It's fascinating how much we do for our traditions. A month of preparation for a day of constant eating. People have been flying in since the tenth. My gps and the two Xmas hams got here first, then me, two days later my luggage and a whole family with two years of chocolate consumption including the Alladin-boxes (of course!) got here Sunday. Ever since we have been cooking. Making gingersnaps. Gingerbread house. Rice porridge wrapped in a blanket. Ham. Meatballs. Three homemade herrings. Jansson's temptation (who the hell was this oh-so-famous jansson?) All these things that you just have to have on this other side of the earth for that, at most, one hour long extremely special dinner.
We had it all. A complete julbord drinking julmust, mumma and julsnaps. Homemade glögg, gingerbreads, saffran buns. A super-size-me-style table with christmas-sweets. An ocean of "foam-santas". We even managed to sling-box-stream-whatever-its-called Kalle Ankas, donald duck's, christmas show to argentina to watch with our 11 am-coffee.
I am in Argentina. 12 518 kilometers from home. And I am still sipping my glögg with amazingly soft saffran buns without even thinking about the 40C heat and the sunshine. That's taken care of by the air conditioner. No strangenesses.
But it would have been nice with that once in a decade white christmas you all had back home... there is stangely weirdly nothing else i can really whine about missing out on here, twelvethousandsfivehundredeighteen kilometers from my advent calendar back at Ynglingagatan 19..
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