Contrary to the snazzy title, this entry is not in any part about Italy, but is instead about tradition and the way some of our quirky customs dictate our actions.
Tradition exists in every society, every town, every family and within each of us individually. Ask the majority of 4-12 year old children about the meaning of Christmas Day and overwhelmingly the answer will be "presents", "lollies" or "Santa". Conveniently, December 25th is when a good number of people around the world celebrate the birth of Jesus (the actual date of his birth was unlikely to be the 25th of December, but the December date fits nicely into the end-of-year school holidays).
While a practising Christian may retain the meaning and true tradition of Christmas celebrations, a consumer-focused and somewhat less spiritual nature has crept into the day. A few days before Christmas I had the misfortune to visit Northlands (pronounced "Norflands" by many of those who frequent it), the local shopping centre, in an attempt to purchase a new iPod. As I walked through the gleaming aisles stuffed to bursting with festive goodies, the spirit of Christmas was apparent. It was apparent in the impatient crowds of people running into the ankles of geriatrics with overstuffed shopping trolleys and young children testing their lungs and the eardrums of those surrounding them as temptation proved overwhelming.
Approaching the foodcourt a marvellous specimen of a nuclear family was creating an environment of acute disharmony. As is required for residents of Preston, Melbourne, she was elegantly dressed in dirty trackpants and bare feet while he had donned his cleanest VB singlet for the family outing. Three young children in tow, the spirit of Christmas appeared to have overcome them as they screamed abuse and profanities at each other with wild abandon:
"You f&%$#n b$#@h! Look what you've done!"
"Go f&@k yourself you f#@%$&n b%$#@&d!"
As they argued, bemused shoppers gave them a wide berth and each other knowing looks. For me, it was the last straw. I abandoned my quest for an iPod and returned to the sanctity of my office. Merry Christmas, Melbourne.
Christmas 2011 for me took place in the North Island of New Zealand. My boyfriend and I travelled over a few days early, borrowed a campervan from a friend in Kerikeri and took our time winding through the countryside to the Coromandel Peninsula. Christmas Day was spent at the beach house (bach) of a relative in Pauanui and was attended by a few family members including my Mother and Grandmother. For the first time since I have been able to legally and dexterously (sometimes) drink from a beer bottle, I attended a Christmas Day church service with my religious Grandmother.
Church for some people is a weekly tradition. I can generally count at least 52 weeks between each visit as the services tend to coincide with my trips to the DZ to go skydiving. This year's service reminded me of all the other services I have ever been to. A preacher is not as fun as a stand-up comedian to listen to. Along with all the under-10s in the congregation who had been allowed to open just one present before Church and who were now itching to get home and attack the rest, I found the characteristic fidgeting and mind-wandering took hold remarkably quickly. A very well-to-do woman sitting in front of me with her neatly pressed husband made a show of telling her pew neighbours that "I tried to wake everyone up to come this morning, but they were all far more interested in sleeping in". "But they're not religious you know, not like us". Oh dear.
The remainder of our trip was spent dodging raindrops, no mean feat in a torrential downpour. A solid week of bad weather taught us that a country full of adventure sports does not cater particularly well in the rain. We managed to keep ourselves occupied with underwater massages, rock-climbing, caving, tubing and about 40 hours of driving with very sub-standard windscreen wiper blades. On one day we went to the beach in full-length 7mm wetsuits. Oh, and 6 litres of duty-free liquor helped to soften the blow...
Christmas is not the only tradition worthy of mention, not by a landslide. There happen to be some excellent past-times throughout this wonderful Earth, many of them with fascinating histories and innovative celebrations.
One of the best traditions I had the good luck to encounter whilst living in Scotland as a student was the wearing of kilts for ceremonial occasions (and busking). Especially when combined with bagpipes, the most intruding musical instruments imaginable, I fell in love with the idea of wearing what is essentially a skirt in one of the coldest and most mountainous countries in the world. The image of a bekilted bagpiper belting out the 'Bonny bonny banks of Loch Lomond' while loping through thistle-coated moorlands with no underwear is a fantastic spectacle:
Another amazing tradition I have discovered during long hours of procrastination on YouTube is the annual Gloucestorshire Cheese Rolling competition:
See the video below for an example of the sport:
The attendance at this event has been added to my Bucket List as a matter of priority. Amazing!
Despite the best attempts by the PC brigade, there are still a good number of wacky and interesting traditions worldwide. It is important to learn and adhere to certain traditions, while others seem to exist purely for our own amusement or to get a few days a year off work. This diverse planet contains a wealth of experiences, and I intend to find out and try as many of them as possible.
Blue skies,
-E
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