It’s been nearly four months since I arrived in Italy and started teaching ESL (English as a Second Language for the uninitiated), and my time here is slowly drawing to a close. As much as I love the bustling cities, character-rich people and delicious wine, the thing I’m most fixated on is getting home and seeing my family.
Far be it from me to find a way to sour Spanish wine, but Thanksgiving came and went with my family celebrating hundreds of miles away in Kirkland, WA.
Although I’ve spent holidays alone before, I don’t think I could ever get used to it. Thanksgiving isn’t the same without family, let alone in a foreign country that doesn’t overindulge in turkey and gravy.
I managed to get a Skype session in with my parents before the festivities picked up at my parent’s house. My mom was even thoughtful enough to put one of our dogs on the line, Badger. Mom got a little misty eyed when I told her I didn’t really have plans that night.
After we caught up, she made me promise I wouldn’t wallow in my sadness from the comfort of my room the whole night.
So what’s a homesick Yankee to do all by his lonesome on turkey day? I used the opportunity to learn a little something about the Spanish culture – turns out the region still celebrates the occasion in far less formal fashion.
Ask most people in Spain (provided you know the language) for the historic background on Thanksgiving and you’ll receive a lot of puzzled looks. Safe to say I didn’t see many pilgrims walking the narrow streets.
Earlier I asked some of my students if they were doing anything special to celebrate and one of them, Juanito, actually invited me over for dinner. The Spanish culture is highly sociable and my students were keenly aware of my background and lack of plans.
My puzzlement began when Juanito actually asked me to arrive no later than 6 pm — that seemed impossibly late for Thanksgiving. I was further confused when later told the dinner was scheduled for Saturday.
As I quickly discovered, the ‘day’ in which you give thanks is entirely negotiable. Depending on the week, some people in Spain choose to celebrate during the wind down of the weekend.
Also radically different, the meal itself typically occurs far later in the evening, about 9 pm on average. That probably sounds suspect to Americans who traditionally undergo the main event in the early afternoon.
Although Juanito and his family usually don’t usually eat turkey, I learned his mother contacted a butcher earlier in the week to ensure there was some for dinner — apparently they’re pretty hard to find in Spain.
She told me she wanted me to have “the comfort of home”, which really moved me. Juanito said the bird was so good they just might have to incorporate the tradition.
Won’t have time to write again for a little while, things winding down so quickly with my class. It’s probably for the best as I’d just ramble about home and not my travels!
