looking back

It's snowing. Again. Outside my window, fluffy flakes are whipped at an aggressive angle, all but obscuring the illuminated Christmas tree the council has somehow attached to the estate across the street. Ten minutes ago, it was dark like late afternoon because of the low-hanging clouds, but now it has brightened up. All surfaces are covered in a fresh white.

Gatwick Airport is closed again, for about the fifth time this winter, a season that only started a month ago, a season that, calendarically, hasn't started at all. Winter solstice is on Tuesday. I don't have to travel until Thursday, but it was another Thursday, two weeks ago, that my plans were disrupted before they even started for the first time ever. I had to postpone going to Lisbon for a week. Next week, a delay won't do. Christmas Eve is the night after I'm scheduled to travel. If I can't depart that day, I won't go at all. But I'm not traveling through Gatwick, and Heathrow is not nearly as susceptible to disruption.

It would be nice to stay in London for Christmas and the quiet days until New Year's. Christmas Day in particular is special here. The tube and buses aren't running, and neither are the DLR or any trains. The city is nearly motionless, the only time of the year. Peace doesn't last the entire day, but the morning of the 25th when the British are recovering, in their beds, from the excesses of the night before, the city is empty, as if deserted. I've never experienced this.

Family is important for me, though, and I don't wish to stay away from them for Christmas, for what would be the first time in seven years. In fact, I've only stayed away from home two times despite living an ocean away for many years and abroad for more than a decade. Three times may be a charm, but it doesn't have to be this years.

On the other hand, I could use the time. In Germany, surrounded by family and close to old friends, with a schedule busy with concerts, visits and fun, I have no time for myself. That's not the point at Christmas, I know, but I could use some downtime. I could sit back in a comfortable chair, with a pot of hot tea and some gingerbread, and think about the year that was and the year that will come.

Come think of it, I might start now. Snow is crashing down like an avalanche, suffocating London in a white that the city doesn't recognize. There is no point going out shopping for gifts or trying to get tickets for a show I'd like to see before it's time to leave for home. Instead, let me muse about some of the things that epitomize last year.

• Day of the Year – Of the pleasures that merit public retelling, it was the Oberelbe-Marathon in April that provided the best kicks and will prove the most memorable. I cracked the three hours and booked my spot in next year's London Marathon. The race itself was only painful during the last 45 minutes. The portion in the middle, a good hour and a half, was pure bliss. I was scraping very close my physical limits, which were off-limits, that day, to the vast majority of racers in that marathon.
• Book of the Year – In due time, and as there is each year, there will be a summary of the books I've read in the past twelve months, but one stood out and deserves highlighting right now. From Beirut to Jerusalem is twenty years old and has, for a book that's primarily political in scope, aged incredibly well. Thomas Friedman, now the New York Times's most annoyingly wiseacre and verbally incontinent commentator on current affairs, was once a Middle East correspondent and bureau chief with a keen interest in history and geopolitics. He was in Beirut when Israel invaded Lebanon and in Jerusalem when the intifada broke out. His observations and commentary are priceless, and absolutely gripping.
• Record of the Year – At the airport on the way to Colorado a couple of months ago, I scooped up the Beatles' Blue Album, the second half of their post-fractum Best-Of. These two CDs showcase the unlimited creativity and bold avant-gardism of the Beatles, a variety that's all the more surprising considering that the two disks cover only three-and-a-half years of recording. (Did you know the Beatles existed for just a little over seven years?)
• Discovery of the Year – 2010 wasn't the greatest year in terms of traveling. I didn't go to any exotic places or ventured off the beaten path. The countries I added to my list of Placed Visited were Spain and Portugal, hardly secret destinations. And yet, San Sebastian and the Basque Country were a revelation. The north coast of Spain is beautiful: The beaches are flawless, wide and warm; the mountains, high and rugged, appear to be made for biking; the food tastes divine and is consumed in joyful conviviality; and people are friendly and relaxed. If there were any jobs there, I'd try to make a move.