German Christmas: Utterly Wunderbar

I know, because last Christmas Eve I took my own advice and stood on St Pancras Station in London at 8.30am, excited, happy and...feeling perhaps the most Christmassy I’ve felt in a long, long time.

It’s funny – and it doesn’t happen any other time of year – but come December 24, airports and train stations, for want of a better word, ‘tingle’ with an almost palpable sense of enjoyable trepidation.

Sure the clock’s ticking and sure you want to depart, but just take five minutes to allow yourself – on a purely voluntary basis, of course – to get caught up in all the flurry, agitation, animation and frustration of this pre-Christmas exodus, and see if you too don’t get jolted into a state of near-euphoric expectation.

Hell, even here, today, typing this out in dreary old Osney, I can still feel the hairs stand up as I think back to last year’s Big C.

Cologne in Germany, my yuletide destination, was yours truly’s very own Christmas present; a two-day festive celebration of all things continental, and in keeping with the season, I’d booked myself into a swanky, chic-as-hell hotel for that front-row seat on all things ‘tinsel-ly’.

Thus, as I boarded the Brussels-bound Eurostar train, complete with lopsided gait (brought on by the sack of Christmas gifts I was carrying across two international borders for my girlfriend who was meeting me on Christmas Day), it’s fair to say I was buoyed up with excitement.

Previous Christmases I’d always done the ‘right’ thing – you know, home, Mum and Dad, Queen’s speech – but the year before I’d promised myself this getaway and after 364 days, I was about to realise it.

I decided to go First Class because...why not? It was Christmas, the recession was starting to bite hard and truth is, I didn’t know if I’d still be salaried in 2009.

But in case you’re wondering, yes, it IS worth the extra loot – large comfy seats, passengers who smile back (remember, the staff have to, and a three-course meal complete with Champagne (yeah, I’m not ashamed, this was the sort of gravy train I’d aspired to all my life).

Which means by the time we pulled into Brussels just a few short hours later, I probably looked as ‘high’ as it’s safe to look without arousing suspicion.

Still, I have to say, as a destination station, it’s no picture postcard, and nor is it the easiest to navigate. But once I’d worked out just where to catch my connection, which took close to 45 minutes, I was able to enjoy a waffle (this was Belgium, after all) and simply relish the rush, dash and thrill of it all.

I’ve always believed Robert Louis Stevenson’s observation on travelling: “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move,” and if ever proof were needed that this dictum were true, this was it.

I was just happy to be in motion, and thankfully the second part of my train journey, from Brussels to Cologne, did nothing to spoil this sentiment.

I caught a German iCE train (and no, I don’t know what iCE stands for), and sped off towards my final stop of the day.

I didn’t know much about Cologne but had planned to read up on it during this second leg of the journey. At least, that was the plan. But they kept offering me tins of beer and I could hardly refuse because, well, I didn’t want to appear rude. So truth is, by the time I arrived in Köln (when in Rome, I fervently believe it’s important to speak like the locals), I loved everyone, couldn’t stop grinning, made a big thing of wishing everyone ‘Frohe Weihnachten’ and tipped my taxi driver a ridiculous wad.

Anyway, there I was, Christmas Eve, 4.30pm, in one of the few countries that still manages to make Christmas feel intimate and special.

I was alone – I wasn’t being joined until lunchtime the following day – so I grabbed a snack, knocked back a flute of bubbly (because if the banks could owe billions, I figured, so could I) and went out for a walk.

It was quiet, of course, because in Germany, Christmas Eve evening is when gifts are exchanged (instead of Santa dropping down a chimney, children wait excitedly for the ‘Kristkindl’).

Now I realise that wandering around a large city on your own on Christmas Eve night might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for me it was liberating.

Yes, I missed my mum, dad and brother, but I also felt free (and you know what’s curious? That freedom had a childlike quality to it).

I popped into a couple of bars that were busy – and cosy too – and generally just sat, watched and reflected.

By the time I returned to the hotel, church bells were ringing out across the city, and trust me, in a city that boasts 12 major churches, as well as a cathedral, it’s a good thing the children receive their presents this particular night or they’d never get to sleep.

Next morning I was up early, showered and shaved, and went down to a breakfast where everyone stared, pointed, and then, via the waiting staff, asked if I wanted to join them (in a full hotel, I was the only one eating on my own you see).

Just before midday my girlfriend arrived, we swapped presents (I gave her 432, she gave me one and it was homemade), and then we hit the town. And boy was it fantastic...

Christmas in Germany is totally different to Christmas over here; it felt like stepping back through a time-warp to the 1950s or ’60s.

For a start, a lot of people were already out on the streets, cheerily wishing everybody else a merry Christmas (how often does that happen here – even in Oxford?) Whole families, drinking Gluhwein (mulled wine) at Weihnachtsbuden (the little wooden stalls so familiar at Christmas markets) stopped to watch the street entertainers, who were more like world-class cabaret artists than buskers, while the cathedral eventually drew everyone to its heart.

And beneath its cavernous roof, lit by candles, I’m not ashamed to say I felt a twinge of spiritualism.

Mmm...that revelation over, we raced to an outdoor skating rink, where I fell over (that’s it. I just fell over). But even from floor level, it was still exciting to watch a classic Christmas tableau act itself out.

And patching up my bruises in a cheap but cheerful German cafe on our way back to the hotel, at about 5pm, we both looked at each other and just grinned – like kids really. Because damnit, you don’t get this ‘vibe’ back in Britain.

The next day, we headed back to a more conventional Christmas, but I can honesly say, hand on heart, that this was one of best Christmases I’ve ever enjoyed.

Different, sure, and like I’ve said, not for everyone, but for me at least, it felt like I’d rediscovered something that had been missing for years.