Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Navidad

So one awesome thing about Spain is that Christmas break is a lot longer. It starts on the 23rd, and ends on the 1oth. That's over two weeks. SUCK IT.

Anyways, Christmas is a lot different here. Instead of all the fun and partying happening in a relatively short time, it's all spanned out.

Christmas dinner is eaten on Christmas Eve, with lots of seafood and lots of ham.
¡TANGENT GO!
SOOO ham is bassically to Spainards what the cow is to Hindus (other than the fact that they eat their coveted furry God...sort of like Catholics. Mmm, the flesh of Christ...) because it's like the biggest treat. Every household, and I mean every househole, has ham during Christmas time on this wooden block thingy where one cuts the ham. It lasts for over a week, not in the fridge, but on the kitchen counter, with the only visible attempt to protect it from bacteria is a feebly strewn across hand towel. And it's not cooked. It's litterally a leg of a pig that has been chopped off, dipped in salt, cured, and then served. There's still the hoof and little hairs and everything. I get so sad just looking at it. Fortunately tears are a great sauce with ham. Mmm, Spanish Jesus.
¡TENGENT STOP!
Then all the leftovers are eaten during Christmas day. Everyone goes out to clubs and bars pretty much everyday until work or school starts again.

On new Years Eve, everyone wears a pair or red underwear that was recently given by a friend or lover. Trust me on this: Red underwear while drunk = closest sensation to being Superman that exists. (At least that's what the people who drink tell me. I'm a good little Intrax Superstar)

Instead of watching the ball drop in Times Square, people watch the clock in Puerta del Sol in Madrid. On the last twelve seconds, twelve giant chimes ring, and everyone pops a grape into his mouth with each ring. Grapes here have seeds in them (I don't know if my mom buys some seedless brand or American grapes just don't have seeds) and I made the mistake of not taking them out. Three minutes of grape juice, and crunching seeds is so not grapealicious. Oh, and instead of saying Happy New Year, everyone kisses eachother. And yes, the grapes are still their mouths whilst they do this.

On the 6th of January, Los Reyes Magos come (the magical wizard kings...aka, the Three Wise Men. The Bible is a LOT different in Spanish, apparently...) and they give gifts to all the good little boys and girls. Aka, Santa Claus, except one is black, one is Asian, and none of them are at risk of diabetes. (Spain, being a mostly Catholic nation, follows the advent calender more closely than America, thus, gifts are exchanged later)
My friend's little sister, the age of nine, still believes in Los Reyes Magos. The whole family prepares the house, hiding gifts, and buying extra ones for her that claim to be from Los Reyes Magos, so as not to tarnish her innocent and fragile childhood. At least, that's what the family thought until they figured out that she always knew they weren't real and kept quiet so she could get more gifts. Smart kid.

And that's about the Spanish Christmas season.

On the 3rd of January to the 10th I was in Madrid, stayed in a friend's house and visited everyone. It snowed, ALMOST NOTHING, but it snowed, and to see those beautiful white flakes of angel dandruff made me so happy that I insisted on wearing shorts. Oh, and someone stole my wallet. SO NOT COOL, SPAIN. That's the last time I put valuables in the back pocket of loose jeans in a crowded Metro.

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