I'll Be Home For Christmas

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: This weekend I get my two best Christmas presents: Virginia flies in

from Amsterdam today and Spencer arrives from Norfolk tomorrow. Hopefully, their flights will

go smoothly and traffic to and from Boston won’t be too bad. 

Thanksgiving is apparently THE biggest travel period in the US, but Christmas is a close second,

and extends throughout the Americas, Europe, and significant parts of Asia and Africa. That’s a

LOT of people on the move! 

The one time I’ve flown to get someplace FOR Christmas was the year Ross passed away, when

we decided to escape to Hawai’i. Everything went smoothly, and thanks to the fact Spencer was

an active-duty service member, we got to crash in the Bob Hope lounge at LAX, along with

roughly 50% of the rest of the armed forces of the US. 

The rest of my holiday travel has always been by car, and there have been some adventures. When

I was a teen, we lived in Syracuse and went across eastern NY state every Christmas day to gather

at my grandmother’s. Even as a self-absorbed kid, I recall the year it was snowing and blowing

every inch of the way, with my dad white-knuckled on the steering wheel and my mom searching

the map for anyplace we might stay if we had to abandon the Thruway. And these trips took place

BEFORE 24-hour gas stations and always-open mom-and-pop stores.

Then there was the time Ross and I, new parents, were meeting his dad at the Trapp Family Lodge

in Vermont. What could be more perfectly Christmas? Again, the weather in the Northeast wasn’t

cooperative, and this time it was my husband clenching the wheel while I kept my eyes on the

map. It took us at least twice as long as we had planned, and starving, we pulled through a Burger

King drive-in. What a great opportunity to give fifteen-month-old Victoria her very first french

fries! (We were not ordinarily fast food people.) 

Whether it was the grease, or the processed potato, or just the swaying of the Bronco as we were

buffeted by the wind, but as we crawled up the road to the resort, the baby threw up

EVERYTHING. On her cute outfit. On her car seat. On the car’s BACK seat. Merry Christmas,

Granddad!

How about you, Reds? Any memorable holiday season travels?

 

RHYS BOWEN: When I was a small child we drove to my grandmother’s house every Christmas

Eve, buying the tree along the way and strapping it to the roof of the car. I don’t know how we

managed to bring four of us, presents and a tree in a small British car, but we did. Then we’d

decorate the tree that evening and we kids would go to bed, full of excitement. Christmas Day

was always simple but lovely: opening gits, big breakfast, church in morning then mid afternoon

turkey dinner, Queen’s speech and lazy evening.

My one dramatic Christmas was when I was chatting with a friend who is German and who

lamented the commercialism of Christmas in America. We decided to rent a house up at Lake

Tahoe in the snow (at great expense).  We arrived. It was perfect, Christmas card scene in the

mountains. Then… she came down with the worst cold ever, she had forgotten to bring the

cookies she had baked. She went to bed, leaving all the cooking etc to me.  The first morning

we went skiing… Lovely, until it started to snow, then blizzard. Jane and Andrew, up on the

black diamond slopes, had to be brought down. Then the snow turned to rain and it rained

solidly for the rest of the time we were up there.  No TV. Pouring rain. Everyone tired of board

games.  Not the best memory!

 

HALLIE EPHRON: Christmas for me, growing up, was low key and at home. Our tradition, if

we had any, was to buy a tree on the night BEFORE the night before Christmas. Me and my 3

sisters piled into the car for the cruise up and down Santa Monica and Wilshire Boulevards,

stopping at the Christmas tree lots on the edges of parking lots (before every spare corner of

Los Angeles was built upon). 

We’d stake out our favorite tree, my father would negotiate, and then strap it to the roof of our car.

It was always enormous, despite my mother’s desperate pleas for “something small  this year.”

Invariably my father had to cut the top off before he could wrestle it through the front door and

into our 2-story front hall where it would stand until the day after New Year when my mother

would dismantle it.

We’d decorate it Christmas eve. And come down to it lit up on Christmas morning with gifts

piled high around it. Our Christmas was all about the food and the gifts and Santa Claus and

Christmas carols. 

I’d never lit a Hanukah candle until I married Jerry, and that’s when I stopped having a tree.

It was just about the only thing on which we did not see eye to eye, but it just never mattered

that much to me, and though he wasn’t religious, it mattered to him. You learn to pick your

battles.

 

LUCY BURDETTE: I have only two semi-disastrous memories. One, I was driving home to New

Jersey from my grad program at UT Knoxville. I had my two cats in a big old Ford Falcon station

wagon, along with a woman passenger who wanted a ride. The weather was horrendous, icy and

snowy and scary. We fishtailed our way north with the cats scraping frantically at the back window

. I’m lucky to have survived that one!

Another was also a trip from Tennessee to NJ, this time on a Greyhound bus. I believe it was an

overnight trip sitting up, with a very drunk man in front of us who wanted the whole bus to sing

Christmas carols. “Come on people, let’s sing!” he shouted through most of the trip. Not to be

repeated!

 

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Holiday travel? Well, hmm, what I can remember was the time in

college when instead of driving back to school in January after Christmas vacation, my boyfriend

and I decided to drive to New York. Just for fun. (My college was in Ohio, and his in Indiana.) As

we got into Sam’s car, my mom said “Safe travels back to school!” 

And I said, “Oh Mom, we are actually going to New York!”

And she said, “sure you are, have fun.”

 

She thought we were kidding.

 

We weren’t.

 

We drove ALL the way to New York, a trip about which I have zero memories (except learning

that Ohio and Pennsylvania are huge,) walked around in the snow in the city and looked at

decorations, stayed at some hotel, NO idea, and then drove back. I missed two days of classes,

and told the dean it was for personal reasons, and looked sad.

She did not pursue it, and all was fine.

Is that a holiday story, or what?

 

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I am again the boring one here, but maybe that is not a bad thing!

Growing up, Christmas was always at our house, no traveling involved. Then when I was in my

late teens and early twenties, we had a few Christmases in the house my parents owned at the

time outside of Guadalajara. December in that part of Mexico is lovely, as are the Mexican

Christmas traditions. My only disappointment was not having a Christmas tree, but there was an

atrium in the center of the house and my mom and I strung colored lights on the plants and up the

stair rail, so all was fine. 

It occurs to me that the Christmas I lived in England is a complete blank in my memory, other

than that I was terribly homesick.

JENN McKINLAY: My favorite holidays are the traveling ones. We're a beachie peoples and usually meet our east coast fam in Florida or California for a beach Christmas every few years just to break up the same old same old. The only disaster to date was when six month old Hooligan 2 got a righteous case of croup in Daytona and began barking in the middle of the night. A steamy bathroom didn't calm his cough, so in full panic mode we ended up with six burly fireman (there's a rule that they have to be hot, isn't there?) taking care of our wee man and then having baby and me go in an ambulance to the hospital just in case. It was my first and only ride in an ambulance and I'd like to keep it that way. That was our first night on the trip and from there on out it was smooth sailing...phew.

JULIA: How about you, dear readers? What are your holiday travel memories?

Catriona McPherson shares Holiday Travel Nightmares.

 RHYS BOWEN:  I've never met anyone who can take a personal disaster, embarrassment or awkward situation and make it hysterically funny the way Catriona McPherson can. Of course when she's telling in person, in that understated, self-deprecating style it's even more brilliant, but it's pretty funny on the page too.  

We're thrilled to have Catriona here today to celebrate her latest book in the Last Ditch Motel series and to share the sort of travel nightmare we all fear. Tell us about it, Catriona:

CATRIONA MCPHERSON:  In HOP SCOT, Lexy Campbell and the rest of the crew from the Last Ditch Motel in California all travel to Scotland together for Christmas. Ugh, right? Holiday travel? But wait: they go on a private jet!

I didn’t go on a private jet the only time I went home to Scotland for Christmas since moving over to California in 2010, and it was . . . an experience. If I hadn’t been going to a family wedding as well, I’m not sure I would have persevered. And how clever was it of my nephew and now niece to get married in that dead time between Christmas and New Year? It’ll never be dead time for them again – they turned two celebrations into three!

The one time I did have a total travel nightmare was getting home for another family wedding (I have sixteen nephews and nieces (and fourteen in the next generation down (so far))).

For a start, the wedding was the Saturday of Bouchercon. Not ideal, although it could have been worse because Bouchercon was in Raleigh that year, i.e. the east coast, i.e. halfway there already.

 “At Bouchercon with Ali Karim”

The plan was simple. I would hop up to Newark Liberty on a puddle-jumper on the Friday and meet Neil off the flight from San Francisco, then together we would take the 8pm United overnight to Edinburgh, pick up a car and drive to the hotel with a ton of time to get ready.

No way that could go wrong.

It went wrong.

Because of bad weather in Texas, there were planes backed up all over the country and my little ninety-minute hop was never going to be a landing priority. So we left Raleigh and circled and circled and circled. I wasn’t worried; I had a five hour window at Newark. Things were fine. And we circled and circled and circled. We got snacks as we circled, we got chatting as we circled, we even got some of the best customer service I’ve ever seen on a plane as we circled: the steward stood at the front and said, “I know some of you might only have gotten on this very small plane because it was supposed to be a very short flight. So, if you’re feeling uneasy all these hours later, let me know if you need a hug.” Awww. I didn’t need a hug but I was tempted.

And we circled. I got too late for the 8pm transatlantic flight but there’s a 10pm too. And we circled. The snacks ran out. And we circled.

Then we stopped circling. We flew for a while and we landed! In Washington. Because we were about to run out fuel, which is a lot worse than running out of snacks. We all got off the tiny plane: the family who were going to Italy with their toddler; the two students going to Delhi; the resigned, the aggrieved, the grumpy, the cheerful . . . and together we stormed the United rep at the gate looking for alternative arrangements.

I was offered a hotel for the night. I said I was going to my niece’s wedding. The rep shrugged and said the family would understand. Then my eyes filled with tears all on their own and one splotched down onto the desk. I’m not usually a huge howler, but this was going to be the first time my family were all together since my sister’s funeral and it didn’t feel like a small thing to miss it.

The rep gave me the kind of look a woman would deserve if she cried over a random wedding and I said, trying to get some of my dignity back, “It’s not the wedding as such. Thing is, my sister died-” He gasped. “Oh God,” he said, bending lower over his screen and clicking like mad suddenly. I was kind of surprised by the size of the reaction, to be honest. Then I realised what had happened. He didn’t know the truth – that the bride’s mum was right there with her, that a different sister had died, that I was in no way stepping into a breach for my niece. I opened my mouth to tell him all that and a very peculiar thing happened.

I swear that my late and much loved sister leaned down to me, from up there, and said quite emphatically, “Shut up!”   

 “still miss her so much”

I shut up. The rep kept clicking and started spouting airport names and tight connections at me, but then, just as I was agreeing to have my bag removed from the plane, we both heard pounding footsteps approach. It was the pilot. “We’re going!” he said. “Let’s go!”

And off we went. In the forty-minute trip to Newark, the cuddly steward got us all set. I had ten minutes to race across to another terminal and there would be a buggy waiting to take me. The two Delhi-bound students had about fifteen minutes and they had a buggy lined up too. Everyone else on the flight prepared to sit tight and let the three of us sprint for the door. This included the family with the toddler going to see their nonna. They hadn’t a hope and were booked into a hotel in New Jersey for the night. They did provide one of the lighter moments, mind you. They had obviously told the little one that they’d go up in the air and come down. Then they’d go up in the air again and come down again. And the second time they came down, they’d be in Italy. And so, when our puddle jumper landed so very close to Raleigh, eight hours after we left, this toddler stood up on his seat with both his arms up in a victory salute, shouting “Italia! Italia!”

How hollowly we all laughed. Then, saying goodbye to my friends on either side of the aisle, and the sweet steward, I galloped down to the buggy, to the other terminal, to where another steward was standing in the middle of the floor in an empty run of gates. “Are you Catriona McPherson?” she shouted. I confirmed that I was. She yelled “She’s here!” down the jetway.

I gave her my bag, collapsed into my seat, we started to taxi, wheels came off the tarmac and I had made it! I didn’t sleep a wink from all the adrenaline (and the sugar and MSG in the many, many snacks), but I got off the plane at Edinburgh the next morning, still beaming. There was Neil and all our luggage and the car was waiting and I saw the wedding and danced the night away.

 “the top half of the wedding was Greek”

So really I’m not sure if that’s my worst travel nightmare or my best ever dream-come-true trip. You tell me! And while you’re at it, let me know your nightmares too.

 “The bottom half was Scottish”