A fairy tale usually involves a transformation, which in turn contains some sort of lesson. In “Cinderella,” goodness is rewarded; “Aladdin” teaches us to be true to ourselves … and then there are the Christmas fables, where both Scrooge and the Grinch learn the true meaning of the season, the latter having a frankly worrying cardiac reaction to his revelation.
Barring the heart swelling, I hoped to undergo such a transformation on my recent visit to what is quite possibly the most Christmasy place on Earth (apart from Bethlehem, obviously): New York City.
My view of the holidays is not necessarily “anti” but more world-weary. The prospect of mixing with “happy” people under tinsel and twinkly lights fills me with a kind of dull dread. Immersion therapy it is then, placing a yuletide cynic in the epicentre of a holiday onslaught: the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, Rockefeller Center, Central Park, Saks … It will all be thrown at me, covering me head-to-toe in sticky Christmas cheer. Joy to the world.
Exiting the luxurious Knickerbocker hotel, tasteful decorations lining the grand marbled lobby, I stumble immediately into the capitalist onslaught that is Times Square, Dick Clark’s crystal-spangled New Year’s ball visible in the corner of my eye, as I brush past gnarly versions of Elmo and Sonic offering tourists questionable photo ops.
After I dodge a slew of tuk-tuks, each blasting “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” it’s a 10-minute push to Macy’s — a requisite stop on any Manhattan Christmas tour, I’m told. I take in the window displays, the giant inflatable turkeys, and Santas sitting atop the canopies over the bustling main entrances, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” playing from hidden speakers.
I take a deep breath and embark on the 20-minute walk to Hudson Yards, the crowds thinning slightly, giving my brain some respite. I am greeted by a display encompassing 185 kilometres of string lights, 725 evergreen trees dressed to create a gleaming forest (I counted), and a huge 32-foot hot air balloon centrepiece. On entering the mall, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” emits from unseen speakers.
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But I’m here in order to get a reindeer’s-eye view. I catch the elevator to Edge, the highest outdoor skydeck in the Western Hemisphere, and take in some ridiculous and windswept vistas of Manhattan. There’s the Empire State Building, there’s Chrysler, there’s Rockefeller … OK, I’ve seen it all. Can I go home now?
No. It’s Thanksgiving the next day, and safely installed on some bleachers near 34th Street, I witness the stop-start of the Macy’s parade — an event very much designed around TV commercials. By the time Santa arrives for his department store residency, I have already hotfooted it over to Rockefeller Center, where a pair of ice skates and another elevated view (Top of the Rock) await me, though happily not simultaneously. As night falls, I witness the turning on of the Saks Christmas lights — impressive, sure, but my first thought is how anyone who lives around here is going to get any sleep.
It’s time to seek solace in food and beverage, and in a city where I am spoiled for choice, I settle on La Grande Boucherie for a Parisian art nouveau twist on all things festive. As I work my way through the cocktail menu and the high-end take on a turkey dinner, I begin to reflect on my breakneck visit, and something happens: The corners of my mouth start to turn upwards.
Manhattan is essentially one large Christmas decoration at this time of year, and not to surrender would be cantankerous. A warm wave of Christmas cheer finally moves through my body. I start to contemplate getting home to free health care before my heart grows three sizes … and then I hear ”All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
Matt Charlton travelled with some trip support from New York City Tourism and its partners, which did not review or approve this article.
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