I usually have big plans for Christmas that, over my time in China, usually reach their internal crescendo in the high heat of the summer and then gradually cool until finally manifesting themselves in the lit, decorated artificial tree standing in the corner of my living room…and not much else. And so, this past Christmas day I went to Carrefour – the French equivalent to Wal*Mart – near where I live. It had a Christmas aisle with trees, decorations, lights, and goofy little novelty items (Santa Claus playing the sax, etc.) for sale. I liked it here; it reminded me, just a little bit, of my Christmases in America, visiting the big Woolworth’s in downtown Boston or my neighborhood Walgreen’s, where I used to find unusual, previously unimagined seasonal things (a propeller driven Santa Claus riding a flying reindeer comes to mind). A few aisles down from this one was the Chinese New Year section full of traditional lanterns, good luck placards, and tassels, all in bright red shades. I spent some time there, also. I can never remember doing this before. It might have been the lit red lanterns hanging in the windows by the escalators, or it may have been the cashiers, now no longer in their blue smocks (and little elf hats) but, instead, traditionally patterned and designed ones that got me into the mood.

For a long time – since my first December in Nanjing – I’ve been trying to figure out what Christmas is all about in China. It’s popular, to be sure. Snowflakes, trees, lights, Santa Claus, lots of shopping and get-togethers on Christmas Eve, a long, drawn out SRO Midnight Mass…but I could never quite put my finger on it. I had always thought that it was purely commercial...until the Sunday after this past Christmas. I was looking for a late gift…something seasonal, so I went back to Carrefour and my little aisle. It had been there on the 26th but, when I came to where it should have been now, all that I saw were shiny new frying pans on the shelves. There wasn’t a single, solitary trace of what had been there before. Nothing. Not even a loose piece of tinsel. It was like the Grinch had passed through in the night and cleaned the place out. I understood then that Christmas was OVER in China. I should have known this, of course. But the completeness of its exit still rocked me. I absently wandered over to the Chinese New Year aisle, now even more fully stocked and with more browsers than I’d seen earlier. I even bought a few things myself. Walking back to my place afterwards, fireworks blasted off – more so than usual – and I began to regret that I would be leaving the next day. So what is it about Christmas in China? Sure, consumption is a national addiction, as it is in the States, but that’s not it entirely. Part of it, I believe, is Pavlovian. The lights and decorations of Christmas serve as a reminder – consciously and subconsciously – that the Spring Festival is fast approaching. The rest of it is just human. In the darkness and coldness of the winter it’s festive, picking people up a little bit…even if it is a foreign holiday. As for me, holding on to that “foreign” day seemed easier to do with Chinese lanterns and tassels than with the metallic cheerlessness of no stick frying pans and woks.

And so now, here in Boston, Christmas having less emphatically come to an end and – in Nanjing – the Spring Festival about to explode, I can’t help but reflect on my thoughts just before leaving China: that in a more perfect world it would be nice to experience these two seasons more fully instead of only in the fleeting wisps that, these past years, have been the best I can expect. But then I think of the Christmas tree that was waiting for me when I arrived home – with its pine smell and the old ornaments forgotten then remembered and then immediately so familiar – and I think: It’s good to be back.