In England Christmas seems to start in October. Decorations go up; carols and cheesy Christmas pop songs are piped through supermarket PA systems. In muslim countries, for obvious reasons, Christmas preparations are far less invasive, almost to the extent of passing by unnoticed.
The other day, when we were walking about the old city, browsing the Aladdin’s caves which line Straight Street when, all of a sudden, I felt distinctly christmasy for no apparent reason at all. Apart from being wrapped snugly in scarves and coats against the bitter cold and the rather Dickensian orange glow of the street lights, there was little else to explain why the tune to 'Silent Night' was stuck in my head.
It turned out that we had ambled to within a few metres of the Christian quarter and that the medley of carols being played over a loudspeaker and rather familiar 'ho ho ho' emanating from a bearded gentleman standing on the side of the street was all part of the Christmas celebrations of a French Franciscan Convent. Not entirely expected, in a city where walks are usually serenaded by birdsong from a forest of minarets, but very welcome none the less!
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