In winter: All’s still, and the sun’s scanty rays
Filter downward in pewter and silvery grays.
I find myself strolling down memory hutong
To Beijing in winters when life was more putong.

Glazed roof-tiles girded in glistening icicles,
Sonorous bells on still-plentiful bicycles,
Cabbages, coal smoke, and good shuanyangrou,
And sidewalks all covered in soot-blackened snow.

The winters seemed colder. Shichahai would freeze,
And the snow would collect on the boughs of the trees.
It’s rare now to see baicai stacked on the stoop,
Which by springtime would rot to gelatinous goop.

The tempting aromas of sugar-fried lizi,
And yams baked in oil drums, wafts to your bizi.
Or sweet crunchy skewers of red candied haw,
Which are no longer sold come the early spring thaw.

No Christmastime feasts back then, nothing so grand.
We MacGyvered it up with the things we’d at hand.
Instead of the turkey and after-eight brandy,
We guzzled pijiu and ate White Rabbit candy.

It might be the globe has been globally warmed.
It might be that time hath my mem’ry transformed.
But winter these days doesn’t feel so romantic,
As the pace of life toggles ‘twixt hectic and frantic.

Modernity offers its own winter charms,
(Though I’m not sure it always helps more than it harms).
Now April Gourmet – and of course Jenny Lou’s –
Offer comfort-food cures for Beijing winter blues.

And these days, with broadband, the chill doesn’t trouble you,
Even consid’ring the damned GFW.
Though Internet blockages do make us bitter,
We still manage access to Facebook and Twitter.

The Web offers me many ways to enjoy
All those holiday classics I loved as a boy.
I sit by my space heater, warm in my qiuku,
And stream It’s a Wonderful Life off of Youku.

We send SMS to spread holiday cheer,
In Navidad missives at least half-sincere,
And Hanukkah greetings as well if you choose,
(Since half of the gringos in Beijing are Jews).

The Web has made giving of gifts really easy,
From zhengban to shanzhai, from tawdry to cheesy.
And what could beat Taobao for buying your presents,
To have them delivered by tricycling peasants?

The traffic gets bad, but it’s bad in each season,
To get me to cross town, you’ll need a good reason.
I normally don’t mind the subway at all,
At least in the spring, or the summer, or fall.

But with everyone wearing a fluffy down jacket,
Each subway car needs several men just to pack it.
They shove you inside just as hard as they can,
Like they do for the rush hour trains in Japan.

Come winter, the nightlife scene won’t drop a beat –
The revelers give off enough body heat.
The bars are decked out in the Christmas decor
(Meaning lights) they’ve left up since the Christmas before.

Hot toddies and mulled wine and eggnog with rum
(Though prices, I fear, are a princely-ass sum).
With globalization, wherever you roam
The holidays won’t be too different from home.

But I wonder if that’s what it should be about.
With each passing winter comes reason to doubt.
So for Christmas this year I’m inclined more than not
To dine with the family on mutton hot pot,

And wintertime goodies completely indigenous,
Is goose all that better than fine roasted pigeon is?
An Old Chokey Christmas – now what could be finer
Than spending the holidays right here in China?

It’s the small things, they say, that make life worth the living.
Intentions – not price tags – make gifts worth the giving.
All your candy canes can’t match the fresh-candied haws
Or the chestnuts or yams – suck on that, Santa Claus!

 Thanks to Brendan O’Kane for contributing some terrific lines!

CC images courtesy of Jake Ji on Flickr