Spending Christmas Day abroad is, as they say, ‘Marmite’ – you either love the idea, or you hate it. But it seems there are plenty of us who love it. The Association of British Travel Agents estimates that five million Britons will escape abroad for Christmas and new year this month, with yesterday expected to be the busiest day for departures. Many are destined for sun-soaked destinations such as the Canary Islands, Southern Spain, Turkey, Barbados, the Middle East and Mexico.
And I know exactly what the appeal is. My husband, young son and I have spent six of the past eight Christmases overseas – most of them at our second home just south of Valencia in Spain, another in Dubai and one in Cape Town.
‘Don’t you miss being at home?’ and ‘What do you do about all the presents?’ are the two most common questions I’m asked when people learn we’re not staying in the UK. Thankfully Father Christmas takes care of the gifts – my son always writes to let him know where we’re going to be on the day, be it in the UK or overseas, and he knows only to ask for presents that we’ll be able to fit in the suitcase to fly home.
There are lunches al fresco and afternoons playing outdoors, versus being cooped up in England with a tin of Quality Street and repeats of Only Fools and Horses on TV
As for whether I miss being at home, inevitably there are flashes of guilt and pangs of wanting to be with my dad, brother and his family on Christmas Day. But whenever we’re going abroad I always organise a festive lunch a week early for us all, either at our home or at a suitably cosy country pub.
On the whole, though, grabbing our passports and swimwear just as millions start queuing to collect their turkeys and prepping the veg is too delightful to resist. There are myriad bonuses that only add to the seasonal joy: the thrill of not having to stress over securing an Ocado slot close enough to Christmas Day that the sprouts won’t be past their best, or being forced to join the throng in the supermarket to hunt down those infuriating ‘missing items’ from a delivery. (The year before our inaugural Christmas overseas I actually witnessed two irate women having a tug-of-war over the last bag of carrots in our local M&S.)
For me, it also means I’m officially off-duty when it comes to festive cooking and entertaining, and not just on Christmas Day – I down tools for the entire time we’re away. That’s what restaurants are for, after all. And, of course, with zero entertaining comes much reduced housework, even at our villa in Spain where I’m still the resident cleaning fairy.
Being abroad banishes the annual (often heated) discussion with my husband as to whose family to spend the main event with. It’s also the easiest time of year to switch on your out-of-office and have a break – fewer days of annual leave are required thanks to the glut of bank holidays, and there are scant emails or calls because so many other people are off too.
Best of all, spending the festivities abroad is the most wonderful opportunity to immerse ourselves in the local traditions, especially in our little town in Spain where, on Christmas morning, everyone descends on the pretty local beach with cava, tapas, trestle tables and silly hats, charmed by blue skies and temperatures in the low 20s. My son has played in the sea with children of all nationalities on Christmas Day and there are guaranteed to be paddleboarders and jet-skiers wearing Santa costumes, prompting jolly cheers from the gathered crowds on the beach as they come into sight around the headland.
After a few hours of merriment in the winter sunshine, the crowds depart for a late festive lunch either at home or in a restaurant. Think feasts of seafood, turkey, suckling pig, lamb and delicious tarta de turrón (similar to a cheesecake made with soft nougat), finished off with polvorónes and mantecados, which are individually wrapped and incredibly moreish shortbread-type treats whose recipes date back to 16th century Andalusia.
Our own festive Spanish tradition is picking the fruit from our orange and lemon trees on Christmas Eve, taking a photo of our son with the annual haul so that we can see how much he’s grown – something we’ll miss doing this year.
In Dubai – the land of bigger, better, richer – there were spectacular decorations, trees of skyscraper proportions and mesmerising fireworks. Meanwhile in Cape Town, we watched the jackass penguins at Boulders Beach on Christmas Eve morning, and enjoyed a catamaran cruise at sunset before we headed back to our apartment to get ready for Santa. On Christmas Day we devoured a fabulous festive spread in a luxury hotel, including local delicacies such as ostrich carpaccio, freshly shucked oysters and eggnog cheesecake, washed down with wines from the local vineyards.
The destinations we’ve chosen for festive escapes mean we’ve also benefited from longed-for extra hours of daylight and warm weather (no, I don’t covet a white Christmas, unless you count the sand on a tropical beach). There are lunches al fresco and afternoons playing outdoors, versus being cooped up in England with a tin of Quality Street and repeats of Only Fools and Horses on TV while vying for space with relatives on the sofa.
This way, too, not all our Christmases roll into one: there are distinctive memories for each, including the ones spent in the UK. Every few years we have Christmas at home, always at my behest so that I can enjoy it with my family and assuage some of the guilt I inevitably feel at jumping ship to get out of here. When we do go away, we hire house-sitters to ensure our home is lived-in and, crucially, the heating has been left on for 24 hours before we return.
This year, I’m envious of those friends taking off on trips to Spain, the Maldives and the Caribbean – but I’ve got one eye firmly on Christmas in Barbados very soon.
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