Christmas Around the World

One of the things I’ve always loved about living in Canada is that, in many ways, we celebrate Christmas with the whole world. We are a country of immigrants, layers of cultures, accents, recipes, songs, and stories woven into something uniquely Canadian. My own family history is a perfect example. My mother’s parents arrived from Romania, my grandfather in 1902 and my grandmother in 1904, carrying with them little more than faith, determination, and the memory of the holiday traditions they left behind. My father’s father came north from the United States in the 1920s, and his mother’s family had emigrated from Ireland way back in the 1840s, long before anyone thought to take a photo of a family Christmas tree.

As each generation settled in and became “more Canadian,” something subtle happened: a quiet trimming away of the old customs. Not all at once, and not with any disrespect, just the natural process of trying to fit in. Maybe a Romanian dish gave way to turkey and stuffing. Maybe the Irish carols were replaced by Bing Crosby. Maybe no one knew what to do with a Romanian nut-filled cozonac once packaged Christmas cake hit the shelves. Whatever the reason, those traditions softened and faded, like decorations left too long in the sun.

But here’s the beautiful twist: while our grandparents worked so hard to blend in, Canada eventually grew into a country that celebrates standing out. Today you can walk down a single street and pass Italian panettone wrapped like a sweet treasure, Filipino parols glowing like colourful stars, Mexican tamales steaming in kitchen baskets, and Ukrainian Christmas bread braided with love and memory. Christmas here is no longer one set of traditions, it’s a mosaic of moments shared by cultures around the globe.

Although I never experienced Christmas the way my Romanian or Irish ancestors might have, I did get to taste “Christmas around the world” in my own way through travel. And each place offered its own version of holiday magic.

Mexico, for example, greeted us with an explosion of colour that made even our brightest Canadian lights look a little shy. There, Christmas doesn’t tiptoe in, it bursts through the door with music, dancing, and enough food to feed three neighbourhoods. The air was warm, scented with cinnamon, fried dough, and the earthy sweetness of corn masa. I’ll admit, it’s hard to feel winter wonderland-ish while wearing a short-sleeved shirt, but somehow the spirit of the season still found its way in. I remember watching families gather in the plaza, children whacking away at piñatas shaped like stars, and I thought: This is Christmas too, just painted with different colours.

Then there was Hawaii, where Christmas trees sit patiently in living rooms while outside the palm trees wave like they’re wishing everyone Mele Kalikimaka. There’s something delightfully odd about listening to “Let It Snow” while your feet are wrapped in warm sand and the ocean hums behind you. Instead of the comforting smell of turkey roasting, I smelled grilled pineapple, sea salt, and sunscreen. Yet somehow the holiday glow felt just as genuine. Families gathered for big meals, grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins, everyone talking over one another in the same joyful way families do everywhere. Under those soft island skies, I felt a familiar truth: home isn’t a place on a map; it’s the feeling of belonging.

And then there was Australia, where Christmas comes not with snowflakes but with sun, surf, and the faint smell of eucalyptus drifting on the breeze. My daughter and grandson live there, and though we haven’t always been able to spend the holiday together, the times we have are unforgettable. Australians take full advantage of the weather, beach barbecues, prawns instead of turkey, and homemade pavlovas topped with fruit so fresh you can smell the sweetness from across the table. One year, in the middle of Christmas lunch, a kookaburra landed on the back fence and laughed at us, literally laughed. Try keeping a straight face during grace when a bird is heckling your family gathering.

What I’ve learned through all of this is simple: Christmas doesn’t belong to one place or one culture. It adapts. It evolves. It welcomes new flavours, new sounds, and new ways of celebrating. And when we open our hearts to these traditions, whether from our ancestors or from our neighbours, we discover that the holiday spirit is big enough to hold them all.

Many Canadian seniors grew up thinking Christmas looked only one way: a tree, a turkey, and a snowy yard. But now, in communities across the country, we share holiday tables with friends and neighbours whose roots stretch far beyond our borders. And what a wonderful gift that is. Each tradition adds another layer of warmth to the season, another candle in the window, another story to tell, another taste to savour.

If you’re spending Christmas at home this year, consider adding a global twist to your celebration. Bake that Italian panettone you’ve always eyed at the grocery store. Hang a Filipino parol in your window. Try Mexican hot chocolate with its touch of spice. Or simply ask a neighbour about their holiday traditions, you might be invited to try something new (and delicious).

Because whether it’s celebrated in the snow, the sun, or somewhere in between, Christmas around the world carries the same heart: generosity, connection, hope, and the quiet reminder that we all belong to a much larger family than we realize.

And that, I think, is a gift worth passing on.