Home is where...?

It'll be the first time in four years that I go home home for Christmas. May sound strange to most since it seems too obvious to make any sense. But for the Wanderer/Gypsy, this time of year is mostly an unknown.When I was younger and it was a given that the days would be spent at home with the parents and whatever 'oldie' they'd invited, I dreamed of being anywhere but there. I dreamed of the snow, the mountains lit up by fairy lights, the tinsel on real trees that shimmered with frost. Christmas shopping in the glitter, inhaling the scent of mulled wine and munching nougat.

Christmas in Africa is a season of its own.Summer holidays filled with braais and pool parties, turkey roasted on a fire in the garden, chilled white wine and beer, before the slothing in the hammock under the trees for digestion. A nap in the shade before getting up for cold turkey sandwiches made with homemade mayo and cold champagne to watch the sun go down.For those on their annual coastal holiday, down to the beach with the rest of the revellers. Sundowners, swims, boerewors and beer.Back home to the tinsel,the tree and the lights.Nothing is different, but it's not the same at all.

I've been lucky enough to have the best of both - but now, as an 'oldie' of sorts, being here, on my own in the cold,frosty Christmas of Europe, my home, I dream of being back there,with the parents and whatever other 'oldie' they've invited. Five more sleeps. Home is where the Christmas is. Isn't it?