In today’s blog post, we will look at the main differences—and similarities, if any—between Christmas celebrations in two different countries. Today we travel to Ukraine through the eyes of Michael, a 32-year-old who has been living in Mallorca for two years, as he chats with his coworker Pablo.
We do so in the form of a dialogue between the two colleagues to make the reading more enjoyable and entertaining, and so you can savor it with a hot chocolate in hand, sitting by the fireplace and enjoying a good read.
LET’S BEGIN!
In the office, the sound of keyboards blended with a soft Christmas carol someone had put on in the background. Outside, Palma was glowing with festive lights and a mild climate—very different from what Pablo imagined when he thought about winter in Eastern Europe. As he reviewed some reports, he looked up at his desk mate.
—Michael, what is Christmas like in Ukraine? —he asked curiously—. I’ve always had the feeling it’s very different from ours.
Michael smiled, settled back in his chair, and set the mouse aside.
—It is, very much so —he replied—. To begin with, even the dates change. In Spain everything revolves around December 24th and 25th, right?
Pablo nodded.
—Christmas Eve with the family, a long dinner, nougat, and then a quieter Christmas Day. And of course, the Three Kings on January 6th.
—In Ukraine —Michael continued— for many years we celebrated Christmas on January 7th, following the Julian calendar. Lately, more and more families are also celebrating it on December 25th, but the 7th still carries a lot of weight, especially in traditions.
Pablo frowned, intrigued.
—And what is that night like?
—Dinner is the heart of everything —said Michael—. We prepare the Sviata Vecheria, the Holy Supper, with twelve dishes, one for each apostle. There is no meat; everything is symbolic. The main dish is kutia, a mixture of wheat, honey, poppy seeds, and dried fruits. It represents prosperity and the memory of our ancestors.
Pablo smiled as he thought of his own table.
—At my house we don’t count dishes —he laughed—, but lamb or seafood is always there, along with traditional sweets. Everything is more… noisy, I guess. Lots of conversation, laughter, kids running around.
—In Ukraine it’s more solemn —Michael explained—. We wait until the first star appears in the sky to begin dinner, in remembrance of the Star of Bethlehem. Afterwards, we sing koliadky, traditional carols, and children go from house to house wishing good fortune.
—That reminds me a bit of asking for Christmas tips —Pablo commented—, but that tradition has been fading here. What we haven’t lost are nativity scenes and the Three Kings parades.
Michael looked out the window, where a lit-up palm tree contrasted with his memories.
—We decorate too, but differently. In many homes we place the didukh, a decorated sheaf of wheat that symbolizes family unity and the harvest. And of course, winter surrounds everything: snow, intense cold, long nights.
Pablo thought about the terrace where he had coffee that morning, wearing just a light sweater.
—Here Christmas is brighter —he said—. Less silence, less introspection. More life in the streets.
Michael nodded.
—But in the end —he concluded—, in both countries it’s about the same thing: coming together, remembering who we are, and sharing. Whether we do it with wheat and honey or with nougat and cava.
In the office, the sound of keyboards returned. Outside, Palma continued to shine, while two different ways of living Christmas quietly met at the same work desk.
