We have lost our way in the festive season

Christmas in Antigua is about church and family, not gifts

Dozing under a palm tree in Antigua, nursing a cold beer, I thanked God I was far, far from the consumer carnival back home that turns the weeks preceding Christmas into pure misery.

Freed from the relentless ding-a-ling of Christmas elevator music and the constant broadcast drum beat of retail hype, which now commence just hours after Labour Day, it hit home that we Canadians have truly lost our way when it comes to the festive season.

When did it stop being fun and become an ordeal? Go to Devonshire Mall, go to any mall in this country for that matter, and watch the grim-faced hordes, credit cards in hand, shuffling along looking for that one gift that might put a smile on a jaded face. These folks, all too clearly, are not enjoying the hunt.

In Antigua, and this is truly a blessing, you can barely tell it’s the Yuletide season. Late in our stay, our resort discreetly erected a couple of fake Christmas trees and a few twinkling lights.

Maybe it has something to do with the island’s isolation. Maybe it has more to do with lack of spending power, given that Antigua’s gross domestic product per capita is only onethird that of Canada.

Christmas in Antigua, as several residents explained, is old-fashioned. It’s not about who got what from the big box store. It’s about going to church, which is a big deal on an island where religion still matters, as does spending time with family and friends and sharing festive meals.

In other words, it’s about the real Christmas, not the largely secular festival of Santa, elves, and excessive consumption that has sidelined religion in Canada and the United States.

Speaking of excessive consumption, we happened to be on the island during an annual event known as the Antigua Charter Yacht Show.

The nautical wealth on display in harbours once ruled by the Royal Navy, billions of dollars worth of sleek, ostentatious floating palaces from around the globe, some nearly as long as a football field, borders on the pornographic.

Who the heck owns them? Russian oligarchs. Saudi princes. European and U.S. billionaires. And not your entry-level billionaires. The ones with serious money.

Standing on the dock, mouth open, watching all the pretty, manicured and ever so casually elegant people coming and going, it occurred to me that even a Lotto Max win wouldn’t qualify a person to own much more than the nameplate on one of these monstrosities.

And the charter rates? Mind-boggling. One new vessel, Here Comes the Sun, is the size of a Second World War destroyer and features such amenities as a self-playing grand piano and “enormous beach club with grand bar.” After all, why go to a beach when you can bring your own with you.

The rental rate for this 10-cabin vessel is approximately US$1.425 million per week. In other words, line up nine friends and you each have to kick in only $142,000 and change — the price of a decent Windsor house — for a week of pretending you’re someone special. And then you move into the mission.

Meanwhile, in a parking lot a stone’s throw from all that wealth, a few disabled Antiguans in threadbare clothes were limping about, seeking handouts. The contrast was stark and depressing.

The temptation, of course, is to question why some are stinking rich and others have nothing.

For Antigua, where tourism long ago displaced agriculture as the primary source of jobs and income, (who wants to cut sugar cane when you can become a chef or resort manager?) there’s nothing to question. Those vessels, which require food, fuel, alcohol and other supplies as well as maintenance services, spill gobs of money into the local economy.

Not enough obviously. The roads are a disaster, other infrastructure is lacking and crime is up. And yet Antiguans, some of the most gracious people you’ll ever meet, keep on smiling. There’s something to be said for owning paradise and its 365 public beaches.

By the way, if you think Christmas shopping is a pain now, imagine trying to find the right present for someone who owns a $200 million yacht.

Enjoy the season.