I am a lifelong Milwaukeean, raised in Elm Grove, educated in Madison, now a happy homeowner on Milwaukee's south side. My husband is from Puebla, Mexico. He came to the U.S. to live and work as a young man, and we met and married nearly four years ago. At the time we met I was infatuated with China and its culture. I had visited twice and lived there for a year during college. Chinese characters appeared in my dreams and I was constantly trying to wrap my tongue around the correct pronunciation and tones of words like Zhang and Deng and Xia.

The Spanish I had half-heartedly learned in the Elmbrook school system had slipped to the back of my memory. Over time, things switched. My cross-cultural relationship and work as a restaurant manager made speaking Spanish and encountering Mexican culture everyday occurences. In ways atypical for most residents of historically segregated Milwaukee, I intermingled with my city's Mexican immigrant community and began to acquaint myself with the culture and landscape of Mexico itself.

Let me say that I am not the typical resort traveler. I am interested in experiencing places and cultures that are different than my own. I leave my life in Milwaukee to escape the speed and conventions of the United States, and I don't expect things to be done the same way in other countries. I want to relax and enjoy myself on vacation, but what for me is relaxing and enjoyable is often different than what many travelers want.

In December 2006, I was in Mexico visiting my husband while he waited for approval of his green card. I wanted to experience Christmas in Mexico, and all I knew was that it was a lot different than how we celebrate in the U.S. It is, in fact, almost unrecognizable. When I think about Christmas my first associations are shopping, red & green, egg nog, family gatherings, and presents. Second thoughts include church, a Christmas tree, the birth of Jesus and arguments between family members. I realize that is cynical, but it represents my problems with how I celebrate the holidays, and perhaps explains why I often long to experience them in different ways.

In my husband's smallish town, Christmas is more about community. Residents of different neighborhoods alternate days to host la posada. Every evening for the ten days that lead up to December 25, the town's residents stroll down the designated streets, chatting with neighbors, kids chasing one another and stealthily tossing small fireworks. Everyone is out in front of their house, many serving passersby from huge pots of steaming ponche, a cider-like drink made with cinnamon, sugar cane and a myriad of fall fruits. The really generous houses also hand out crispy, fried, sweet pastries along with their ponche. You walk, grab some ponche, chat with the neighbor, and move on with your warm beverage.

The idea is to simulate Mary and Joseph going house to house searching for somewhere to stay before eventually settling into the famous manger. The streets in town are decorated with strings of multi-colored paper cut outs, hanging across the streets, roof to roof. Even in that act, there is co-operation between neighbors. They must hang their decorations together. There is no competition to have the best, brightest, most expensive-looking decorations.

Suddenly, there is activity down the block, kids will gather in the street between two houses, shouting with excitement, a long rope dangles a pinata controlled by one man on each roof. Someone finds a bat or a sticks and starts swinging. Eventually it’s broken, the candy falls out, the children diving for their treasures, laughing and playing.