Previous perspectives

By Rod Hughes

I asked around the office a few days ago and found, to my horror, that one of the time-honored Christmas traditions in this country is as dead as the proverbial door knocker – the in-your-face confetti fest on Avenida Central.

This time of year, folk went strolling down the avenue, enjoying the light displays  and gazing in store windows. It was the time for sub-teenagers (and some young adults as well) to toss confetti on passers-by.

Now, most of this chaff consisted of office paper punched out of pages in a loose-leaf binder and hoarded just for the purpose of throwing. Everyone was, presumably, good-natured and simply laughed and shook off the clinging confetti when they got to the car.

Everyone was happy – except for a few sour-faced municipal workers with brooms who had to clean up the day after. Well, wouldn’t you know it, not everyone had the season’s spirit. Some people had observed kids, who did not have business or government-office contacts or money to buy confetti packets being sold on the edges of the mock battlefield, reaching down into the gutter to scrape up used confetti.

Granted, this confetti was probably loaded with germs, but some microbe-phobic (don’t look up that word – I just made it up) types objected. That it hit their eyes or even got in their mouths and ears was a given under the circumstances. Instead of simply washing their hands and face when they got home as I did, they lodged a protest with the Health Ministry. Part of the individuality of this country was abolished by the resulting prohibition. It was as close to snowfall that we get in this country.

There is also a tope, or horse parade, after Christmas. Are we going to make the horses, who after all are not required to be self-controlled in a pasture, wear diapers? That may be coming…

But the season is a family holiday and that remains unchanged. Those of us foreigners who are married to Ticas learned what to expect after the first Christmas together – the Invasion. That is when relatives from the country come in to visit their counterparts in the Central Valley. Ostensibly, the purpose is to buy gifts they can’t get in their villages.

The most recent census shows that population growth is the lowest in history, but there are still a lot of aunts and uncles and cousins from high-proliferation eras to constitute a mass migration. They will expect to be wined and dined and entertained. Oh, yes. Some will come by bus from the hinterlands, so add transport to the list. (Marrying into a Tica’s family is like joining the army.)

Fortunately, they are not caviar people, so feeding them is a gallo pinto (rice and beans fried together) exercise. Unfortunately, after making their purchases, they may not go home. In fact, you may be sweeping them out as late as February.

Brusque people like North Americans may think this helplessness ridiculous. But if you visit a Costa Rican home, no culture in the world – not even Italians – can equal Ticos as hosts. They ply you with coffee, and if they have them, dainties. You never leave a rural home without some gift, even if it’s only an ear of corn from a nearby field.

Naturally, even if they’re visiting you for only a few hours during the holiday season, they will expect to be served eggnog. This is not your dad’s watery stuff but a sweet, somewhat viscous substance. And to cut the sweetness they’ll expect something like rum in it, unless you run a fiercely dry home or they are fervent Evangelicals.

Rum is expensive, but there is a way around this. Do not mix the eggnog where they can see what you’re doing, but sneak into the kitchen and dilute the eggnog with guaro. This is short for aguardiente, literally, firewater. It is distilled from sugarcane and, for all we know, old socks. It’s cheap but it cuts through the sugary mixture beautifully. If some spills on the varnished coffee table, wipe it up immediately – it will cut through the finish as well.

The Christmas crèche, or portal, is the only other thing you’ll need to celebrate a genuinely típica (traditional) Navidad. I might set down some rules for this, but the fact is, there aren’t any. Unlike the disciplined British who once ruled the waves, Ticos do not have a Boxing Day. They have no yearning for empire and are having enough problems finding the money to fund their own universal health care system.

The Christmas nativity scene usually occupies the living room close enough to the door to be uncomfortable. It need not be a proportional scene, and often the baby Jesus is about three times the size of the worshipping shepherds.

Farm animals may be cheap plastic toys because children are often encouraged to contribute, with sometimes unnerving results. We have heard of such creativity from kids as a figurine of Donald Duck among the farm animals. We reserve judgment.

But getting back to our original theme, when one puts up the portal is a matter of convenience, usually that of the lady of the house. But removing it after Christmas is another matter – generally it is considered a bit odd if it isn’t cleared away by the 4th of July. Otherwise…

For devout Catholics, usually the portal is dismantled after a small neighborhood gathering, customarily not exceeding 2,000 people, plus children. After prayers and religious musical renditions, they get down to the real business – the serving of great quantities of food. Usually, a cola or orange drink is served, the eggnog having disappeared months before.

But this festival usually doesn’t happen right after the new year is rung in. In fact, I have never discovered what mysterious signal packs away the portal for another year.

 Rod Hughes, journalist, novelist and former longtime Tico Times staffer, wishes you all a Feliz Navidad and Próspero Año Nuevo. You might want to look in on his blog at www.fijatevos.com