The Crane & The Cathedral
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
A Catalan Christmas Carol
For the past few Christmas’ I have engaged in a regular ritual. Along with my friends Noah, Jocelyn, and others, we have followed the path to the Golden Temple. The Golden Temple, in the heart of Brookline, is a vast Chinese restaurant where Jews throughout the greater Boston area gather for umbrella laden drinks on Christmas. After egg drop soup and fried rice, we have traditionally crossed back over the river to the Kendall Square Cinema, and caught the latest movie upon which we could all agree.
This year, in Tarragona, I wondered if I’d be able to maintain my tradition. I had seen a few Chinese restaurants, but would they be open? Would the movies be open? Would others be open to this idiosyncratic Christmas tradition? While our Catalan and Spanish friends retreated to their families to beat logs (see 12/12 entry) and eat turkey, we assembled a motley crew to spend the holiday together. There was Alex, who is here doing PhD research from Georgia, the only one who actually typically celebrates Christmas. Then, we had the Turkish triumvirate, who despite being secular Muslims, have a Christmas tree (a New Year’s tradition in Turkey.) Rounding out the group, Andrew’s Spanish classmate who recently emigrated from Iran and her husband joined us to see what these other foreigners were up to.
Alex and I began Christmas eve early. The movie theater at the mall was indeed open, as was the mall.
Actually, the mall and the streets were hopping with last minute shoppers. I have never seen so many things open in Spain! Especially on a Sunday. We decided on Happy Feet, since all movies are dubbed in Spanish here, an animated flick seemed like the least offensive. Which it was, except for the ending in which the humans graciously decide to save the dancing penguins, to stop stealing their fish, and to take them out of the zoo and restore them to their native lands. Sorry if you haven’t seen it, but you really don’t need to unless you enjoy penguins tap dancing to Prince, which I have to admit is pretty cute.
We met up with Andrew and the others at the Highland, the Irish pub around the corner. Just to continue the mystery of hours here, they’re open until nine on xmas eve, then again after midnight.
Alex kicked off the evening by teaching the bartender at the Irish pub how to make a black and tan, this may be the only Irish bar in the world without Irish bartenders. After a few rounds of Guiness, we tromped through the cold up to Tian-an-men Restaurant, where we feasted on dim sum and flaming pineapples. We ended the evening with drinks at Güray and Arcan’s apartment while watching Turkish MTV.
The festivities continued on Christmas day, with a potluck lunch at our house featuring my first attempt at paella. While nobody was poisoned by the seafood, the rice was pretty gluey. I think I’ll go out for paella in the future. After lunch, we brought out the backgammon games and where we were unsurprisingly thoroughly trounced by the Turks. It was a sunny sixty yesterday, but it got cold by the time we headed out for a walk. Andrew had given me ping pong paddles and balls yesterday, to play at the various public tables, but every time Arcan served the balls got thrown back in her face. We gave up, and headed back to Highland for one last Guinness, then home for more tea and backgammon.
A few years ago I had a good Palestinian friend who I met through my salsa dancing group. I used to think how they should introduce some good salsa to the Middle East to alleviate differences, to relieve stress. But perhaps another alternative could be celebrating together a holiday that none of you celebrate on your own, inventing new traditions, and heading out for Chinese food. After all, they’re always open.
Epilogue; while we were cleaning up the inevitable happened. We almost burnt the apartment down with the egg-carton menorah. Fortunately, only a bit of the television was melted and all are OK. Next time, I’m going for playdough.
For the past few Christmas’ I have engaged in a regular ritual. Along with my friends Noah, Jocelyn, and others, we have followed the path to the Golden Temple. The Golden Temple, in the heart of Brookline, is a vast Chinese restaurant where Jews throughout the greater Boston area gather for umbrella laden drinks on Christmas. After egg drop soup and fried rice, we have traditionally crossed back over the river to the Kendall Square Cinema, and caught the latest movie upon which we could all agree.
This year, in Tarragona, I wondered if I’d be able to maintain my tradition. I had seen a few Chinese restaurants, but would they be open? Would the movies be open? Would others be open to this idiosyncratic Christmas tradition? While our Catalan and Spanish friends retreated to their families to beat logs (see 12/12 entry) and eat turkey, we assembled a motley crew to spend the holiday together. There was Alex, who is here doing PhD research from Georgia, the only one who actually typically celebrates Christmas. Then, we had the Turkish triumvirate, who despite being secular Muslims, have a Christmas tree (a New Year’s tradition in Turkey.) Rounding out the group, Andrew’s Spanish classmate who recently emigrated from Iran and her husband joined us to see what these other foreigners were up to.
Alex and I began Christmas eve early. The movie theater at the mall was indeed open, as was the mall.
Actually, the mall and the streets were hopping with last minute shoppers. I have never seen so many things open in Spain! Especially on a Sunday. We decided on Happy Feet, since all movies are dubbed in Spanish here, an animated flick seemed like the least offensive. Which it was, except for the ending in which the humans graciously decide to save the dancing penguins, to stop stealing their fish, and to take them out of the zoo and restore them to their native lands. Sorry if you haven’t seen it, but you really don’t need to unless you enjoy penguins tap dancing to Prince, which I have to admit is pretty cute. We met up with Andrew and the others at the Highland, the Irish pub around the corner. Just to continue the mystery of hours here, they’re open until nine on xmas eve, then again after midnight.
Alex kicked off the evening by teaching the bartender at the Irish pub how to make a black and tan, this may be the only Irish bar in the world without Irish bartenders. After a few rounds of Guiness, we tromped through the cold up to Tian-an-men Restaurant, where we feasted on dim sum and flaming pineapples. We ended the evening with drinks at Güray and Arcan’s apartment while watching Turkish MTV. 
The festivities continued on Christmas day, with a potluck lunch at our house featuring my first attempt at paella. While nobody was poisoned by the seafood, the rice was pretty gluey. I think I’ll go out for paella in the future. After lunch, we brought out the backgammon games and where we were unsurprisingly thoroughly trounced by the Turks. It was a sunny sixty yesterday, but it got cold by the time we headed out for a walk. Andrew had given me ping pong paddles and balls yesterday, to play at the various public tables, but every time Arcan served the balls got thrown back in her face. We gave up, and headed back to Highland for one last Guinness, then home for more tea and backgammon.
A few years ago I had a good Palestinian friend who I met through my salsa dancing group. I used to think how they should introduce some good salsa to the Middle East to alleviate differences, to relieve stress. But perhaps another alternative could be celebrating together a holiday that none of you celebrate on your own, inventing new traditions, and heading out for Chinese food. After all, they’re always open.
Epilogue; while we were cleaning up the inevitable happened. We almost burnt the apartment down with the egg-carton menorah. Fortunately, only a bit of the television was melted and all are OK. Next time, I’m going for playdough.
