My first December in Colombia, I walked outside on the night of December 7th and genuinely thought the whole neighborhood had joined a polite, candle-based cult.

There were candles on sidewalks. Candles on curbs. Candles in front of every door. Kids running around with sparklers. Grandma in full makeup. Fireworks in the background. And everyone kept saying “¡Feliz Navidad!” even though… it was December 7th.

If you grew up in the U.S., Christmas usually means:

  • Pajamas

  • A scented candle from Target

  • A slow morning on December 25th with coffee and wrapping paper

In Colombia?

You’re outside with a candle, a tamal, hot chocolate with cheese in it, fireworks going off, salsa on the speakers, and somebody’s grandma already dancing. And that’s before we even get to Christmas Eve. Or New Year’s. Or the part where adults sprint around the block with a suitcase.

1. Christmas Happens on the 24th (and It Happens at Midnight)

In the U.S., Christmas is a morning thing. You wake up early on December 25th, stumble to the living room, and open gifts in pajamas while trying to remember who wrapped what.

In Colombia, the holiday looked at the calendar and said:

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“Why wait till tomorrow? That’s ridiculous. Let’s do everything tonight.”

Christmas here is December 24th, and the schedule looks like this:

  • 7–9 p.m. – Family arrives, food is circulating, music is already on

  • Around 10–11 p.m. – Novena, prayers, and singing

  • Midnight – Now it’s time for dinner

  • Right after dinner – Presents

  • 1–3 a.m. – Dancing, talking, laughing, more food

No easing into anything. Kids are wide awake at 1:30 a.m., tearing open presents like a UFC pay-per-view just started. If you tried that with American kids, they’d call HR, ask for a union rep, and fall asleep mid-complaint.

2. Santa Is Optional. Baby Jesus Is the Real MVP.

In the U.S., the Christmas supply chain is simple:

Santa + reindeer + chimney = gifts.

Kids write letters to Santa, leave out milk and cookies, and spend the entire month interrogating their parents about the logistics.

In Colombia, Santa is more of a special guest star. The real gift-giver is:

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Niño Dios. Baby Jesus himself.

Kids here write letters to Niño Dios, asking an infant for a PlayStation.

From a theological logistics perspective, that’s a big upgrade. Santa is a magical mailman in a red suit. Niño Dios is a newborn. No sled, no chimneys, no GPS—just miracles.

Parents don’t blink. They just say:

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“Sí, mi hijo, Niño Dios te trae la bicicleta.”

There are no arguments about how he gets in the house. He’s Jesus. He doesn’t need your chimney.

And while Santa in the U.S. tends to overdo it with mountains of gifts, Niño Dios is minimalist:

  • One or two gifts

  • Quality over quantity

  • “Here you go, I’m very busy saving humanity.”

3. December 7th: The Country of Candles

Just when you think things will ramp up slowly toward Christmas, Colombia says:

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“Actually, let’s light the entire country on fire… but in a wholesome way.”

Día de las Velitas (Day of the Little Candles) is December 7th. Not Christmas Eve. Not Christmas. Just… December 7th. And it’s one of the most magical nights of the year.

What happens:

  • Families line sidewalks, entrances, and patios with candles

  • Kids run around with sparklers

  • Neighbors stand outside talking, laughing, sharing snacks

  • Streets glow with little dots of light as far as you can see

As an American, your first reaction is:

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“Is this… safe? Are we sure this is safe? Has anyone told the fire department?”

But nobody panics. Nobody calls anyone. This is the warm-up act for December. It’s Colombia saying:

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“If this is what we do on the 7th, imagine the 24th.”

4. New Outfit, New You: December 24th Is a Runway

In the U.S., Christmas fashion is:

  • Pajamas

  • Sweatpants

  • An ugly sweater that looks like it lost a bet

Americans dress like Christmas is happening to them.

In Colombia, it’s the opposite.

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Everyone wears a brand new outfit on December 24th.

Not just kids—everyone:

  • Dad: new shirt, new shoes, walking like he’s still in the store

  • Mom: full look, ready for photos that will live on Facebook forever

  • Grandma: dressed like she’s starring in a Christmas telenovela

  • Kids: outfits so clean you’re afraid to breathe near them

If you show up in something from last year, people notice. It’s like forgetting your passport at the airport. The unspoken expectation is:

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“I am slightly upgraded from who I was yesterday—and my outfit will prove it.”

5. Christmas Food Is a Group Project, Not a Costco Run

In the U.S., Christmas cooking often looks like this:

  1. Go to Costco

  2. Buy something spiral-shaped

  3. Heat it up and hope it doesn’t dry out

In Colombia, Christmas food is basically a team sport.

On the menu:

  • Tamales – Wrapped, tied, steamed, and 100% a group project

  • Natilla – A creamy traditional dessert, made in big batches

  • Buñuelos – Little fried cheese dough balls, somehow always fresh

  • Hot chocolate… with cheese – And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like

You walk into a Colombian kitchen on December 24th and see:

  • One person kneading dough

  • One cutting vegetables

  • One tying strings

  • Someone’s grandfather supervising like it’s MasterChef: Retirement Edition

And then they hand you a mug of hot chocolate with a piece of cheese melting inside. As an American, your brain does a hard reboot:

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“Is this… supposed to be here? Did someone drop this?”

Meanwhile, Colombians are sipping aguardiente and canelazo like it’s part of their hydration plan.

Fruitcake never even shows up. Nobody’s pretending to enjoy something they secretly hate. It’s all food people actually want to eat.

6. Novenas: The Spiritual Christmas Marathon

In the U.S., church attendance is often:

  • Christmas Eve

  • Maybe Easter

  • And then you’re good for the year

Colombia looks at that schedule and says:

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“Nice. Now multiply it by nine.”

Welcome to the Novena—nine nights of prayers, songs, readings, and food leading up to Christmas.

Every evening:

  • Families and friends gather in a home

  • There’s a printed booklet or a shared script

  • Different people lead prayers and read reflections

  • Kids participate, people play instruments, everyone eats afterward

It’s like:

  • Church service

  • Family reunion

  • Neighborhood potluck

…compressed into one nightly event. For nine straight days.

If you invited your American friends to nine nights of anything at church, they’d block your number after night two. Colombians? They love it. It’s part ritual, part community glue, part tamale-delivery system.

7. From Prayer to Party in 60 Minutes

One of my favorite things about Christmas in Colombia is the rhythm.

You can be:

  • Quietly praying at 7:30 p.m.

  • Singing traditional songs at 8:00 p.m.

  • And then dancing salsa at 9:00 p.m. in the exact same living room

I’ve seen nativity scenes sitting on top of giant speakers while the party is going full blast. Baby Jesus just watching everyone dance like:

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“Yeah, this tracks.”

In the U.S., Christmas is gentle. Soft music. Dim lighting. Somebody falls asleep on the couch by 9:15 p.m.

In Colombia, by 9:00 p.m.:

  • Someone’s uncle has turned the living room into a mini-club

  • One aunt has become the unofficial dance instructor

  • Grandparents are out-dancing people in their 20s

  • The volume is… not negotiable

The attitude is:

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“It’s Christmas. The neighbors will understand.”

And honestly? They do.

8. Gifts: Less Stuff, More Celebration

In the U.S., many kids grow up thinking a “normal” Christmas means:

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So many presents you can’t see the floor.

Toys, clothes, electronics—pile after pile. As adults, we look back and realize: that was… a lot.

In Colombia, the approach is different:

  • Kids might get one or two gifts

  • A new shirt, a doll, a toy—something simple

  • The moment is still special, but the mountain of wrapping paper never appears

And here’s the key: kids are happy.

They’re genuinely thrilled with their couple of gifts. The real joy is in:

  • The family

  • The food

  • The music

  • The shared chaos of staying up late together

The present is a bonus, not the main event. As someone raised on U.S. Christmas culture, it’s incredibly refreshing to watch children get that excited over something that fits in a single grocery bag.

9. Fireworks… All. Month. Long.

In the U.S., fireworks mean:

  • July 4th

  • Or your neighbor doing something technically illegal

In Colombia, fireworks mean:

❝

“It’s December.”

You hear explosions every night:

  • Not just on Christmas

  • Not just on New Year’s

  • All December

Your first December here, you lie in bed thinking:

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“Are we under attack? Is this normal? Should I be wearing a helmet?”

Meanwhile, Colombians don’t even flinch.

You’ll hear a boom that rattles the windows and someone will casually say:

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“Ah, los niños están celebrando.”

The scale of fireworks ranges from:

  • Cute little crackles

  • To “NASA is clearly testing rocket engines behind my house”

In a U.S. suburb, the HOA would call emergency meetings, draft a 47-page policy, and someone would be sued before the week was over.

In Colombia, it’s just part of the soundtrack of the season.

10. Tropical Christmas and the New Year’s Trilogy

The mental image of Christmas in the U.S. is a snow globe:

  • Snow

  • Scarves

  • Fireplaces

  • Everyone pretending they enjoy frostbite

Colombia? Different channel.

Here, Christmas can look like:

  • Shorts and T-shirts

  • Palm trees wrapped in lights

  • Outdoor parties

  • Kids playing in the street at midnight

The decorations are the same spirit, different climate:

  • Pine trees vs palm trees

  • Both get lights

  • Palm trees honestly wear it better

And just when you think you’ve seen it all, New Year’s Eve arrives with the trilogy.

1. The Suitcase Run

At midnight, many Colombians grab a suitcase and run around the block.

Why?

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To attract travel and adventure in the new year.

As an American, your brain says:

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“Wait, are we evacuating? Is this an emergency drill?”

Nope. This is cardio for blessings. You’ll see people jogging in circles with carry-ons, laughing, out of breath, but committed.

2. The 12 Grapes

Right after (or during) the chaos, people eat 12 grapes—one for each month of the coming year, one wish per grape.

Colombians pop them like it’s a speed-eating competition. In the U.S., we make resolutions. In Colombia, they eat fruit. Honestly, the fruit seems more effective.

3. Burning the Año Viejo

Then comes the most dramatic tradition: Año Viejo.

  • Families create a life-size doll (sometimes representing the old year, sometimes… suspiciously like a politician)

  • Stuff it with paper or fireworks

  • And set it on fire at midnight

As an American, you’re standing there thinking:

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“Is this legal? Is that doll looking at me? Is this how horror movies start?”

For Colombians, it’s symbolic:
Burning away the bad moments of the year so you can start fresh.

In the U.S., we watch a big ball slowly slide down in Times Square and then get stuck in traffic. In Colombia, you get:

  • Cardio (suitcase run)

  • Snacks (grapes)

  • Fire (Año Viejo)

It’s hard to argue with that lineup.

So… Which Christmas Is Better?

Honestly? It’s not about better or worse—it’s about vibe.

  • If you grew up with quiet mornings, snow, and pajamas, Colombia’s version feels wild, loud, and deeply alive.

  • If you grew up here, the idea of a silent living room at 8 p.m. on December 24th probably sounds… unfinished.

For me, Colombia’s Christmas and New Year’s traditions took all the parts I already liked—family, food, connection—and dialed them up with:

  • More community

  • More street life

  • More ritual

  • More laughter

You get candles and prayers. You also get dancing and fireworks. You get reflection and chaos in the same night—and no one sees a conflict there.

If you’re thinking about living abroad—or just spending a December in Colombia—prepare yourself:

You won’t just watch the holidays here.
You’ll be invited into them.

And once you’ve run around a block at midnight with a suitcase in one hand and a grape in the other while a doll burns in the distance… you’ll never look at “quiet Christmas” the same way again.

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