… And a Crappy New Year: A Deep Dive into Strange Catalan Christmas Traditions
By Alice Simon, Features Editor
Would you believe me if I told you that Santa has never really been a thing where I come from? I suppose it’s befitting of my constant need to always be ‘not like the other girls’ to have niche Christmas traditions that are unheard of anywhere else in the world. But really, how weird could it possibly be?
Well… It is my pleasure to introduce you, dear reader, to my friend Mr. Tió!
What is he, you might ask? Why of course, he’s a magical pooping log!
‘What does that thing have to do with Christmas?’ the crowd bellows. Well, everything! He poops out children’s presents! Strangely enough, he’s fully unique to Catalonia and Majorca, and doesn’t visit any other Spanish households throughout the month of December. He’s also connected to the Germanic Christmas tree tradition and the British Yule log, which were both said to bring gifts to children. Nonetheless, we Catalans took it upon ourselves to add extra spice to the story and make it as bizarre as possible. To fully immerse yourself in how properly deranged this creature and the culture surrounding it is, I urge you to picture this: it is the beginning of December, and you’ve just put up your Christmas tree and decorations all over the house, when all of a sudden, you hear a sharp knock on your door. Hastily, you run to answer it – you’ve been waiting on an Amazon package for a while – you are greeted by a peculiar piece of wood smiling up at you. Kind of creepy, you think to yourself, but either way, you decide.
There’s no harm in accepting it into your home, ‘tis the season to be jolly after all! You place it under your Christmas tree, mesmerized by its tiny wooden legs and bright red hat, where did this thing even come from? Who knocked on your door? Doesn’t matter. You go back to binge watching Bojack Horseman sprawled out on your couch, hot chocolate in hand. Before you get ready for bed, you stop to stare at your new friend, and strangely enough, a kind of motherly instinct hits you like a truck. This thing must be hungry! Has its expression changed, Mona Lisa-style? You can’t be sure, but something beckons you to take care of your visitor. You cover it in a warm blanket and place a plate with a few cookies in front of it, mumbling ‘Good Night’, and you disappear into your bedroom. The next morning, you go about your day as usual, making too-strong coffee and watching luxury advent calendar unboxings on YouTube. As you step into the living room, you notice something unusual: the cookies are gone! How could it be possible…? Alas, ‘tis a true Christmas miracle after all.
The days go by and Christmas Eve comes around; you’ve now been feeding your log-shaped friend so much food that he starts looking rounder and rounder! It stares back at you with its big blue eyes, and you get this strange urge to hit it. Hit it hard. How unnatural… You’ve only ever felt tenderness towards the creature so far, so where is this sudden inclination for violence coming from? It’s looking at you weird, that’s it, yes. It has a look in its eyes that spells out danger.
You grab a broomstick and before you realize it, you’re repeatedly hitting the log, chanting out its name as some sort of age-old curse. It feels oddly good – the more you hit, the more you never want to stop – but out of nowhere, a horrible smell starts invading the room. You cover your nose in an effort to suppress it, to no use. You live alone, so that definitely wasn’t you, but if not you, then who? You stare at the log again. No… impossible, but what if? You retrieve the blanket, expecting something repulsive to be hiding underneath. Imagine your utter shock when you are greeted by an abundance of perfectly wrapped presents. Your jaw drops in absolute shock, as you get on your knees and start retrieving the gifts. For one final time, you meet your new friend’s gaze, and there it is, that Mona Lisa smile. It knows something you don’t, but it doesn’t matter, you’re caught up in the magic of a novel Christmas tradition, you still can’t believe what you see! Carefully, you pick up the log and decide to keep it somewhere safe. When you have kids, you think, they’ll take care of it for you. You open your presents; you didn’t get an iPhone 16, but that’s okay, for nothing in the world could replace a magical pooping log.
End scene.
For your amusement, I want to close out this article with a translated version of the traditional song we chant when hitting our Tió. Although there’s many different versions depending on which region of Catalonia you live in, this is the one I grew up with in Girona, and it goes something like this:
Catalan: English:
Tió, Tió, caga torró Tió, Tió, s*** nougat
Si no en tens més If you don’t have any left
Caga diners S*** some money
Si no en tens prou If you don’t have any more
Caga un ou S*** an egg!
