Even though I’m American I don’t have any memories of American Christmases. This is because every year my parents took me to Dominican Republic during the holiday season. Until I moved to Slovakia, I had only experienced tropical Christmases.
We would usually spend just over a week in Dominican Republic. I was always glad about this because New York winters were harsh and unforgiving. When we arrived at the airport in Santo Domingo, the heat and humidity shocked me. I felt as though I was breathing through a damp bed sheet.
The plane passengers had to walk across the baking runway. Inside the airport there were musicians welcoming visitors with crude, frantic merengue played on four instruments.
My father’s family lived in Santo Domingo. One of my aunts had four sons so I really enjoyed spending time with my cousins. I knew that home was dreary and freezing. In Santo Domingo the atmosphere was more vibrant. Though people had little money they had a great time. No one ever left home without wearing large smiles.
In this environment I was freer. In New York life was tame. Everyone lived in a cage. In my parents’ country, people were wilder.
I remember the loudness of the half-island nation. Dominicans often screamed or shouted at each other. When they were angry the noise level was unbearable. Christmas was not a quiet and peaceful time to spend at home with your family. It was a crazy period. Dominicans celebrated as though the end of the world was approaching.
Because my father’s family was Jehovah’s Witnesses they didn’t celebrate Christmas. They simply didn’t believe in the holiday. But since we were there we often had a somber dinner of cold chicken legs, potato salad, bread, and even roast pork. The party was always outside the house, never inside. Many family members on my father’s side watched others having a joyous time, instead of participating.
My mother’s family was from San Francisco de Macoris, in the northeast part of the island. We would just go there a couple of days. Sometimes my father wouldn’t come at all. My mother, sister and I would take a dangerous bus ride up there. My parents often had arguments because we spent too much of the holiday with my father’s family and not enough with hers.
I didn’t enjoy San Francisco as much as I did Santo Domingo. I found my maternal cousins too well-behaved and civilized. I couldn’t wait to return to the capital for New Year’s. Once I passed a New Year’s in San Francisco and I was greatly disappointed.
The most terrible moment was when it was time to go back to New York. The thought of traveling from warm weather to a cruel climate made me feel as though someone had died. I knew that snow, darkness, and school would be waiting for me. As I became older though, I grew tired of my annual trips to Dominican Republic. I was hungry for new lands, people, and experience.
During my first year in Slovakia I finally experienced a cold and quiet Christmas. I found Christmas here to be like attending a pleasantly melancholic funeral. They were nothing at all like the end-of-the-world parties Dominicans had at the same time of year.
For me it was a major change and out of the last ten Christmases, nine of them were Slovak. My next one will also be in Slovakia, but my old hunger for new experiences is returning…