My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence and Siena.

My View From Mass

I had my heart set on a Tuscan Christmas. Ribollita, roasted chestnuts , chianti and panettone within the rolling green hills of Tuscany. Too much Under the Tuscan Sun under my skin. My vision is solidified when I sit down at The Kitchen community dinner next to two couples who spent Christmas in Siena the previous year.

I am not the most religious of people. Mass is an experience full of cultural traditions that I never seemed to get the hang of as a child or young adult.

“Left or right? Right or left? What is Katie doing? LEFT OR RIGHT?”

I would inwardly panic as I crawled closer to receiving Communion and struggled to remember which hand went under which hand.

Then there was the Mass where the Priest asked for a silent Peace Be With You. In which I loudly told everyone Peace Be With You in my best Elaine outdoor voice.

Or maybe the time I took Communion with my Mom at Notre Dame, and she told me to never tell anyone what happened. In respect of her Catholic upbringing, I won’t tell that story here.

But I will tell you my Mom told me and my sister not to tell her relatives that we don’t go to Mass regularly at one family reunion. I suspect they caught on pretty quickly. Not sure what would give it away.

But I am downright giddy for midnight Mass in Italian on Christmas Eve at the Duomo.

At the onset of Mass, a buzzard rings as if to announce: It’s Catholic Time!

I think I actually inherited my father’s sense of proprietary because I am shocked to see the altar boys wearing jeans and sneakers under their robes. What is this world coming to? Children, the night before the birth of Baby Jesus we wear dress shoes, which is the equivalent of modern day incense and myrrh. In fact, most of the female congregation is decked in jeans and boots. Baby Jesus weeps for you! Never you mind my own Mass attendance or the fact that my hotel desk clerk shook her head when I asked if my dress was appropriate indicating that short sleeves were a no go. At least I didn’t live Tweet mass Dennis Crowley style (I might have had the Duomo had free WiFi).

The Mass is beautiful despite not understanding most (any) of what is said. I do recognize the word Christ, which is pronounced Cristo as in the Count of Monte Cristo. And a lovely Italian version of Holy Night and Silent Night. And just like that, Mass is over.

Afterward, the whole congregation seems to be heading the opposite direction of me. I go with the flow hoping this is the moment the whole town gathers round the large village Christmas tree, gathers hands and sings Holy Night. But no go. The entire congregation just appears to live in the opposite direction of my hotel.

I spend nearly the majority of Christmas exploring Siena, which is fairy tale beautiful. Minus the part where the whole town seems averse to holding hands and singing Christmas carols around the Christmas tree.

My memories of Vienna, Austria, will always have a Christmas-y feel. As I’ve stated earlier, I’m of the bahhumbug variety when it comes to the holidays. Too many memories of buying crap that people don’t need at the Cherry Creek Mall. I don’t recall ever being the type of girl stringing Christmas lights whilst singing Christmas carols. And after my parents passed away, Christmas just became a day to get through instead of a day to look forward too.

I wish I could describe how Vienna is making me feel towards Christmas. Vienna is absolutely magical when it comes to the holidays. It’s straight out of the movies like The Holiday and Love Actually but with less Jude Law and Hugh Grant, and more schnitzel and strudel.

Schloss Schlonnbrunn, the summer residence of the Habsburgs, is done up for Christmas. There is a ginormous Christmas tree strung up with lights that have Christmas carolers with a Ken doll look alike leading the charge. They sing Silent Night and charming Austrian carols. Thankfully, these carolers don’t sing, “Grandmother got run over by a reindeer.” The previous night, I saw young teenage boys singing Christmas carols, and I wanted to scream out, “Edelweiss, sing Edelweiss.” As if they were the Beatles about to play, but I bit my tongue.

Schloss Schlonnbrunn is also place of the most incredible Christmas market I’ve ever seen. Vendors sell warm, spicy wine called punsch that smells exactly how Christmas should, especially if you prefer a boozy holiday like I do. We eat a Marzipan Kugelsomething something, which is dough, some kind of chocolate mousse and marzipan rolled in sugar and cinnamon. We eat gnocchi covered in sauce, leeks and ham that is incredibly savory. And if you’re not looking to gain the European 15, there are Christmas crafts for purchase. And not knitted toilet seat covers, but actual artisanal craftmanship.

The Habsburgs lived large among the European royalty, like the Jay Zs of European royalty. Their crown jewels are breathtaking and are second only to Britain’s. What always cracks me is when they talk about missing pieces that they have no idea what happened to. I mean sure, so far, I’ve lost a hat, all of my jewelry, two pairs of gloves, an amazing umbrella, several pairs of socks, my factial soap, a scarf, broken a camera and netbook. In fact, my former co-workers Lauren and Melissa have a betting pool on how much stuff I’ll lose. But I haven’t lost say…a 100-plus-carat diamond. I mean, where do those exactly go?

Vienna is known for its music, and one of the highlights is the ability to purchase opera tickets for 4 Euro. I can’t purchase a Big Mac for that price, but I can purchase premiere tickets to Macbeth. It’s standing room only so the charm wears off by intermission. I’m sitting/standing next to an Australian, and we decide to leave early and go get schnitzl.

Of all the Christmas lights so far, Vienna’s are my favorite. I still can’t really get into Christmas music, so I listen to the holiday spirit of Warren G’s Regulate one of the nights walking around.

“16 in the clip, and one in the hole. Nate Dogg is about to turn somebody turn cold. Now they’re dropping and yelling. It’s a tad bit late. Nate Dogg and Warren G had to regulate…”

And as I stare open mouthed at all the amazing Christmas lights in the streets after drinking, one of my Canadian drinking partners asks, “So you have seen Christmas lights before, right? RIGHT?”

Happy Holidays, Regulators. Mount up. You’ve got to be handy with the steel if you know what I mean.