Is it the Most Wonderful Time of the Year? Beating the Amsterdam December Blues

The December blues. We all expect a lot from the holiday season, and it can't possibly ever measure up to those sparkling expectations. My relationship with December has always been riddled with complications. To start with, there's the issue of celebrating a December holiday (Hanukkah) which is so far down on the totem pole of attention it's nearly touching the ground. Then there's the problem of having an end-of-December birthday - December 30th to be exact - that is so easily forgotten. It's sandwiched into that dead zone between Christmas and New Year's when most people are either so busy with family, bored, or just stuffed from overeating that they lose track of the days. And even for those who are still calendar-aware in late December, there's the need to "rest up" on December 30th for New Year's Eve the following night. When I was a kid, my mom even had the nerve to schedule eye-doctor exams on my birthday. I walked around with paper sunglasses to block out the sun and felt sorry for myself. O.K., that probably only happened once, but we all need to inflate and exaggerate bad childhood memories for maximum sympathetic effect. Or at least I do. 

I tell you this short history of my own December blues so you will have some understanding of the lengths to which Peter has gone to rewrite my sad birthday narrative. In the past decade, I have celebrated my birthday in Jerusalem, Paris, Madrid, Rome, Amsterdam, and (this year) Córdoba, Spain. There was a lot of birthday anxiety to overcome.

It's as if the company who booked our trip to Spain knew about my birthday blues. Even a non-candy lover had to appreciate this glorious display that greeted me after a day of wandering around Córdoba.

At Choco, the super fancy restaurant where we celebrated my big day, the one-candle birthday display was in keeping with the minimalist decor and contemporary art-ish food presentations. Rachel noted that it all seemed like something out of the movie Zoolander. Maybe so (and for those of you who haven't seen that fine film, it means it was a bit austerely pretentious), but the food was certainly delicious. 

Before I go on to extol the virtues of Southern Spain in December, I just want to say a bit about December in Amsterdam. As I blogged about in Decembers long ago (2014 and 2015, to be exact), there are a swirl of winter holidays here. Starting in early December (on the 5th), there is Sinterklaas, which is mostly celebrated by and for children. Dutch kids put their shoes by the fireplace. If they have been good, they will wake up to find presents filling the shoes. If not, they may find a lump of coal. Here is one holiday in which having big feet - as I do - would come in quite handy, at least if I had been good that year. Most of the rest of the world knows about Sinterklaas because of the controversy over his assistant Zwarte Piet, literally Black Peter. There has been lots of debate in the Netherlands over the past few years about the appropriateness of sporting black face (and often an afro, and exaggeratedly large lips) and claiming it is just meant to depict the soot resulting from your ride down the chimney. This year, thankfully I saw fewer folks in blackface, and more smudged cheeks. Progress may also be coming down the chimney.

At the end of December, there is Eerste en Tweede Kerstdag, which is 1st and 2nd Christmas. That means two days of Christmas, with one day usually spent with your family and the next with your in-laws (and for those who don't celebrate Christmas, it all means two days of closed stores). If you're not married I guess there is an extra day for a Netflix binge. It may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it seems most people who work in office-type jobs take the whole week off between Christmas and the New Year, which often stretches into the next week to accommodate skiing and other holiday cheer.

The fancy shopping street, P.C. Hooftstraat, went all out this year. The circles each had a different Dutch master painting inside. 

The Foodhallen, Amsterdam's indoor food market, was also wearing her holiday best this year. 

Even this favorite brunch spot, Dignita, had a Christmas tree. 

This spectacular breakfast I ate at Dignita (and if you haven't been yet, it's a must) wasn't a Christmas special per se, but it looks like a holiday treat, with the red and green garnishes. The potato pillow the poached egg rested on tasted just like a latke, so eating this breakfast was a multi-religious experience. 

Amsterdam's version of this song could be called, "December in the Rain". We heard Roy Hargrove play at the Concertgebouw, the spectacular concert hall here, in December.  I especially loved this song because he not only played the trumpet, but also sang. That concert was one sure way to beat the December blues. 

Just when blues season begins, Christmas lights and trees start appearing all over Amsterdam. One thing I love about being here in December is that Christmas isn't about religion or even about mega-shopping, but more about celebrating with family. You certainly feel like less of an outsider at Christmas time when you are Jewish in a country which is increasingly secular. According to this recent article, two-thirds of the Dutch say they have no religion. Perhaps the churches weren't full in Amsterdam, but on Christmas Day, when we set off through Vondelpark to go to the movies, the park was packed. So were the movies. And so was the Chinese restaurant where we continued the beloved Jewish tradition of eating Chinese food after our film. It turns out that this tradition is not just beloved, but actually sacred. After the Chinese food, we walked to the center of the city to see a giant menorah scenically placed next to a canal. We saw quite a few tourists lining up to snap their photo in front of it. 

It was fun celebrating the first night of Hanukkah with Tali and Libbi, my two youngest Amsterdam friends. 

After two years of watching and listening from the sidelines, this year I decided to join the fun with my friends in the American Women's Club to see what a Christmas market in Germany was all about. I imagined row after row of kitschy tree ornaments. I assumed this Jewish gal would feel very out of place. It turns out that I was wrong. To begin with, I found the best darn latke I have ever tasted smack dab in the middle of the Christmas market in Cologne. Yes, there were ornaments for sale, but they weren't all kitschy. Mostly, there was gorgeous handcrafted jewelry, and lots of warm hats and scarves for bundling up in if the glühwein, a hot mulled wine, didn't do the trick. There were crowds of people - we went early in December, before the attack at the Christmas market in Berlin - and the people at the stalls were helpful and friendly. I did hear many American Christmas carols spilling out of the loudspeakers, the words to which I can merrily sing along with thanks to my meticulous Christmas song education many years ago at Princeton Day School. The whole town of Cologne was lit up...like a Christmas tree? I can't think of another simile that works as well when it comes to lights.

Shortly after this photo was taken, I put the mug of molten hot wine down so I could concentrate on the star of this show: those potato latkes. That wasn't what they were called at the Christmas market, but make no mistake, these were latkes of the highest order. Hallelujah! I'm not so sure my friends Darlene and Seanette agreed with how I ranked the latkes over the wine.

I even saw angels at the Christmas market. 

Despite the fun times I managed to find in the Amsterdam darkness, it was still a wonderful gift to be able to get out of town just after Christmas and head to Spain - to the cities of Seville, Córdoba, and Granada. Honestly, I didn't know much about these cities before we arrived. What I did know is that the weather symbol on my iPhone showed sun for the entire week. That was really all I needed to know. The rest - the fabulous food and wine, the reasonable prices, the friendly people, the excellent service in the restaurants - was just so much icing on a glorious cake.

Actually, when I started to write this post, I realized that I did know something about Seville. When I was in about 4th grade, one of my favorite books was called I, Juan de Pareja. It's fiction, but based on the true story of the half-African slave of the famous Spanish painter Diego Velázquez. Juan serves as the assistant to his master, and watches him carefully. Later, after Velázquez frees him, Juan de Pareja becomes a painter himself. He is also the model for the Velázquez painting that hangs in the Met. When my mom took me there one day, I bought the postcard of the painting, and for some reason, have saved it all these years. I guess we never know when and how those childhood memories will spring into action years later.

And here is the Seville I visited in that book, but it's real this time.

I haven't seen houses this colorful since I lived in San Francisco. They looked like actresses lined up on the red carpet at the Oscars, one more gorgeous than the next.

We saw orange trees everywhere on the streets. Although we were told this variety is hardy, but bitter and not for eating, I wanted to try just one. I decided to take our guide's word for it. They certainly looked beautiful, and we were told that in the spring, they make the cities smell delicious, too. 

As if there were any doubt that I wasn't in Kansas (Amsterdam) anymore, there were these cactii to remind me. These happened to be in Granada, but they were also everywhere in Seville and Córdoba.

We spent our first full day in Seville driving to the town of Jerez for a sherry tasting. By 11 a.m. we were staring down a straight line - of sherry bottles - that the Rockettes would have envied. We learned a lot about sherry, including the fact that it's no longer just an after-dinner drink for old ladies. Apparently, it's all the rage in some chic spots from London to New York City. 

Peeking out of the window of one of the sherry wineries, you could see blue sky. That's not a sight we are used to in Amsterdam in December.

That evening, during a tapas tour of Seville, we tasted a few sherries, along with some sensational food. Quick plug for the travel company we used: I can't say enough about how exceptional it is. We took 1/2 day walking tours in each city, and were really impressed with the knowledge of each of our guides. I still can't remember how the Inquisition, the Crusades, and Franco fit together, but these guides made the passage of centuries and mixture of cultures in Spain all make sense. Also, our first guide, Roger, was a Brit who came to Seville 30 years ago and decided to stay. We had the whole "living-outside-your-own-country" card in common, so he understood us. Even after 30 years, and the ability to speak fluent Spanish, he says he still feels like somewhat of an outsider in Seville. I don't know if that made me feel better or worse about our prospects for ever truly fitting in in Amsterdam.   

This is the famed Iberico ham. Glorious. It's the MVP of the items at a tapas bar.

For those of you who have never been to a tapas bar, you squeeze in, order a few plates to share, choose a glass of wine or a beer, and dig in. There were lots of dangling meats also hanging around these spots.

These photos were taken in the courtyard of the Alcázar in Seville, built by the Moors and still used by the royal family of Spain as their residence when they are in town. This was just the first of the castles built by the Moors that were later "renovated" by the Christians. I loved the quiet courtyards in the middle. 

From Seville, we took the train to our next destination: Córdoba. I was surprised to find that we had to go through security at the train station, which included x-raying our bags. In addition to the security system which worked extremely efficiently, everything about the Spanish train experience put American train service to shame. The trains were clean, the ride was smooth, and the departure was right on time. Too bad Amtrak doesn't function like that. 

Our hotel was located in the Jewish Quarter, kind of a misnomer, since sadly there is no Jewish community left in Córdoba. There is a synagogue, which was discovered when a Church was being renovated and some Hebrew lettering was uncovered. 

Right next to our hotel we ran into Maimonides, a 12th century Jewish philosopher, doctor, and Torah scholar (and those are just some of his notable specialities) who was born in Córdoba. Apparently, you will become wise if you rub his foot, so we gave it a shot. 

These plaques on the pavement mark the Jewish Quarter in Córdoba. I was glad to see they used Hebrew letters. These brass plaques reminded me of the ones in Amsterdam (and in other parts of Europe) marking where Jews who died in the Holocaust once lived.

In addition to weighing in on the meaning of the Torah, Maimonides had a lot of opinions about food. I love beans, so if Maimonides is correct, that could explain a lot about my mind. Many of my friends would be happy to read that he agrees with them about the benefits of wine.

Throughout our visit, we heard a lot about how the architecture in this area of Spain incorporates aspects of Roman, Moorish, and Catholic church/Gothic elements. In Córdoba, this really all came to a head inside the Mosque-Cathedral (Mezquita-Catedral) of Córdoba where there is actually a Catholic church built inside an ancient Moorish mosque. It's the architectural equivalent of a Turducken, that crazy chicken-stuffed-into-a-duck-stuffed-into-a-turkey concoction.  

We learned that the Moorish style of architecture was designed to let in light, but not to last forever. The Moors were used to packing up and moving often, so they didn't think longevity was important when it came to structures. 

You needed to have a strong neck here. The ceilings were so gorgeous that you had to look up for long stretches to take it all in.

Guess who we ran into? It was this St. John's (Long Island, NY) gospel choir group, delighting the crowds in the church section. That was some field trip!

Our guides in all three cities mentioned that the different architectural styles - created by the Romans, Visigoths, Moors, Jews, and Christians - all played nicely together in the buildings we visited. At some points in history in this part of the world, so did the people. Of course, that was not the case during the Inquisition, thanks to Christopher Columbus' patrons, Isabella and Ferdinand. While Isabella and Ferdinand may be best known in elementary school textbooks for financing Columbus' journeys, they weren't just his benevolent benefactors. They masterminded the Inquisition, forcing Jews to either convert to Catholicism or be expelled. Many of the Jews were killed, as were Muslims and anyone else who didn't want to be a Catholic. Not exactly a welcoming place to live in those days. 

Here's Columbus pleading his case to the king and queen.

Back in the day, it was still unusual to want to see another part of the world. Sometimes I feel about as welcome in Amsterdam as Columbus must have been in the New World. Then again, as an expat, I'm not trying to bring precious spices back to my patron, nor am I foisting my ways onto a different culture. Or am I? Like Columbus and the other explorers, we expats are looking for something; often it's just a matter of searching for some sun in December. "Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I to disagree? I travel the world and the seven seas. Everybody's looking for something." You are so right about that, Annie Lennox.

One thing we were looking for on this trip was some delicious food, and we certainly found it. While we ate at one-after-another terrific place, Taberna Luque in Seville really summed up for me everything wonderful about Spain. It's a two-person operation: Antonio works the floor and his wife Mari cooks. He didn't speak much English, but he singlehandedly proved just how much information can be communicated with smiles and gestures. His warmth, the simple but delicious food, the swift but professional service, were all so very welcome. I've mentioned before (and before) that the restaurant culture in Amsterdam doesn't often include service with a smile. Or service that is very swift. So this Spanish-style service was especially appreciated. Our guide in Seville, Jamie, gave us a brief primer on Spanish culture: he told us the Spanish are often loud, they like to hug, and they don't believe in personal space. In fact, he said, if you are tucked into the corner at an empty restaurant, the next customers who come in will very likely sit down at the table right next to you. They like to be next to people. I'm sure this extroverted culture might wear thin at times, but it certainly felt darn warm to us. 

Rachel is a super adventuresome eater. She went with the grilled calamari, served whole. I think she especially liked the curls on the top of the fish. The bill for the three of us was around 40 euros. 

Our last stop on the sun-tour was the city of Granada, home to the Alhambra, probably the most famous of the Moorish castles. Everything about the city revolves around the iconic Alhambra and seizing a good view of it: does your restaurant have one? Your hotel? The Alhambra was most spectacular from a distance, since compared to the other castles in Seville and Córdoba, this one was not as well-preserved, and not as striking-looking. I hope that's not what some of you are thinking about me. This 13th century fortress/castle is the second most visited site in Spain, after the Sagrada Familia church in Barcelona. This was the first spot on our trip where we saw lots of foreign tourists. For the rest of the time, we saw mainly Spanish tourists. I suppose it's the same as a family from N.J. hitting Florida for some sun. Quite a few of those tourists were senior citizens. We found out that the Spanish government subsidizes trips for seniors, an attempt, in part, to compensate them for the hard life they led under Franco. They get up to fifteen days of nearly free travel, which includes lodging at a 3 or 4 star hotel, meals, guides, and transportation. Since this seemed too good to be true, I had to do a little research once we returned to Amsterdam. Yes, folks, it is all true. Maybe the silver lining in our current U.S. cloud is that someday, to compensate us for living through the Trump regime, we will earn a government-sponsored holiday to enjoy in our dotage. A gal can dream, can't she?

The view that accompanied our first lunch in Granada.

View with our dinner. The actual meal couldn't quite keep up with the view, but it didn't really matter.

Even the coffee included a view of the Alhambra. 

Once again, we were told about the Muslim style of architecture: how it is designed to keep family life hidden from view. There are no large windows on the outside. Any windows are small or high up, and face out into a central courtyard. Our guide said this design was the architectural equivalent of head-coverings for women: both were created for maximum family privacy. We also learned about the importance of water. The Moors were experts at harnessing it so that when they needed it, it was available. 

This photo was taken at the Generalife, the country estate and gardens adjacent to the Alhambra. We didn't need the shade and cool water in December, but I'm sure they come in handy when tourists flock there in the summer.

Oh, those private, shaded inner courtyards. It's a culture that respects the introvert.

You can see the snowy Sierra Nevada mountains in the distance. Who knew that after just a short 40 minute drive out of Granada, you could be skiing in southern Spain? The vibe in Granda was a little different from Seville or Cordoba's: there were more artsy-looking folks pedaling their wares along the streets, and more folks in hiking clothes and dreds walking around town. 

The phrase "in seventh heaven", I learned on this trip, comes from the Islamic belief that there are seven levels of heaven, with the seventh being the highest or most pure form of supreme happiness. Would it be exaggerating to say that at times during this trip I was in seventh heaven? It was certainly a wonderful respite from the grey skies in Amsterdam. Although it has been cold in Amsterdam, we probably won't have a long enough cold spell for the giant eleven-city, 120-mile speed skating race, the Elfstedentocht to take place. It has been described as "the Super Bowl, Stanley Cup, and World Series rolled into one." Perhaps global warming has caused this beloved event to become a thing of the past. The last one was in 1997.

Those of us who hail from the northeastern U.S. associate December with cold and snow. So one reason you feel a bit out of your element here is that there usually isn't any snow. This short-lived "snowstorm" only lasted an hour or so, and it definitely didn't stop the Dutch from biking.

It was a Winter Wonderland here this week. 

In Dutch, there is a phrase, "Gaan met die banaan" which seems to fit my situation. Literally, it translates to, "Go with that banana", which of course makes absolutely no sense. The phrase means to just go, as in, "Just get on with it". Instead of all the fussing over the weather here, I should probably just get on with it and stop complaining. I heard the song in my Zumba class, and knew instantly I had to share it here with you. Gaan met die banaan!

The real reason most expats experience the December blues is not because of the weather. It's because many of us are celebrating in a different place, without the familiar rituals, and most importantly, without all of our family crowded around us. I guess that's why so many expats go home for the holidays, in search of the familiar. In a book I read recently, The Nearest Thing to Life, the author James Woods - a Brit living in the U.S. - described my feelings for me. He wrote, "Perhaps it is not even homelessness; homelooseness (with an admixture of loss) might be the necessary neologism [editor's note: means newly-coined word]: in which the ties that might bind one to home have been loosened, perhaps happily, perhaps unhappily, perhaps permanently, perhaps only temporarily." It's hard not to feel a little "homeloose" here at holiday season. Somehow, you have to square those feelings of homesickness with that desire to get out and see just a little more of the world. There is, after all, "such a lot of world to see." Sing it, Louis. I love this version.

So unlike most of our expat friends, instead of going "home" this year, we brought at least the immediate family here. Now that's a sure cure for the December blues.

Here is the Drucker-Vine clan cleaning our plates at the Seafood Bar in Amsterdam.

Happy New Year to all! I recommend trying Spain's tradition of eating twelve grapes at midnight. It ensures you will have 12 lucky months ahead of you.