Christmas. It comes but once a year, and thank goodness for that. Most people are surprised when I say I don't like Christmas, it's like saying you don't like chocolate or the puppies in the toilet paper ads (although I am sure these people also exist). But for me it has no special meaning. My family is far away, I'm not religious, I don't have kids to get excited about Santa, so all Christmas means to me is excess consumption (both retail and gastronomic), and pine needles on the floor. Christmas in Spain has its disadvantages (bitter cold) and advantages (first Christmas ever without hearing Bing Crosby even once). I must say though, the public holidays do come in handy, and not surprisingly we hopped in the valiant Picasso for the 600k to Mallabia to spend the holiday season with Erik's family.
The week went basically as expected: Show up, eat, go out for a drink, eat, go out for a drink, sleep, eat, eat, go out for a drink, eat...do I need to go on? We went to a traditional Chrismas fair in Elgoibar but the cold made it difficult to enjoy the stalls. I have never been so happy to see a café au lait with whiskey in it! Erik was disappointed at the lack of livestock; apparently originally that was the whole point of the fair. Kids these days! They just aren't interested in patting sheep and cows any more.
My highlight of the trip was seeing the Olentxero, the Basque version of Santa Claus. To my relief, the Basque people didn't make up some ridiculous story involving flying reindeer, chimneys, and defying the laws of physics, but tell the story of the Olentxero who lives alone in the mountains and makes coal, and would often come down with gifts for the children of the town. One day he got stuck in a burning house, and a lady came and said because he had been so good to the children of the town he wouldn't die. Or something like that. My Basque isn't very good yet, but that is what I managed to piece together. Unfortunately the Olentxero has a large black beard and mustache which tends to frighten the smallest children, but the rest of them ate it up. Olentxero was very kind to me, he brought me socks, a scarf, a book, and perfume. Mmmmm!
Unfortunately after Christmas we had to come home as I had to work; I to show my face at the offial although I had almost nothing to do given that it was Christmastime and most people were on holidays. Fortunately I work on the same floor as the call centre, which means there were people around all the time, and I didn't feel like I was the only one not on holidays! I worked on the 31st and since all our friends in Barcelona are not Catalan, they had gone home to Madrid, Murcia, France, or wherever they happen to be from, leaving Erik and I all by our little lonesomes to celebrate the fact that 2008 was finally over. There was a party happening in L'Hospitalet, but that's a litte far to go for a party that may or may not be any good.
We were resigned to spending the evening quietly at home, and decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood and have a drink before sitting down to dinner. As we walked around the block, we saw a sign about two doors down from our apartment - "Underground Party". Erik and I looked at each other, and agreed, "why not?". It was a private party, €20 a pop, which included three drinks. Hell, if the party sucked, we could drink up our three and head home, which, let's face it, wasn't very far. So we paid out the €40 and went to have our pre-dinner drink. Heading home for dinner, we were already feeling ever so slightly intoxicated (after one beer! what is going on?) so we had something to eat before heading into Plaza Catalunya to watch the big BBVA clock strike 12. We made it just in time with our bottle of champagne and grapes. Erik refused to eat the grapes (you are supposed to eat one on each clock strike, for luck) but I figured I wouldn't take the risk. And I like grapes! In a further attempt attract luck into my life in 2009, I was also wearing red underwear. I don't for a second believe that either of these will make any difference, but I like to cover all the bases. We waited in Plaza Catalunya, we heard the clock, I stuffed my face with grapes (which by the way, I found in the fridge the other day and they were STILL EXACTLY THE SAME AND NOT ROTTEN AT ALL AFTER A MONTH AND HALF...scary stuff) I kissed Erik (my first NYE kiss - awwww) and we tried to avoid the drunken teenagers on the way home.
We went home to kill some time before the party started. I got dressed up into what I suspected would be a top showing cleavage to a much higher degree than the avarage at the party (a hypothesis later confirmed) and jeans (thank god they go with everything). I must admit I wasn't feeling good vibes about this party at all, which I took to be a good sign. Most of the time parties I don't want to go to turn out to be fabulous all nighters where the hours fly by and when it's time to leave I think, what, already? But I'm still having fun! Mostly by 2am I'm already yawning and wanting to go to bed. Again hypothesis proved, as we stumbled home at...I don't remember. Late. We had a great time, we didn't stay at home like lame pathetic losers on New Year's Eve, and it was a happy day all around. 2009 has officially gotten off to a good start.
