As an American abroad you miss out on holidays that are traditionally celebrated with your families, which can make even the most savvy traveler a little homesick. While living in Brazil for 4 months I celebrated Thanksgiving away from my family, which didn’t really bother me until I sat down for my thanksgiving meal, and then things got real depressing.

Certain holidays are purely American, Halloween went by without so much as a boo. Before I knew it Thanksgiving was fast upon me. If I had it my way I wouldn’t of cared or missing the turkey or any other of the Thanksgiving traditions but the American School I was teaching at had a different idea in mind.

It was a sunny morning, we were getting closer and closer to summer time. The weather was beautiful! I had just stumbled into bed at about 7 or 8 am and had made plans to go out to the Feira Nordestina, Northeastern fair held in the São Cristóvão neighborhood of Rio, with my roommates and a fellow teacher that we had befriended. As noon rolled around we all met up, albeit slowly, and hopped into a taxi to the fair. It was a mixture of beautiful colors, music and scents of deliciously spiced foods, if there was any way to celebrate a holiday this was it. Little kids kept running up to take photos of my blond roommate, an oddity to those from the northern part of Brazil. I haggled with a few dealers and bought the hammock that I’ve been eying up, and no it wasn’t a banana hammock either.

After all of our shopping and walking around the sultry scent of fried yams and grilled steak lured us into a restaurant. It was a feast of feasts, and we didn’t leave much behind even for the birds. It was one of those meals that the company and conversations truly made it a memorable experience. Afterwords we walked around the labyrinth of shops and stands, ducking under the awnings as the rain began to come down. We stopped in the center and watch as the children danced in the rain while the band on stage played away the rhythmic sounds of Forro music. It was a perfect day and a perfect way to celebrate life with friends, holiday or not.

Yet, as all great things do they must come to an end, and how quickly they ended. We headed back home to prepare for a Thanksgiving celebration that the school puts on annually. As an American School it has teachers and students from the US and tries to share in their holidays. We lined up on rows of tables, sat and made small talk with whomever happened to be sitting across from us. The walls were lined with cheesy decorations purchased on trips to the US and the cafeteria was busy preparing a Thanksgiving feast for all its guests: students, teachers and family members alike.

Plop!

A square tray gets tossed on my table with something that appears to be croutons and corn. The corn is served cut and boiled into a mix of brown, white and yellow…I think its corn. The stuffing was croutons with a Thanksgiving spice sprinkled on top, something was lost in translation. Our turkey was pork, or was it chicken…I’m still not exactly sure but either way it was a perfect bologna circle of something. At that moment I looked up, looked around, looked down and in a sudden rush became homesick. Everyone was chit chatting their small talk in a way too formal setting and I was 5,000 miles from home. What just happened?

The four months that I lived there I never felt an ounce of homesickness, in fact I was trying to find ways I could sell my plane ticket home so I could stay a little longer. Yet, on Thanksgiving night I was just that, homesick.  In an attempt to give us a taste of home it brought me to the realization of just how very far I was from it.

I think that what prevented me from being homesick before was I never tried to mimic what I would be doing at home while I was in Brazil, no I did as the locals did and went with the flow. As long as I kept moving everything was fine, but the moment someone tried to plant me down in some psuedo traditional experience, the waves came crashing down. Luckily I was quick to get moving and we soon skipped out and headed to Lappa where we drank the night away listening to Samba in the streets, while watching the tourists pass by. I think my friend Adilson saved me from becoming a lonesome blubbering homesick mess that night, and all it cost me was a hangover.

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