boeing 777. The airplane has wonderful coach accomodations with built-in televisions behind every seat. Flight 136 departed from LAX and just about eleven hours later I was looking for a black cab to take me to my B&B in Kensington, the Vicarage Private Hotel. This establishment serves a marvelous Full English Breakfast, and is close to the Underground, shopping, an Anglican church and some great pubs.

I have also stayed in Windsor and taken the train into London. Windsor lacks the charged atmosphere of London, but it is quiet, with many fine antique shops and Windsor Castle crowning the city. The Langton House in Windsor is a marvelous B&B on a quiet leafy street with only three rooms, and is perfect for the solitary traveler. Paul Fogg, chef and proprietor, prepares a sumptous breakfast of ham, sausage, toast, eggs, beans and a broiled tomato. It will fortify you for even the heartiest of shopping excursions.

The days and evenings were cold, I don’t know how cold, but it was a damp chilling cold. My California bones definitely balked. Layering is a good defense. Taxis work too. Instead of walking to shops like I would do in the summer I mostly taxied.

Throughout London, the peanut vendors of summer evolve to chestnut vendors of winter. During my Christmas trip, the chestnut roasters were peddling their wares and the air had a delightfully smoky and nutty flavor to it. The hot scent of roasting chestnuts was intoxicating. The fire and embers glowed in the dark and warmed me as I drew near. I am not sure if I was drawn by the delicious scent or the heat of the fire, but I tarried for a while chatting with the vendor and gnawing on chestnuts.

Food is easy to find in London, but not near Harrods. Eat at Harrods if you are on Brompton Road and find a good pub or East Indian restaurant if you aren’t. Hot Roast Beef and Yorkshire Pudding is a good tonic for chilled bones as is the staple Shepherd’s Pie, which you’ll find at most pubs.

A fascinating side journey from London is to the Cotswolds, which are fairy-tale villages of honey-colored cottages trailing with roses. I took an 8:00 a.m. bus from Victoria Coach Station non-stop to Cheltenham. The three-hour trip was fascinating as I rode past fog-filled fields. However, in clear patches, cows, sheep and thatched roof cottages appeared like sprites.

In Cheltenham, I boarded the 12:05 bus bound for Bourton-on-the-Water. We passed waves of green rolling hills and very few houses. I asked the driver to drop me off on a road near the village of Lower Slaughter, not far from Bourton-on-the-Water, and then I took a footpath through a field to the village. The mist had lifted a bit but it was still hazy enough to make it picturesque. I wandered through the village and spent some time at the church and graveyard. The fog lent a true aura of mystery to the graveyard as wisps of smoke from a chimney blended with the mist to curl around the lichen-covered gravestones.

Bourton-on-the-Water was my next stop where I took a welcome break from the cold in a snug cafe with chintz curtains. Warming up with a cup of hot tea and warm scones with clotted cream, I was fortified for some serious shopping. Down the street I stumbled upon a delightful store called the “Brasshopper.” Their copper pans and brass bedwarmers were unique and reasonably priced.

Back in London the next morning, I watched birds hopping on the neatly manicured yew hedge rows at Kensington Palace. Squirrels scampered across the edge of a pond choked with lily pads. A light mist rose above the ground and softened the gardens. It was like looking through a frosted window. The palace apartments were fascinating and the La Orangerie cafe was excellent for a luncheon break, serving gourmet food worthy of a palace table.

At the Evensong Service at St. Paul’s Cathedral, I reflected on the true meaning of Christmas. Each evening the great organ bursts forth with music which floats to the massive stone arches and into the hearts of the listeners.

Samuel Johnson was right, “When one tires of London, one tires of life.” Christmas in London is an entire sensory explosion of color and scents and tastes and smiles and, yes, even raindrops.

FRAGRANCE

OF A LONDON CHRISTMAS

Chill, chill

through layers of wool,

and chill again…

but, somehow it matters little.

Windows jeweled

and glittering…

lamp posts wreathed in holly

and the steamy aroma

of roasting chestnuts

usher in a London Christmas.

Wisps of laughter and song

stream from a passing bus

stuffed with holiday revelers,

singing their way

to a Christmas destination…

basking in the glory

of Christmas present

trailing the fragrance

of Christmas past.

—Nathalie Taylor