The melancholy of Summer Christmas
Growing up in Greece and only leaving when I was 23, all my Christmases were “white” (well, sort of but close enough) being cold (best excuse to wear scarves and gloves and new boots), smelling of hot chocolate and kourampiedes (the most delicious cookie EVER!), and listening to carols in every corner (I would have made it romantic and talk about the cracking of the wood in the fireplace, but let’s be realistic here). Since 2007 that I left, I have only returned in December twice – so the last decade, my Christmases have turned “blue”- like the blue skies, the blue water of the ocean (or the swimming pool), and the blue of my swimming costume. My Christmases now smell of watermelon and sunscreen lotion, sound like the coal in the braai and taste like ice cream three times a day. There has not been one single year that someone (from Greece or the rest of Europe has not commented in one of my summer December photos in social media something like “oh how different”, “brrr we ar