How does one celebrate a 100% American holiday far from U.S soil? If you have been following our blog posts over the past two years, you know that we experienced New Year’s Eve Ecuador-style and Christmas in Spain. We learned how people celebrate May Day in Quito, Three Kings in Tarragona and Saint Anthony’s Day in Vilanova i la Geltru. But what does an American on foreign soil do for Thanksgiving? Last year on the Costa Brava, we reminisced about Thanksgivings past over a seafood dinner with family who happened to be visiting then (with a joyful sing-along to the Thanksgiving classic, “Alice’s Restaurant” by Arlo Guthrie). But this year was something completely different: We had the pleasure of gathering with a group of strangers to partake in my favorite of all the American holidays.

We arrived in Pucón, Chile, at the start of November and had virtually non-stop cold rain for three weeks. The weather put a damper on our desire to go out exploring and mostly we chose to stay inside by the wood stove reading about Chile and dreaming of all the great opportunities we hope await us at some point. I won’t lie: While we had stretches of cozy relaxation time, the cold, damp, and dreariness began to erode my enthusiasm. But on Thanksgiving Day, we awoke to warm sunshine and blue skies for nearly the first time in 18 days. As if that weren’t enough to be thankful for, there would be much more to come throughout the day. 

Fortunately for us, Tracy, the homeowner of our temporary digs, planned her annual return to coincide with the start of our stay. Prior to her arrival, she mentioned that when she lived here full-time she organized an annual neighborhood Thanksgiving gathering. She asked if I would be interested in helping to make it happen again this year. Of course I jumped at the chance to do three of my favorite things—get to know people, cook, and eat. I was envisioning finding ingredients to make a pie, helping to clean the house, setting the table, and then welcoming her small group of ex-pat friends on Thanksgiving Day. Boy, did I have that wrong.

It turns out that “neighborhood” casts a wide net in this incredibly welcoming place. A spreadsheet was created, an “event” on Facebook was made public, and a WhatsApp group was formed among the principal organizers, myself included. The list of invitees responding in the affirmative began to grow, and grow, and grow until we had 50 people stating their intentions to attend.

The meal itself was potluck, with some people sponsoring a turkey and others volunteering to bring a side dish or a dessert. I can add to my Thanksgiving gratitude list the cans of pumpkin puree Tracy brought in her checked luggage. With them I was able to make my favorite Thanksgiving dessert, pumpkin pie, to contribute to the sweets table. Like canned pumpkin, some other ingredients I take for granted in the States just don’t seem to exist here. Oddly for an Andean country, I have yet to find a sweet potato anywhere. Having offered to sponsor a turkey, Al and I spent a frantic afternoon searching the markets and butchers in town with no luck. Fortunately, other people did manage to find the all-important poultry, so clearly they exist, and in the end we had plenty. For our stuffing, we substituted dried cranberries for fresh and pistachios for pecans, but it all came together without a hitch. 

One friend owns a local pizza restaurant and each year he contributes by cooking the turkeys in his pizza oven and delivering them to the party—a technique that worked surprisingly well. The event is held just a two minute walk from our house at “Willie’s Quincho”, which is basically the coolest, funkiest, most out-of-the-way gathering place ever. The space has a bar-b-que pit the size of a queen bed outside, a big stone fireplace inside, and a perfect porch for gazing at two of the nearby volcanoes—one to the left and one to the right. Every inch of wall and ceiling space is decorated with a mish-mash of memorabilia. Willie, the proud owner who is a long-time resident of Chile originally from Colombia and spent years living in the States, explained that one half has Chilean items (hats, signs in Spanish, license plates, bumper stickers, etc.) and the other half has U.S. items. 

Tracy, Al, and I headed over to Willie’s about an hour prior to the start time to help get things ready. We hung a holiday-specific hodge-podge of decorations over the festive farrago already competing for space on the walls and ceiling, introduced ourselves to the lovely local folks hired to help make the day run smoothly, and helped distribute plates, napkins, and serving utensils. I was tasked with being the greeter at the entrance to collect contact information and the small fee to offset the operating costs from each person as they arrived. And arrive they did.

I greeted Americans, Chileans, British, mixed nationality couples with their young children, older ex-pats, hipster-kayakers here to run the famous white water rapids, a group of 20-something photographers looking to film the kayakers, people who just happened to find the Facebook post, and long-time members of the community. Everyone I met was friendly and excited to be a part of the festivities. The best thing about being the greeter was I got a chance to learn everyone’s name and chat for a few minutes with each person as they arrived. It felt like my superpower to be able to walk up to anyone throughout the day, to already know their name and to have already broken the ice at the door.

The whole day was a great success. We had engaging conversations, met people who could become friends, ate delicious food, learned more about where we will be living in the coming months, and even had a chance to speak some Spanish. Our spirits lifted with the clouds and we were warmed as much by the sun as by the smiling faces, heart-felt embraces, and engaging conversations we enjoyed all afternoon.

In fact, for the first time since we got here, Al and I had different conversations with different people. Al, of course, managed to find the owners of two outfitter companies—one that leads rafting and kayaking trips on the local rivers, and another who leads hiking, snowshoeing, and skiing trips on the snow-capped volcano that looms over the quincho. While I was busily exchanging contact information with potential new friends, sharing our histories, and even discussing Argentina’s recent presidential election, he was taking notes from an enthusiastic ex-pat biker who knows just about every road trip and hike you can take within 200 miles of Pucón. And he was charmed by a young American mom-of-three, married to a Chilean, who forewarned that the roads turn even more rugged (and the price of gas plummets) once you cross the Argentine border an hour from here.

After everyone had eaten their fill, we took turns donning a goofy turkey-shaped hat and sharing what we were grateful for. People around the room expressed gratitude for friends new and old, the beauty of our surroundings, the comforting spread of home-cooked food, and the great privilege we all felt to be here. There was lots of nodding in agreement, applause for the young kids who worked up the courage to share their gratitude, and a great sense of joy and well-being. 

Every day Al and I acknowledge how fortunate we are to be living this lifestyle, to be healthy, to have a loving blended/extended family, to feel safe in our world, and to be free. On Thanksgiving I was able to add my gratitude for Tracy, this beautiful home, and the opportunity to meet such a diverse and interesting group of people here in Pucón. And we are always grateful for those of you who follow along on our adventure and stay in touch while we are far away. To you all, gracias y salud!