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Winter magic, festive excess, and believing the New York Christmas myth in 2018

Christmas in New York is not a season; it’s a performance. In December 2018, I walked straight into it, jet-lagged, wide-eyed, and entirely unprepared for how convincingly the city sells its own myth.

New York in winter has a particular confidence. It doesn’t politely decorate for Christmas—it commits. Lights spill out of shop windows like Broadway understudies desperate for their own spotlight. Every street feels staged, every corner framed as if someone somewhere is about to shout, “Action.” Even the cold seems intentional, sharpened just enough to justify scarves, gloved hands wrapped around paper coffee cups, and that cinematic cloud of breath that makes everyone look thoughtful.

Rockefeller Centre was, unsurprisingly, the epicentre of it all. The tree dominated the plaza like a celebrity who doesn’t need to acknowledge the crowd to be adored. Beneath it, the ice skating rink pulsed with movement—people gliding, wobbling, clinging to the edge with quiet dignity. Skating there felt less like a sport and more like stepping into a collective memory you didn’t know you had borrowed. The ice reflected the lights above, and for a moment, the city seemed to exist upside down as well as right-side up.

I was not a graceful skater. But that hardly mattered. Falling would have felt appropriate—New York has never required elegance, only participation. Around me, tourists filmed each other with the seriousness of documentary filmmakers. At the same time, locals passed through with practised indifference, as if skating under a Christmas tree between skyscrapers were merely another Tuesday inconvenience.

The decorations were relentless in the best possible way. Fifth Avenue shop windows were miniature theatres: mechanical elves working overtime, snowy villages looping the same eternal story, luxury brands transforming nostalgia into something improbably expensive. I lingered longer than necessary, watching reflections of passing taxis merge with fake snow and blinking lights. It felt like the city was daring you to be cynical—and winning.

One evening led me to Radio City Music Hall, where the Rockettes performed with military precision disguised as joy. The show was unapologetically festive: high kicks slicing the air, perfect smiles that somehow didn’t feel forced, and choreography so exact it bordered on surreal. Watching them was like watching time itself behave—everything landing exactly where it should. It was excessive, polished, and utterly sincere. In other words, completely New York.

Outside, the city resumed its usual level of activity. Sirens threaded through Christmas music. Street vendors sold roasted nuts under glowing carts. Somewhere, someone was late for something important. Yet even in the rush, December softened the edges. Strangers held doors a second longer. The city, famously indifferent, allowed itself brief moments of warmth.

Looking back now, Christmas 2018 in New York feels less like a trip and more like a shared illusion I willingly stepped into. I didn’t just see the decorations or the shows—I participated in the agreement that, for a few weeks each year, New York becomes exactly what everyone hopes it will be. Loud, beautiful, exhausting, and somehow still magical.

And maybe that’s the real tradition: arriving knowing it’s all a bit ridiculous, and leaving grateful that you believed in it anyway.

#NewYorkCity #NYCChristmas #RockefellerCenter #RadioCityMusicHall #FifthAvenue #ManhattanWinter #HolidaySeason #TravelEssay #NewYorkTravel #TravelPhotography

A Traveller’s Guide to Morocco's Architectural Gem and the World’s Second Tallest Minaret

Casablanca. A city whose name evokes black-and-white romance and high drama, yet whose modern reality is a vibrant, bustling North African metropolis. My own encounter with Casa was a fleeting one—a precious few hours snatched from a long journey—but it was time enough to fall for its coastal energy and, most importantly, to stand in awe before the architectural masterpiece that defines its skyline: the Hassan II Mosque.

The city, though full of charming chaos, felt like a prelude to the main event. My path led me along the coast, and as I approached, the scale of the mosque was almost staggering. It doesn’t just dominate the landscape; it commands the entire Atlantic horizon. Built on a promontory, it appears to rise majestically from the sea itself, a monumental achievement that fulfils the vision of King Hassan II, who stated: “I want to build this mosque on the water, because God’s throne is on the water.”

Even from the outside, the mosque is a sensory experience. The sound of the crushing Atlantic waves provides a natural, spiritual soundtrack to the immense plaza. I walked the perimeter of the vast courtyard, imagining the incredible sight of 80,000 worshippers gathering on these very grounds, in addition to the 25,000 capacity of the indoor prayer hall. The sheer magnitude makes it the second-largest functioning mosque in Africa.

The architecture is a breathtaking symphony of Moroccan, Andalusian, and Moorish styles. You can spend hours simply tracing the intricate detail etched into every surface. The exterior is a rich tapestry of hand-crafted materials, nearly all sourced from Morocco: fragrant Cedarwood from the Middle Atlas, gleaming Marble from Agadir, and sturdy Granite from Tafraoute. It is said that 10,000 master craftsmen from across the kingdom contributed to its construction, a testament to the nation’s artistry. The walls are adorned with pale blue marble and exquisite Zellige tilework, forming complex, colourful geometric patterns that seem to shimmer under the Moroccan sun.

But it is the Minaret that truly steals the breath. Soaring 210 meters (689 feet) into the sky, it was, at the time of its completion in 1993, the tallest minaret in the world (it is now the second). The tower is a colossal work of art, covered in austere green tiling that reflects the light of the ocean. At night, it’s topped by an electronically operated laser beam—a spiritual beacon stretching 30 kilometres toward Mecca, an unmistakable directional light for the faithful.

Though my brief time meant I couldn’t join an internal tour—a definite reason for a return trip!—I learned about the miraculous interior features from the outside. Knowing that the roof above the prayer hall is fully retractable is awe-inspiring. This architectural marvel, which weighs 1,100 tons, can open in just five minutes, allowing worshippers to pray under the daytime sun or the stars at night. The mosque’s placement, with parts of its foundation extending directly into the ocean, makes this connection to the elements profoundly meaningful.

Standing on the edge of the continent, watching the powerful Atlantic meet this immense sacred structure, felt like witnessing a moment of perfect harmony between man and nature. My few hours in Casablanca passed far too quickly, but the sight of the Hassan II Mosque—a glorious, sea-lapped gem—was an unforgettable highlight, a towering testament to faith, craftsmanship, and the enduring grandeur of Morocco.

#Casablanca #Morocco #HassanIIMosque #Architecture #NorthAfrica #IslamicArt #TravelMorocco #TravelEssay #TravelPhotography

From Neon Glare to Sizzling Takoyaki: Explore the sensory overload of Osaka's vibrant street scenes and the dazzling, reflection-filled Dotonbori Canal at night.

There are cities you visit, and then there are cities you feel. Osaka, the undisputed culinary capital of Japan, falls squarely into the latter category. It is a city that does not wait for you to approach; it rushes forward, embraces you in a whirlwind of savoury steam and neon light, and demands that you wander. To simply observe Osaka is impossible; the city insists on total immersion, pulling the traveller through its dense, dynamic street scenes that pulse with an unmistakable, brazen energy.

My initial steps into the Minami district were immediately swallowed by the tide of movement. Beneath the immense, covered arcades and along the bustling surface streets, the visual spectacle is overwhelming. Walls are plastered in vibrant, blocky kanji signage, competing loudly for attention, while the air is thick with the scent of sizzling sauces and burning oil. This is where the city’s famous culinary soul, kuidaore—to eat oneself to ruin—becomes a tangible force. The visuals supporting this segment are the bustling, shoulder-to-shoulder crowds, the careful art of the takoyaki vendor turning balls of batter on a hot plate, and the sheer density of human activity—a true portrait of modern urban chaos harnessed into dazzling efficiency.

Yet, true wandering involves discovering the pauses between the roars. A few steps off the main drag, the volume drops, and the visual mood shifts dramatically. Here, in the narrow, stone-paved alleyways—the atmospheric yokocho—the lighting softens to the warm glow of paper lanterns, reflecting off the damp cobblestones. Even near the cacophony of Namba, these quiet pockets offer a temporary sanctuary. It is in these spaces that the lens captures not the speed of the city, but its texture: the moss-covered lanterns of a tiny, ancient temple or the steam curling from the sliding door of a hidden izakaya. This dual nature—the frantic rush alongside the serene retreat—is essential to understanding the rhythm of Osaka.

But the city reserves its grandest visual performance for the Dotonbori Canal at night. As dusk falls, the scene transforms into a chrome-and-electric stage. The focal point of the visuals here is undeniably the canal’s edge, a vertical explosion of light that plunges into the dark water. The legendary Glico Running Man, arms raised in triumph, dominates one bank, while on the other, colossal, animated fixtures—the massive, scuttling crab, the glowering pufferfish, the dragon’s head—jut out over the crowds. The reflection of these brilliant, eccentric signs on the black surface of the Dotonbori Canal provides the crucial visual depth, doubling the spectacle and creating an electric mirror of Osaka’s irrepressible spirit. This is the moment where the city truly shines, a glittering testament to its love of performance, food, and life lived in high definition.

To wander Osaka is to follow the promise of light and flavour, tracing a path from the overwhelming neon spectacle to the quiet dignity of a lantern-lit alley. The visual memories are not static; they are the vibrant blur of a thousand faces, the glossy sheen on the canal water, and the audacious glow of a mechanical crab presiding over the ultimate street party. This city is a moving picture, and I was thrilled to be swept along in its current.

Thanks for reading… until next time! Happy travels.

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#Osaka #Japan #Dotonbori #Minami #StreetPhotography #TravelJapan #TravelEssay #TravelPhotography #Kuidaore