If Christmas in Spain were anything like Christmas in America, I probably would have missed it this year.
But — perhaps luckily — Spanish Christmas traditions and celebrations are incredibly different from the American variety. That meant I didn’t have to eat my typical Christmas foods, listen to my typical Christmas carols, and sit around my typical Christmas tree.
I did something else entirely. I partied.
After having Christmas Eve dinner at my Spanish-surrogate family’s home, I went out with their son, Juaquín, and his friends. Where did we go? Well our first stop was an abandoned store, which was under construction. With a couple of flashlights, and lots of alcohol, we sang Spanish Christmas carols, clapped along to flamenco rhythms, and shook our heads no when a handful of guys tried to get each of us to dance solo-style in the middle of a circle.
“‘Inserta nombre’ sal a bailar, que tu lo haces fenomenal, tu cuerpo se mueve como una palmera, suave suave, su-su-suave.”
“‘Insert name’ go and dance, you do it phenomenally, your body moves like a pigeon, smooth smooth smoo- smoo-smooth.”
By the time the girls were drunk enough to dance, they were also drunk enough to be my new best friends. When they kissing and squeezing my cheeks, I knew I was making progress.
When they took my hand on their route to “hacer pipí,” I knew I was in the club.
When I was peeing on the sidewalk, my squatted body hidden behind my new friends, I knew this was a Christmas I would never forget.
