As Americans, our concept of Christmas tends to be rather Northern-centric. Even the practice of calling ourselves “Americans” is a bit presumptuous, seeing as there are all these other folks living around the Equator and in lands south – roughly 40 percent of the population of the Eastern Hemisphere – who are also Americans, though not citizens of the United States.

The people of Venezuela may never know what it is to enjoy a white Christmas, but they have developed their own seasonal traditions to compensate for a lack of “dashing through the snow.” On Christmas Day in the capital city of Caracas, the streets are closed to traffic, fireworks shatter the silence before dawn, and those youngsters who can sleep through anything are awakened by a tug on the toe.

Children go to bed on Christmas Eve with a string tied to their piggies. One end is dangled out the window to be tugged – gently, one would hope – by passersby, as a reminder that it is time to get up and strap on the skates. For in the city of Caracas, it is customary for anyone who is able-bodied to roller skate to Christmas Mass. If the kids are good, they have received gifts in the night, not from Santa, but from Baby Jesus himself.

After Mass, everyone goes out for tostados and coffee. The big meal is enjoyed on Christmas Eve (actually the wee hours of Christmas morning), following Midnight Mass, or Misa de Gallo. “Gallo,” if you don’t know, is Spanish for “rooster.” Nobody gets any sleep on Christmas in Venezuela. That’s one aspect of the holiday Americans in both hemispheres pretty much share in common.

A Venezuelan favorite: “Mi Burrito Sabanero” (“My Little Donkey of the Savannah”)