Ho! Ho! Ho Chi Minh!

Well, here it is. It’s Christmas Eve in Hanoi, just minutes from Christmas Day. And perhaps the most alien of Christmas seasons I’ve ever spent. Amy and I have been on the road for three months now, and we’ve known the whole time that we were going to miss Christmas at home.

Of course we did something special to celebrate the holiday. First we went to vigil mass at the big church here in Hanoi, St. Joseph’s.

As chance would have it, the service was in French, with the occasional Vietnamese thrown in for good measure. My high school French helped along the way, as well as a familiarity with the liturgy, so we were able to follow along pretty well. I should add that I was certain when they were talking about “the lamb of God” because I’ve eaten at several French restaurants. The best part of the mass was when they had a bunch of kids come up dressed as Joseph and Mary et al, and Mary (Marie?) plunked the baby Jesus doll on the floor – right on cue – when it got to His being born in a manger (or “creche,” as the Frenchies call it). It was truly fun and fascinating.

Afterward, we went out for a very nice dinner at the Hotel Metropole, a century-old Hanoi establishment which boasts a reknowned guestlist including such luminaries as Charlie Chaplin, Somerset Maughm, Brad and Angelina, a cadre of Prime Ministers and Presidents, and Brendan Frasier (I’m not making this up). All in all, we made the most of our Christmas Eve in Hanoi. But it’s just not the same.

I’ve never missed Christmas. There was the one year I got home from studying abroad late on Christmas Eve, but I was there with the family for Christmas Day. And another year I spent Christmas in Bermuda with a girlfriend’s family (she was there, too, naturally), but I was around for the holiday build-up, and spoke to my parents. And of course I’ve had Christmas with Amy’s family, but that’s still family, and it still feels like home.

This year, let’s face it: we’re missing Christmas. We’re in Vietnam, for one thing, which isn’t really synonymous with the yuletide spirit. There’s no Charlie Brown Christmas, or Hermie the Elf, or Heat Miser, or any of those things that feel familiar and make me happy every holiday season. In fact, there’s been no real “holiday season” at all for us to experience – no putting up lights, no 24-hours of “A Christmas Story” – or even Black Friday or Cyber Monday or any of the crummy Christmas stuff. No Al Roker lighting the tree, no Darlene Love on Letterman.

We did see decorations going up in Seoul right after Halloween.

We did have a great Thanksgiving dinner in Hong Kong.

We did see Santas and reindeer in Ho Chi Minh City.

And yes, even Cambodia has Christmas decorations.

But random decorations in a faraway land pale in comparison to being home for the holidays, whether it’s with family, or your own home. I freely admit I miss Christmas in New York. I miss buying a five-foot tree for a half-million dollars, and fitting it into a one-bedroom apartment, only to find random pine needles behind the stereo in August. I miss the rush, the madness, the lights on Broadway, and the crowds I enjoy complaining about near Rockefeller Center, which you avoid like the plague, except for the one time you have to go see the windows at Saks on your way to drinks at the King Cole Bar. There’s something magical about Christmas in New York, I’m not afraid to admit I’m corny about that stuff.

And all the things people post on Facebook. The holiday dinners, the catching up with old friends, and even the snow. We saw that “Christmas Jammies” video like every other human being with an internet connection. I saw pictures of the New York Reds Christmas Party – I love that party, and seeing the pictures made me jealous. And there was another post about Christmas songs that mentioned the Waitresses’ “Christmas Wrapping,” which other than Darlene Love’s “Merry Christmas Baby (Please Come Home)” is just about my favorite Christmas song. It made my heart sink, because I hadn’t even THOUGHT of that song until December 18th or so when I read it. And I hadn’t thought about Darlene Love until I wrote this…

Jammies shmammies…Amy’s going to make a video about her sweet holiday hat!

I know… We’re on a year-long world tour. Poor John and Amy… I get it. But if there’s one time I wish I was home, this is it.

This week, I’ve been a bit homesick.

But we’re not coming home. We’ll Skype with our families tomorrow, we’ll have a memorable day on an even more memorable trip, and we’ll file this one away as “A Very Special Vietnamese Christmas.” And we’ll look forward to ringing in 2014, seeing the rest of the world, and being home with our families for next Thanksgiving and Christmas.

But until then, we’ll keep meeting like this. From both of us: To Mom and Dad, Annie, the Arndts, the Scan-Fenns, the Brueckners, the Barkhorns, and Jack; to Gram Smith and Gram Mack; to all our friends and family; and to everyone else following us on here: Merry Christmas.

Looks like Santa has lost some weight on his new diet of pho and banh mi.

HOLIDAY POSTSCRIPT: And speaking of Christmas, the answer you’ve all been waiting for: It’s a Christmas Miracle! Several days later, the Mekong Catfish appears to have caused no ill effects other than some jangled nerves and Howard Hughes-like attention to bacterial avoidance. Case in point: yesterday we had a few draft beers on a popular corner here in Hanoi. But we did NOT order food. Why?! Because this is LITERALLY the view into the kitchen from the bathroom – WHICH HAD NO DOOR:

We continue to be vigilant. It’s a New Year’s Resolution (which will be broken by March like all New Year’s Resolutions).

PEACE OUT!!

Amy’s attempt at a holiday gang sign for “ho ho ho”