An Argentine Christmas

It’s December 22nd and I have felt nothing remotely close to “christmassy”. Feeling christmassy surely involves drinking mulled wine, eating mince pies whilst at a carol service, or huddling indoors by a fireplace, drying out snow sodden socks and wishing you hadn’t given your scarf to the snowman.

Or maybe it involves being bombarded with tacky christmas hits right from November, rushing around the shops madly with the “stress of christmas” looming, desperately rooting through piles of overly packaged goods in the hunt for the perfect gift for someone you barely know but feel obliged to buy for.

For some it means a time for giving, for sharing, for being with your family, not to mention the religious motive we’re all supposed to be celebrating.

For me, in no particular order it involves the following:  drinking mulled wine, enjoying crappy cracker jokes, eating homemade sausage rolls at my friend’s house, watching the Muppet’s Christmas Carol, being with family, having a discussion about whether or not granddad is going to get out of bed this year, mum stressing out about the food, and vehemently assuring us that this year she isn’t going to buy everyone hoards of presents, and then doing so, so she finishes opening her own present pile first (everyone else believed her). Crappy tv and a BBC version of a classic, multiple exclamations of thanks (some more well-meant than others), a chocolate orange and a satsuma in my stocking, and copious amounts of wrapping paper. In more recent years, since being a “grown-up” it also involves seeing everyone I know but haven’t seen since the year before down the pub on Christmas eve.

I can most definitely say I have experienced absolutely none of the above. The closest I got was watching the end of Home Alone. But I was in my bikini eating ice cream so I don’t think it counts.

I did also, do some Christmas shopping. The whole process of this is very different here. Absolutely no one has asked me if I’ve done my Christmas shopping yet, and I’m grateful. It’s refreshing not to have to rush around in the run up to the big day.

 Friends from home remark that there’s only two weeks to Christmas and they haven’t done ANY shopping yet and ARGGGHH it’s all so stressful. I meanwhile, did my minimal shopping in two rounds, round one for the family back home, packaged and sent two weeks ago. Round two involved shopping for a friend and my boyfriend on the last possible day I could. The combination of these processes probably took about 3 hours.

 There is something inherently wrong about Christmas shopping in a 30 degree heat, I found the huge plastic Christmas scene in the middle of a shopping centre, which contains a large snow dusted Christmas tree and various smiling children wrapped up in scarves and hats, unnerving. It’s particularly odd when everyone ignores this scene, even the kids, and all those milling around the rest of the mall are in shorts.

 One can’t help but wonder if plastic Santa might want to do the same, and ditch that suit for something cooler. He must get mighty hot, never mind the fact he has to travel round the whole world in one single night.

Signs of the big day coming across the rest of the city are minimal, there are a few lights along the main avenues. There was a large Christmas tree in the main square, but some protesters decided to burn it down the other day, in commemoration of 10 years since the bloodiest days in Argentine history. In 2001, post-economic crash, the people took to the streets, the president had to flee, and 39 people were killed in clashes with the police. I don’t really understand how burning a Christmas tree is any sort of commemoration of these events. A friend told me he was glad they’d burned it. When I asked him why he said it was because the police that killed those people 10 years now were the same police of today, and that the tree was put there by Macri (the mayor of Buenos Aires). I don’t know if he’s right about the police, and I don’t know how these two facts lead to a burnt tree.

It appears to me, that none of this is in the Christmas spirit.

It also occurs to me, that the entire idea of Christmas spirit is an invention, and the idea of feeling Christmassy too. I actually find this thought quite comforting, and with this in mind off I go to pack my bikini and dream about the big bbq I will be eating on the 24^th.  Is it possible I will ever reminisce about an Argentine Christmas? Quien sabe.

Felices fiestas.