Daniel Craig! Did you see him?” my colleague shrieks into the phone from Chennai. It’s 6 a.m. on a cold, winter afternoon in Chester and I am awakened by her call. Jet-lagged and listless, I try to comprehend what she’s saying. “He is from Chester,” she giggles. “Erm, no, I didn’t spot him but I do plan to shop at the popular Christmas market,” I reply. “Bring back Daniel Craig miniatures from the market then,” she orders, and hangs up complaining about how much the call cost her.
I curl up and drift back to sleep again; this time, to be awakened by the distant sound of church bells and squealing, frolicking children. The city is shrouded in festivities and it clearly isn’t the best time to be huddled in bed. There are bright lights and winter carnivals with fun rides and games all around; carols resound from every nook and cranny; numerous Santa Clauses waddle across the streets bellowing ‘Ho ho ho’; and people dressed as story-book characters prance about. Theatre productions, musicals, various showcases and activities…Chester during this season can turn even the Grinch into a warm, fuzzy and loving creature.
After an elaborate breakfast, I step out, armed with a map and wrapped like a fragile Christmas present, under three layers of warm clothing. The black and white houses here look like life-sized cakes. I distinctly remember seeing them in my bed-time story books. The roads are empty and the wet, black, cobblestoned paths gleam in the crackling sunlight. But as I approach Watergate Street, a lane lined with boutiques and eat outs, I hear a buzz. So this is where, practically, the entire city has convened. Since the sun finally decided to show up after days of lying low (hangover I assume), the locals look delighted and occupy the outdoor seating areas of cafes and restaurants. It still is cold with the occasional breeze making my teeth chatter, but they look unperturbed by it all.
Following arrows, I reach the Christmas Market. It’s a little too early and the stalls are in the process of setting up shop. So I decide to go for a long walk and come back later. Sauntering along the streets throws up fascinating nuggets of information: Like the house from 1652 that reads, “God’s providence is mine inheritance.” Two bouts of plague had done away with a large population at Chester, but not a single person belonging to this house was affected. The locals are only too glad to stop and narrate their favourite tales from the neighbourhood. Since the city was founded by the Romans as a fort in 79 AD, there are substantial Roman ruins, like the city walls, amphitheatre and the Roman garden.
As much as Chester is steeped in history, it also is a haven for shopaholics — the 700-year-old Rows (covered, two-tiered shopping galleries) that are now lined with high-street and luxury brands is an example of that. French Connection, Debenhams, Topshop, H & M, Miss Selfridge, Reiss…sifting my way through those lovely clothes I lose track of time. It’s way past lunch time. Pleased with all the shopping, I hop across to The Chester Grosvenor to experience their famed afternoon tea. Sitting back at the swish Arkle Bar I wait for the traditional tea, a ritual that has been practised here since 1882. The tiered stand holds a selection of finger sandwiches (honey-glazed ham and tomato, rare Welsh beef with horse-radish cream, cheese and mayonnaise, and smoked salmon with cream cheese and cucumber), scones and desserts. An hour later, I am still in the midst of demolishing everything in front of me. Tunes from a grand piano fill the room along with the sound of clinking cutlery and discussions on what’s been bought as presents. “You can ask for as many helpings as you’d like,” says the charming manager and at that point I throw in the proverbial towel (napkin, in this case). When I step out, it’s dark and the road is crowded. Fairy lights glow along the streets, buskers take to the pavements playing melancholic tunes, church bells ring again and I feel teleported to a magical land. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kids from The Chronicles of Narnia walked past me…oh, but not the evil White Witch please. But at a happy place like Chester, I am certain nothing can go wrong.
I reach the Christmas market and it’s packed. A 40-foot Christmas tree stands tall, beaming like a proud grandfather, around which people eat, drink, kiss, hold hands and chat. About 70 brightly-lit log huts occupy the pavements, selling food, jewellery, artefacts, wine, cheese, toys, Christmas trees, bouquets, boughs of holly, traditional toys that catch even the gadget-savvy kids’ attention and myriad gift options for your folks back home, besides the usual cuff links, shirts and mugs. I remember my colleague's request and ask for the Daniel Craig miniature. The portly old lady in the stall laughs and says, “Love, I don’t have him but can I interest you in a merry tin soldier? You can imagine him to be your Mr. Craig, perhaps?” Embarrassed, I quickly pick it up and head to the make-shift bar across the road. Remixes of Christmas songs play and people dance. As I sit by myself and knock back tipples of mulled wine, a group of young students offers me company. Half an hour later, we are laughing, eating our way through the market and trailing sweet-tempered carollers who don't complain about our lack of tune, tone and pitch. After all, ‘tis the season to be jolly and that's what Yuletide is all about — conviviality, joy and making merry.
