Christmas Archives - Itch.world
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Venice to Vienna on the Nightjet: what the NYTimes got wrong

I’m shockingly on trend this week having traveled from Venice to Vienna on the Nightjet, an overnight train service offered by the Austrian railway ÖBB, three days before the New York Times wrote an article about the same route and train. (ÖBB’s PR department has been working overtime — their sleeper train also popped up in a Bloomberg article.) The NYTimes article featured bright-eyed travelers arriving in Venice in the morning after their all-night journey feeling rested and refreshed. I would have liked to meet those people.

I have a bit of a thing about overnight trains which has deepened with the Greta-induced “flight shaming” trend. My journeys have ranged from the sitting upright on a night train across Spain in a compartment filled with soldiers (Eurail pass days) to a rather lovely single room with a bed and bath on a night train from Vienna to Paris years ago. I was looking forward to sharing a sleeper train experience with Donella and Sebastian.

When John was out of town — he’s less than enthusiastic about the overnight train concept — I got the idea that the kids and I, plus Lola the dog, would take a pre-holiday jaunt to Vienna to look at Christmas markets and take the Nightjet. Venice to Vienna sounded nicely alliterative so we packed up the car, drove to Venice, had dinner in one of our favorite places (a Jewish restaurant called Gam Gam), and boarded the Nightjet which leaves at 9:10. We were ready for adventure.

I’d booked a cabin for three people, but it would have been tight for one. The three of us stood in the corridor for a few minutes trying to figure out how we could physically fit in the space with our one small suitcase each and the dog. One at a time we squeezed in sideways between the sink and the ladder, passing bags over our heads, and scrambled to our bunks. The three couchette-type beds were set up one over the other. Sebastian took the top, which was really high up and needed a ladder to access. This gave him a bit of room to stash stuff over the top of the sink cabinet as well as a spot to stretch his legs. I took the middle, which also needed a ladder to get to, and Donella and Lola took the bottom. There wasn’t enough room to sit upright in the bunks so all of us assumed semi-prone positions as we negotiated over the order in which we’d get our stuff and use the sink in our cabin.

The bunks did come with sheets, a little duvet, and the thinnest and smallest pillow I’ve ever seen. And there was a breakfast menu to fill out with choices of bread, cheese, ham, yogurt, and a few other options.

We finally turned out the lights to settle in. But after five minutes they turned back on by themselves for about an hour until the staff could figure out the problem. Darkness came and we finally rolled over to go to sleep. At least some of us did. Our neighbors on both sides were very talkative and we could hear every word through the thin walls. They finally quieted down. And then around two in the morning the lights came back on by themselves.

Seemed like the higher the elevation of the bunk the sounder the sleep. Despite everything Sebastian went right to sleep and woke up the next morning rested. On the bottom Donella and Lola spent the whole night sleepless. Lola seemed to share John’s security concerns despite the fact that our door had a hotel-style key and several locks, and she was wide awake guarding the pack. Donella heroically prevented her from disturbing anyone else. I was literally, and experientially, somewhere in the middle.

They pick a slow route for night trains so that the times are more convenient, leaving at 9pm and getting in Vienna around 8am, so there was plenty of time to relax and sleep. (The Caledonian Sleeper from London, which I’ve also taken, even pulls to a side track and stops for several hours a night to avoid arriving in Edinburgh in the wee hours of the morning.)

John joined us a day later in Vienna from the States and we all returned to Venice on Christmas Eve taking ÖBB’s daytime express train which was a seven and a half hour trip.

Pros and cons? If I were to do it over again I’d book more cabins — three in one cabin was too many and it would be nice not to have the middle bunk — if they were available. I’d put essentials in an easier to get to place than my suitcase, which was almost impossible to access in such a tiny space. I’d bring my own pillow and much better ear plugs than the ones they provided. And I’d probably not bring Lola. Bottom line? Mid-range cabin sleeper trains are still a bit rough.

I enjoyed the speedy day train on the return more because the scenery in Austria was gorgeous which we missed on the sleeper train. We’d also provisioned an epic picnic in Vienna which made the middle of the trip really nurturing.

But despite all the downsides there is still something romantic and alluring about a night train. Even had a crazy idea of going from Finland to Sicily by sleeper train. But I think I’d have to get fresh traveling companions.

 

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Lepers, donkeys, and baby Jesus

Around Christmas every year a surprising transformation takes place in the small hamlet of Le Ville. A cluster of nondescript, fairly modern houses, and the adjacent garden plots and fields, turn into ancient Jerusalem.

Our local Jerusalem is inhabited by Romans, slaves, shepherds, spice grinders, metal workers, basket makers, rug merchants, a colony of lepers, and more, along with cattle, goats, sheep, and donkeys. At the center is always a couple, accompanied by a newborn, a bull, a donkey and a couple of angels. It is the living nativity of Le Ville, or “presepe vivente.”

I grew up in a culture where Christmas is all about the tree. In Italy, the most important symbol is the nativity scene. They are more common than Christmas trees—there’s one in every church, most homes, and some businesses. I even spotted one in the deli case of the cafe at the train station.

A few towns have decided to take it further and create living nativities. In 2005, some people from the hamlet of Le Ville went to a living nativity over the border in Umbria and decided that they would create their own. They started work in July of that year, and according to the organizers, “worked incessantly, every afternoon, late into the night” to make the Christmas deadline. It was small but a success and has grown every year. This year around 10,000 people will come.

It’s the thing I look forward to the most over the holidays. There are over 200 volunteer participants in 50 scenes, lit by over 1,500 candles and numerous open fires, with music from Ben Hur playing over speakers. The path through it is a kilometer long. There’s a cantina halfway through serving olive-oil soaked bread toasted over an open fire, and pottery mugs of hot spiced wine. The sheer pageant of it sweeps me along—Italians have a special gift for spectacle—it is not surprise that opera was created here.

It also has a nice Tuscan practicality. It happens for five nights between December 26th and January 6th—it can’t start earlier because there wouldn’t be a baby Jesus. The three wise men don’t show up until the last event, on Epiphany or Twelfth Night (when they originally appeared). They enter with great fanfare and head to the manger.

The competition to be the sacred family is carefully managed by the organizers so as to not hurt any feelings. Couples who have recently given birth take turns, and Le Ville leads the way in gender equality with three of the five babies this year being girls. Also, parents are parents—you don’t need to be married to be Mary and Joseph.

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Hell’s Santas (on Vespas)

Christmas Eve in our village is not for the faint of heart. Santas of all ages, sizes, and both sexes come roaring into the piazza on every type of Vespa bearing sacks of presents which they give to the waiting kids. The piazza, dominated by a huge tree, is packed with a pretty good percentage of the village population. Sometimes one of the Santas bears a striking resemblance to someone you know.

Some years the presents are better than others. One of the first years we were in Italy the Santas gave out soccer balls to the boys and Italian grammar books to the girls. Our little four-year old friend, in the photo, was obviously delighted to receive a present that would yield so many hours of fun.

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Ho! Ho! No.

I recently returned from London where I completed my tour of duty of some of the centers of the holiday universe: Regent Street, Liberty, Fortnum and Mason, Covent Garden … No one does Christmas like the Brits. Masterful holiday lights, bustling crowds, beautiful ornaments and decorations for the home, special things to eat, and, of course, everything you could imagine to buy as gifts.

thanks to Jeff Moore and Time Out

Then I returned home. Our valley is a kind of anti-matter to the London-style Christmas. The first few years we lived here I was stunned by the fact that there was virtually nothing to buy. Or to decorate the house with. Or to wrap presents with. Present options in our piazza include special housecoats to clean in. The farm stand has gift baskets with green peppers and celeriac. And there is this knitted lamp shade. The Santa (shown above) from the grocery-store-anchored mini mall sums it up.

There’s panforte, panettone, and things with truffles, but they can hardly compete with the goods on display in a big city. (There are exceptions to everything, of course. The family-run Busatti linens sold in the valley are revered around the world.) There’s none of that frenzied shopping bustle and long lines, except at the butcher.

I love this more relaxed version of Christmas. It was easy for me to think that my identity was defined by the presents I gave and how well-decorated my house was, but this world has offered up a different way to be during the holidays. Last year when I went to the sports store to buy ski wear there was only one set of choices, and you are lucky if they had the right size. There isn’t that treadmill of decisions about brands, performance, price, taste, and style.

Despite the lack of commercial Christmas cheer, I’ve never felt it more deeply. Everyone you meet greets you with an “Auguri!” and kiss. While running errands tonight I stopped by a church from the year 700, a stone’s throw from our house, while they were setting up the nativity scene. It gave me chills.

And this grabbed my attention as much as the lights over Piccadilly—what’s really going on in this life-sized manger scene near the piazza?

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