Eurochristmas Part I

When I was younger, Christmas was my favorite holiday by a longshot. And not for the reason you might assume (although I won't lie to you and tell you I disliked getting presents). Riding on the coattails of Thanksgiving, which my Uruguayan parents dutifully observed every year, Christmas felt more natural.

Don't get me wrong: I have some excellent memories of Thanksgiving. Like my mother waking me and my sisters up early on Thanksgiving Thursday so that we might "reflect" and compile a list of "the things we were thankful for." Or senior year of high school, when my friend Mikey came over and we smoked a joint outside the house before tucking into the turkey and trimmings. Mikey also brought over one of his trademark chocolate-pecan pies, of which I devoured approximately a third that night. I spent Thanksgiving, 2006 with four non-American friends washing down plates of jamón serrano and manchego cheese with bottles of Rioja and Malbec. And this year I reinvented my mother's "wheel of grace" by improving on our old family tradition of giving thanks: all of the French guests at our Thanksgiving celebration in Saint-Etienne were instructed to give thanks for one thing and down a shot of whisky. Before dinner, no less (Ma, I know I make you proud).

But, Christmas. Where to begin?

Christmas has Christmas carols and Christmas trees and Christmas cookies. Christmas has Handel's Messiah. More than anything, though, Christmas has no nationality. My parents, my whole family in Uruguay, they know Christmas. And you better believe it's a big deal. The entire family gets together on Christmas eve to eat and drink and talk for hours on end. Oh and also to "welcome the birth of Christ our Savior," although since my grandmother's passing, our Christmas has become more and more secular (my family is a mixed bag of hardcore Catholics and "take it easy" agnostics).

I haven't always been able to be in Uruguay for Christmas (although if I'm not mistaken I spent almost every Christmas between the ages of one to ten in Montevideo). Miami Christmas is the other Christmas I know, typically involving a Fondue on Christmas eve, followed by candlelight service at a Congregational Church (at which, growing up, I typically played or sang). In contrast to the Uruguayan celebration, we tend to eat our big meal on Christmas day - big meal for us being either the standard Christmas ham, potatoes, etc., or a full blown Uruguayan asado featuring a provoleta (grilled provolone seasoned with oregano, salt, and pepper), chorizo, chorizo parrillero, morcilla, morcilla dulce, mollejas, chinchulines, vacio and entraña.

Regardless of the minor differences between Christmas in Uruguay and Christmas in Miami, the common theme has always been family. Even after my parents' divorce, we'd typically have at least one parent present, and always me, Stephie, and Line. Which was great. Nothing like being surrounded by tens of relatives, near and distant, to bring three sisters closer together (like, really really close together - like cling-to-each-other-for-dear-life close together).

So you can imagine that spending my very first Christmas away from both the rents and my sisters seemed a bit daunting.

Christmas for me can be a time of great joy, joy at being with those closest to me. But it's also time of great sadness. Because Christmas is about being with family, the older I get, the more I feel the absence of those I long to be around. And I'm wracked by this deep yearning for something both nameless and familiar.

But I'm lucky. Lucky enough to have a Swiss side of the family, at this very moment residing in Geneva. And lucky enough to have been taken in by their German friend, Anneliese, who very generously opened up her home and family to me this holiday season.

-continued in next post