Christmas in Guatemala - December 16, 2009

I've lived in several cities during my life, but no matter how far away I might have been at the time, I’ve always come home to celebrate Christmas with my family. It isn’t that my family has an elaborate array of traditions or puts numerous events onto the holiday docket. Actually, it’s just the opposite, which makes Christmas a relaxing time to unwind and simply enjoy one another’s company.

Back in 1994, I couldn’t make it home for Christmas or even make it to the United States. At the time, I was living in Guatemala studying Spanish and traveling throughout the region. Knowing that I planned on staying in Latin America for at least six months, the cost of an airline ticket seemed out of the question.

Life was good in Guatemala. I was enjoying my school. I felt comfortable in the house where I was living, and I was fascinated by the culture, especially the indigenous cultures. None of that seemed to matter, as I looked at the calendar and saw the time winding down ever closer to Christmas, the day when I was supposed to be in Chattanooga, Tennessee, with my family. Yes, I was feeling sorry for myself.

To make matters worse, things in Guatemala were just too different. There were no stockings hung by the chimney with care. In fact, there were no chimneys. There was no chance of a white Christmas. That certainly couldn’t happen with the daily high temperature hovering in the 60s, in the middle of dry season. Even more troublingly, there were no members of my family within a thousand miles.

All I could think about was what was missing. In my state of despair, I couldn’t even see what Guatemala might have to offer me for Christmas. If one of my Buddhist friends is reading this post, I’m sure you are laughing at me right now. Yes, I know I was suffering because my holiday reality wasn’t matching up with my expectations of how things should be.

The question is why did I put myself into this situation. Why had I decided to travel abroad when I really wanted to be home. After all, I didn’t have to be in Guatemala during Christmas. I could have been back in Tennessee enjoying It’s a Wonderful Life.

Actually, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve begun to realize that it’s rainy-day moments like these that motivate me to travel much more than the moments when everything is perfect. In the words of Italian poet Cesare Pavese, "Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it."

Perhaps, I was off balance enough to begin to finally notice some of the preparations going on around me for a Guatemalan Christmas. No, there was no sign of Santa Claus, but I had the pleasure of experiencing my first Posada, a nine-day celebration symbolizing the trials that Mary and Joseph faced trying to find a place where Jesus could be born. No, I didn’t hear any familiar Christmas carols, but I did experience a new Christmas sound of exploding firecrackers echoing nightly through the narrow streets of my town, along with the soothing, festive sound of marimbas.

And as the clock struck midnight on December 24^th, no, I wasn’t able to embrace the members of my family or exchange presents with them or savor a glass of eggnog and Christmas cookies, but I did get to take part in the cherished Guatemalan tradition of “Noche Buena,” meaning good night. With a spirit of revelry that reminded me of a combination of New Year’s Eve and the Fourth of July, suddenly, at midnight, firecrackers began exploding everywhere all at once , and the streets were filled with people yelling to welcome in Christmas Day.

When I walked back inside the house where I was living, the mother of my family didn’t hand me eggnog and cookies, but, instead, a piping hot mug of holiday fruit punch called ponche and a plate of specially- prepared tamales.

The sadness slowly melted away to the point that the only thing I missed, other than my family, was the familiar site of stacks of presents. In Guatemala, rather than adults exchanging gifts, there is more of an emphasis on giving children a few simple presents. As a result, everyone during the Christmas season seemed more relaxed and seemed to be able to focus more on one another and the true spirit of Christmas, rather than being consumed by the holiday rush and the materialistic aspects of the holiday. On “Noche Buena”, the children appeared to be just as excited with two or three presents, rather than 20.

Now, the only thing missing was my family, but I even forgot about that for awhile when the mother of the Guatemalan family took me by surprise by giving me a small gift.

Yes, Cesare Pavese was correct. In the days leading up to Christmas, I had lost sight of “all that familiar comfort of home and friends,” and, yes, I was off balance and a bit empty inside, but Pavese was also correct in saying that being adrift allowed me to embrace something even greater, which in this case, was a new reality of Christmas.

If given the choice, I would prefer to spend each Christmas with my family in Tennessee, but as the years pass and I reflect on past holidays, “Noche Buena” is still one of my fondest Christmas memories, a memory made possible through travel.