Home for the holidays

In a couple of days my husband and I will board a plane for the States, where we'll visit friends and celebrate the Christmas holidays with my family. It'll be the first time in three years that we're back in the USA for Christmas, and I can't wait.

Not that I don't enjoy the holiday season here in Belgium. The old Flemish cities are at their picturesque best this time of year, with all the Christmas greenery and lights. Christmas markets are sprouting up everywhere, and I've already drunk my fill of mulled wine, whipped cream-topped hot chocolate and flavored jenevers at Hasselt's Winterland, which is like a sugar-fueled, Santa-themed carnival on acid.

Hasselt's Winterland

But there's something special about Christmas in America, and it's just not the same here. No other holiday comes close in terms of nostalgia, anticipation, excitement and excess. Christmas isn't only the biggest holiday of the year—it's the one that is most closely bound up with our childhood memories, our family dynamics, and our favorite rituals, whether religious or secular.

Of course, there are all the negatives: the commercialism, the expectations, the disappointment. Everyone complains about the pressure to buy more (and more expensive) gifts. The stress of attending all those holiday parties and managing holiday schedules. The powder keg of emotions that any family gathering inevitably becomes... and the depression that can easily take hold when the reality of the holidays doesn't match our dreams.

But that's the dark side of a holiday that's all about light. For most Americans, Christmas is about getting together with our loved ones and sharing a meal while dressed in our prettiest party clothes. It's about decorating the house, putting up the tree, and hanging up ornaments that have been carefully collected over the years. It's about listening to Christmas carols on the radio, even the ones we claim to hate. It's about finding the perfect gift for your favorite aunt, and sending Christmas cards the old-fashioned way, by mail.

Christmas tree in the Grand Place, Brussels

I've found that Christmas in Belgium doesn't have the same emotional pull for people here. Children have Sinterklaas on December 6, when they receive special treats and presents. That's the holiday most people associate with cherished childhood memories. Traditionally, families would go to church on Christmas eve, eat dinner together and maybe open presents. It just wasn't a big deal. It seems that many of the Christmas traditions now seen in Belgium have been imported from Germany, England or America in recent years.

This year, I'm looking forward to my family's Christmas traditions: We'll dress up and go to church on Christmas Eve, and then my aunt will host a party afterwards with cocktails, egg nog and lots of food. On Christmas morning, we'll open our stockings (stuffed with small gifts and treats from “Santa”) in our pajamas, and then get dressed for a late breakfast. After breakfast, we'll open the piles of presents under the tree. Later we'll go for a winter walk on the beach before starting on dinner preparations.

Christmas dinner will be a formal affair with fancy dishes and the good silver. It will be followed by a Christmas pudding (purchased at the English shop in Brussels and brought over on the plane) crowned with a holly sprig, doused in brandy and lit on fire. Everyone will be slightly tipsy by then and we'll finish by pulling our crackers and reading the bad jokes while wearing paper crowns. (NB: many of our Christmas traditions are British, since my family is from England.)

My family's Christmas table

Last year, we went to my Flemish in-laws' house on Christmas Day for a family dinner. It was very relaxed and not so different from other family gatherings. We didn't exchange presents. But there are a few Christmas traditions that I refuse to give up, even here in Belgium. I insisted on having stockings for myself and my husband (even though I had to fill both of them myself). I drove my husband crazy by playing Christmas music for weeks. And I decorated our Christmas tree with the ornaments I've been collecting for over 20 years, which were among the few things I brought with me from America.

Getting married in Belgium, Part II

This is a follow-up to an earlier post about my wedding, which took place last summer. I always meant to write another post about getting married here but somehow never got around to it--until now. Since our one-year anniversary is just around the corner, I figured I shouldn't wait any longer to write it!

One of the strangest things for me (as an American) to wrap my head around was the Belgian custom of inviting different people to different wedding events.

Where I come from, a wedding is considered a single event comprised of different activities, to which all guests are invited and expected to attend. The usual sequence goes something like this: wedding service (civil or religious) followed by wedding reception, either at the same venue or a different location. The reception usually involves drinks (champagne), then a formal dinner, and finally dancing.

The creation of the guest list is a complicated and tortuous affair, made even more difficult by budget concerns when providing dinner and drinks for everyone on the list. The final guest list has to include a carefully calibrated mixture of close friends, casual friends, immediate family, distant relatives, co-workers and professional acquaintances of both the bride and the groom, and perhaps the parents as well.

Here in Belgium, it is customary to have a different guest list for each wedding activity. For instance, pretty much everyone is invited to attend the civil ceremony; there's no cost to the couple and because it takes place in a public venue (at city hall) anyone can show up and watch. On the other hand, if there's going to be another ceremony (in a church) only close friends and family might be invited and expected to attend. In general, people outside the couple's immediate circle are happy to skip the church ceremony.

Then there might be two or three different celebratory events after the ceremony (or ceremonies). First, a champagne reception for the people invited to the church ceremony. Then a formal dinner for just the immediate family and closest friends. And finally an evening party with music and dancing for the wider circle of friends, acquaintances and other relatives. (At the evening party, there will often be a casual buffet served late in the evening with sandwiches or snacks.)

Breaking the wedding up into different events (sometimes taking place over two or more days) has two advantages: First of all, you can tailor the guest list to the event, limiting the more intimate events to your inner circle of family and friends and including everyone else in a big dance party. Secondly, it saves money since you're not expected or obliged to provide a formal, sit-down dinner to all of your guests--which is often the biggest wedding expense. It's a very practical system.

However, I just couldn't do it. To me it felt rude to exclude some of my guests from certain events. I couldn't bring myself to invite people to my wedding service and then tell them to get lost for a few hours while I went to a nice dinner with my family and closest friends, even though my husband assured me that no Belgian would take offense.

In the end, because our second ceremony took place in the same location (an old, renovated farmhouse) where we had the reception and party, it didn't make sense to break up the guest list anyway. Everyone who came to the ceremony stayed for the champagne reception, sit-down dinner and dancing. And because I had family and friends coming from the United States and England, having our guests spend the whole day together gave everyone the chance to get to know each other.

Some of our Belgian friends couldn't make it to the ceremony since it was on a Friday afternoon and they had to work, so they just showed up during dinner. I found that strange. In America, either you come to the wedding or you don't. You don't accept part of the invitation and you definitely don't skip the wedding ceremony itself. I'm pretty sure Emily Post would not approve, but then she's not Belgian.

I was used to thinking of the wedding ceremony as the most important part of the wedding and my job as guest was to witness and support the couple during this momentous and romantic event. Here, the ceremony is considered a boring formality, and the guest's role is to help celebrate afterwards. Perhaps this is because civil and Catholic weddings tend to be rather formulaic and impersonal, whereas we Americans put a lot of emphasis on customizing the wedding ceremony to reflect the couple's personality and beliefs.

In the end, our wedding day was a reflection of our marriage and ourselves: a combination of American and Belgian influences and traditions. The civil ceremony was in Dutch and the religious ceremony was in English. We sang songs and had readings in both languages. We served Flemish food for dinner and had an American-style tiered wedding cake. The DJ played both Belgian and American music, and the dance floor was full all night long.

It was everything I wanted our wedding to be, and it was perfect.

Carnaval time in Flanders!

Today is Ash Wednesday, the start of the Christian season of Lent, a period of penitence and fasting leading up to Easter. In New Orleans, Louisiana, the day before Ash Wednesday is celebrated with Mardi Gras (“Fat Tuesday” in French)--North America's only indigenous Carnival. In our mostly Protestant country, Carnival traditions never took hold anywhere else.

Here in Catholic Belgium, Carnaval (spelled slightly differently) is part of the culture. It doesn't seem to be celebrated everywhere, but there are local Carnaval festivities scattered all over the country. The most famous ones are in Aalst (Flanders) and Binche (Wallonia). Where I live, in Limburg province, there is a long history of Carnaval traditions which are tied to the neighboring regions of Dutch Limburg and the German Rhineland.

 On Monday, I experienced my first Flemish Carnaval in my husband's home village. Vroenhoven is located just over the border from Maastricht, which is probably the Netherlands' most famous Carnaval city, boasting the most outrageous parties and parades. Most of the villages in the area have their own home-grown Carnaval parade, led by local organizations who elect a Prince of Carnaval every year.

This year, the Vroenhoven stoet (“parade” in the local dialect) was organized together with the parade in Wolder, the Dutch village on the other side of the canal separating Belgium from the Netherlands. The joint parade started in one village and then made its way over the border to the other village and back again. A truly international celebration!

In America, we're used to images of scantily-clad Carnivale dancers in Rio de Janeiro, or slightly-more-covered revelers at Mardi Gras. The reality of Carnaval in Belgium couldn't be more different: Everyone is bundled up against the cold, and the most popular Carnaval accessories are big, funny hats (good for keeping your head warm), and scarves, gloves and legwarmers in traditional Carnaval colors of red, yellow and green.

Carnaval in Vroenhoven has a distinctly rural flavor, with all the parade floats constructed on farm trailers pulled by huge tractors. Each parade float had its own theme, with costumed revelers either riding on top or walking alongside. I wasn't prepared for the shower of candy and other goodies that were thrown into the crowd, but the children standing next to me came with big shopping bags which were soon full to bursting.

My husband grew up participating in the parade, wearing a different costume every year from the time he was a wee child. Our two-year-old niece is too young yet, but I look forward to the day when she'll take her place in the annual Carnaval parade. And next year, I'll be sure to bring a big bag so that I can help her gather up the candy.

Who is that fat man in the red suit?

Having spent the previous ten Christmases in Los Angeles before coming to Belgium, I can say that the holiday season is much more... “Christmasy”... here. For one thing: we have winter in Belgium--albeit a rainy, gray, miserable kind of winter for the most part. Also: Christmas decorations all over town, pretty lights on every street and a Christmas tree in every Grote Markt.

Then there are the Christmas markets, the winter carnivals, the holiday choral concerts and all the other civic festivities. Come to think of it, most of our Christmas traditions in America are nostalgic attempts to evoke a kind of Old European village atmosphere. Whether we live in California or Texas, Mississippi or Maine, we want pine trees, snow and handmade baked goods. In Belgium, those traditions are neither nostalgic nor kitschy... they're just traditional.

So I have the respect, perhaps even reverence, for holiday traditions that only comes from having grown up in a young country that idealizes its European roots. Which is why I'm so very annoyed about a relatively recent addition to the holiday landscape here in Flanders.

I'm talking about the Kerstman.

The Kerstman (literally “Christmas man”) looks just like Santa Claus and appears around the holidays in store windows, in advertisements, everywhere Christmas decorations and displays are found. The annual winter carnival in my home city of Hasselt is absolutely lousy with Kerstmannen. He lurks around every corner and stands sentry at every waffle stand and jenever bar. His image is plastered on walls, signs and placemats. He is usually accompanied by reindeer.

Don't get me wrong—I have nothing against Santa Claus. I have as much affection for the jolly old elf as the next former-six-year-old. And I have nothing against Belgians adopting this beloved American icon. (Yes, Santa Claus is as American as Father Christmas is English.) But for Kris Kringle's sake, call him Santa Claus! Don't call him the Kerstman and pretend that he's someone else!

But herein lies the rub: For some reason, the Flemish refuse to use Santa's REAL name because that would force them to confront the ugly truth... That Santa Claus is just Sinterklaas in different clothes! Santa Claus, Sinterklaas—even the names sound the same. That's because “Santa Claus” is an Anglicization of “Sinterklaas”, most likely taken from Dutch settlers in nineteenth-century New York (the city formerly known as New Amsterdam).

My Flemish husband refuses to concede this obvious fact. He says that Sinterklaas is a real person, a bishop from Turkey (as was the historical Saint Nicholas) whereas Santa Claus is a fictional character. And that Sinterklaas lives in Spain and arrives by steamboat, which (according to him) makes a lot more sense than living at the North Pole and driving a sleigh pulled by flying reindeer. Whatever. I still say that toy-making elves make better companions than Zwarte Piet.

Sadly, we are subjected, every December, to the awful spectacle of Sinterklaas arriving and departing only to be replaced by his fatter, jollier doppelganger, the Kerstman, a few weeks later. It's like having to live in an alternate universe where the same beloved Christmas figure keeps changing clothes and personalities. I wish Santa would just stay on the other side of the Atlantic, or come over here and put a stop to these imposters once and for all. Leave Belgium to Sinterklaas. After all, he's got tradition on his side.


(A version of this post appears on the website for Fans of Flanders, a new English-language TV program aimed at expats living in Belgium. I'm honored to be one of their regular guest bloggers!)

Why Halloween is superfluous

Today is Halloween, that beloved American holiday celebrated with glowing jack-o-lanterns, trick-or-treating and costume parties. Houses, schools and stores are decked out in macabre decorations like spiderwebs, tombstones, skeletons and ghosts. We love it because it involves eating lots of candy, dressing up and indulging our fascination with all things scary, creepy and dangerous.

Friends at a Halloween party, ca. 1998

As an American expat living in Belgium, I've noticed a few indications of Halloween's approach, but they're feeble and half-hearted, as befitting a holiday that isn't native to this land. As with so many aspects of American culture abroad, TV shows and advertising have given Belgians an awareness of Halloween and its trappings, with the result that it's starting to make inroads here.

However, as much as I miss the all-out excess of Halloween in America, I have to admit that Halloween in Belgium just seems out of place. People my age didn't grow up with Halloween; they never went trick-or-treating or wore a homemade ghost costume to school. Many of them are parents now and make an effort at some kind of Halloween observance for the sake of their kids. But I can tell their heart isn't in it.

Maybe the reason Belgians don't do Halloween is that they don't need it. The things we love about the holiday are already part of other, traditional Belgian holidays. As kids, the thing we liked most was all the candy—and the once-yearly pass from our parents to eat as much as we wanted. Belgian children have Sinterklaas, the feast of St. Nicholas on December 6, which is as much about sugary treats (and sugar overload) as it is about presents.

Dressing up in costume? That's for Carnival, the period leading up to Lent that's celebrated with non-stop partying, drinking, festivals, and yes, crazy costumes. Even better than Halloween, Carnival lasts for days, and some of the traditions (and costumes) date back to the Middle Ages. Of course Carnival, like the version celebrated in New Orleans as Mardi Gras, is more for grown-ups, but children also get in on the fun at school and at Carnival parades especially for them.

One Belgian custom, although no longer widespread, closely resembles trick-or-treating. On Driekoningen ("Three Kings"), the feast of Epiphany on January 6, children dress up as little kings and queens and go door-to-door, singing a song and asking for treats and money. In some communities, this was also done during Carnival—but with different songs, and like the implied threat of TRICK-or-treating, the songs suggested that death would come to those who didn't give!

Children dressed up as Driekoningen

I don't really miss going to Halloween parties or having trick-or-treaters show up at my door. Part of being an expat is embracing a new culture, and that means learning to appreciate the things that are different. But there are a few Halloween traditions that I do miss, like carving pumpkins and eating candy corn. Making a jack-o-lantern is easy enough, and maybe I can get someone to send me some candy corn next year...

(A version of this post also appears on the website for Fans of Flanders, the new television program aimed at English-speaking expats in Belgium. I'm very honored to be one of the regular guest bloggers!)

Birthday largesse

Today is my sweetie's birthday. So this morning, I rolled over, wished him a happy birthday, gave him a kiss... and then exclaimed, "Oh no! I forgot that you have to bring treats to work! I should have made brownies yesterday."

He'd forgotten too. "You could just pick up a box of chocolates at the train station on your way to the office," I offered helpfully. But we both knew that was going to be an obvious last-minute ploy, the usual fall-back when you don't have something better. Unremarkable and uninteresting.

(One of the things I love most about living here: Belgian chocolates can actually be considered ordinary.)

I said, half-jokingly, "If I got started now, they'd be done in an hour. What time do you have to be at work?" But as it turned out, Piet had brought some work home last night that still wasn't done. He decided to finish it this morning, while I baked, and go in a bit late.

Back in the U.S., we expect (or hope) that on our birthday, our co-workers will take us out to lunch. Maybe the boss will spring for a cake. If your colleagues really like you, they may even go in on a group gift and card.

The exception is of course elementary school, where the birthday boy or girl will bring cupcakes to class, thereby ensuring at least one day of peer-group popularity. Assuming your mom can bake, that is--or is willing to spring for store-bought cupcakes laden with sugary icing and sprinkles.

Here in Belgium, this practice continues for the rest of your life. It doesn't have to be cupcakes (which are actually something of a novelty here), but you are expected to bring treats of some sort to work or school. Chocolates, or course, are standard and easily acquired.

Once I had a student in the English-conversation class I teach at the local community center bring a whole vlaai (a kind of local pie) to class along with plates, forks and napkins. A couple of years ago, Piet took fresh fruit to work.

If you're Belgian, you can still expect to receive presents from your close friends and family on your birthday. But your colleagues and classmates are freed from so much as having to remember your birthday, much less plan for it.

Instead, you offer them something nice to eat, ensuring that your birthday is a special day for them too, and receiving lots of heartfelt birthday wishes in return.

Unfortunately, my brownies were undercooked--I guessed I rushed them a bit--so Piet had to settle for half a pan. Only the ones around the edges were good. Still, I hear they were a hit with his co-workers.

I have another shot at it, though. Since he splits his time between Brussels and Hasselt, he has to take treats to the other office tomorrow. I have a second batch in the oven now.

Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet

Today is Sinterklaas in Belgium. Sinterklaas is the holiday, December 6, but it's also the name of the mythical figure behind the holiday, a man with a long white beard and red outfit who brings presents to good little boys and girls. And yes, "Sinterklaas" does sound a lot like "Santa Claus." But they're not the same. Oh no.

"Sinterklaas" is a corruption of the Dutch "Sint Niklaas" or Saint Nicholas, who in the Catholic tradition is the patron saint of children. Aha! you say. Santa Claus is also known as Jolly Old Saint Nick, and then there's that poem by Clement Clark Moore, "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" (otherwise known as "The Night Before Christmas"). So they must be the same guy, right?

Not exactly. It seems that our Santa Claus was based, at least in part, on the Sinterklaas legend of the Netherlands and Flanders (in other words, Dutch-speaking parts of Europe). But whereas our St. Nick is a jolly fat man who lives at the North Pole and hangs out with elves and flying reindeer, Sinterklaas has retained the appearance of a Catholic saint.

He wears red robes and a tall red miter, as befitting the fourth-century Bishop of Myra (in present-day Turkey). He carries a bishop's crozier too, and is portrayed as a sagacious but kindly old man. He is not fat. He is, however, accompanied by Zwarte Piet, a funny, black-skinned helper.

The sight of white people in silly costumes and blackface makeup strikes me as horribly inappropriate, especially in the context of a children's holiday. I mean, what are they teaching these kids?!

But to a Belgian, Zwarte Piet (Black Peter) is just a character, like Santa's elves. He doesn't represent a racial stereotype, or any race at all. Apparently, Zwarte Piet was originally a little devil that Sinterklaas had defeated, and later was portrayed as a Moorish slave that the good saint had liberated. Nowadays his skin color is attributed to black soot from popping in and out of chimneys to deliver presents on Sinterklaas' behalf.

Sinterklaas lives in Spain, not at a secret location in the Arctic Circle. No one seems to know why he lives there now, seeing as how the real saint lived and died in Turkey. But the Dutch and Flemish do love to vacation in Spain, so I'm guessing they just put Sinterklaas in their idea of the perfect place to live. I mean, if you're not real you can live anywhere, so why not Spain?

He arrives in the Netherlands and Belgium by steamboat every year in mid-November, and then proceeds on horseback, accompanied these days by a whole posse of Black Peters. Children start putting their shoes out by the fireplace, with a carrot for the horse, in the weeks leading up to December 6th so that Sinterklaas (or his Piets) can pop by and leave candy in them. But the best and final visit from Sinterklaas happens during the night of December 5th, when he leaves presents for good children.

In Belgium, Sinterklaas is just for kids, and although he is clearly a religious figure, he has nothing to do with Christmas. Which is not to say that it isn't a festive holiday, or that the decorations and sweets aren't mightily reminiscent of similar things you might see during this time of year in the U.S. But there is no link between the gift-giving saint and the anniversary of Christ's birth.

At first, I was incredulous. How can Sinterklaas not be tied to Christmas? But then I realized that the more important question, and one that I have often asked myself over the years, is this: What does Santa Claus have to do with Christmas? Nothing. In fact, there are some who wonder whether our focus on that jolly elf and his role in the uneven distribution of material bounty hasn't overshadowed the "real" meaning of Christmas.

What's really strange is that Sinterklaas, having traveled to the New World in the nineteenth century and undergone a transformation (and secularization) into a fat man with a sleigh, has now returned to Belgium... as the Kerstman. Yep, the American image of Santa Claus can now be seen infiltrating Belgian Christmas festivities, but here he goes by the euphemistic "Christmas-man." I wonder if Belgian children ever notice the similarity between Sinterklaas and the Kerstman and if so, what do they make of it?