Having Christmas without your family is sort of like hearing your neighbors have sex. You can kind of get into it, but it’s not nearly the same thing as being there.
Every few years two transatlantic flights in two weeks and a mind-boggling case of jetlag is enough to keep me from going to the U.S. for Christmas. The theory behind this is logical: no nightmarish travel, more relaxation, few obligations. The reality, however, is less pleasant: decreased holiday spirit, no taste of home, no family.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas I rationalize to prepare for not going home. I focus on the advantages of staying in Prague and only let the disadvantages poke their noses in occasionally.
Not going home means not traveling. The flights are long and leave terribly early. There is always the lingering threat of a missed connection or bad weather that keep me on edge. Moreover, there is some mysterious combination of airports and holidays which cause people to instantly lose 120 IQ points and all social skills. Also, no jetlag.
Still, the pre-Christmas airport experience often signals the start of my home country’s holiday cheer. Lots of people shopping, sweating, and swearing. It’s sort of like a big mall in a walled city employed by people with accents. I have come to enjoy the Czech’s holiday experience – the Christmas markets with svařák (mulled wine), and Ježíšek (Baby Jesus). There are also carp mongers, lights, and roasting pigs. But Christmas can be a nostalgic time of year, so I find that I crave that which I know – Santa, crowded malls, bookstores, American Christmas shows. My nostalgia levels at Christmas are through the roof.
Staying in Prague means missing out on some of the greatest cuisine in North America. Christmas Eve in our family is an event whose main focus is food. Those attending the event are a distant, second consideration. There is pasta, meat, sausages, peppers, and countless other delicacies. Dips, pate, appetizers, cakes and some things I don’t recognize but don’t hesitate to gobble up. Christmas Day sees another epic battle between Galeone and food, one that demands pants with an elastic waistband.
Even though we manage to feast in Prague, it’s just not the same. There are no cheesesteaks, no home-cooked meals from Mom. And these are abundant, since my dad uses my visit as an opportunity to get my mother to cook whatever he wants – I think he’d really enjoy a turkey, you know, like Thanksgiving…and strawberry shortcake…and schnitzels.
This over-consumption worries me when I visit in summer and my pants get tighter by the minute, but Christmas is a holiday which encourages weight gain. It’s arguably an ancient attitude bent on keeping one alive during the freezing and sparse winter months. My family has answered that call. Not being in the U.S. for the Feast of the Galeones is something I will make up for in July.
The biggest downside of staying in Prague is not spending the holidays with my crazy family. Because crazy though we may be, we do put the fun in dysfunctional. I don’t think I need to explain, since my family is probably similar to your family. We have our holiday traditions, watch certain movies, spend a night at our local bar, go to our favorite restaurants, watch football, talk about anything but our feelings. You know, family. And though I am having a lovely holiday in Prague with my friends, the only people who understand my particular brand of crazy are all in Langhorne, PA, right now.
Still, after two weeks with my family the chances of ending up in prison for second-degree murder increases drastically. As do my chances of throwing a tantrum in public, getting apoplexy, or throwing a waffle iron at one of my begetters. Moreover, the post-Christmas crash isn’t as harsh when I don’t have to get on an airplane and fly away from my family. So on December 26th, I will not start to rue my flight back.
While the holiday season in Prague is lovely, there is no place like home.
