It has always been my dream to visit a German Christmas market. Somehow, the inner child in me wants to taste the ginger beard, try the fruit punch, see and touch the Christmas glitter. And now, living and working just next door to Austria, I have both the occasion and opportunity to indulge in as many Christmas markets as I like. So on a very cold Saturday morning, in temperature just above freezing, we took the OBB train from Bratislava hl. st. to Sudbahnhof, Wien.
The Christmas Market at the Schönbrunn Palace was on an intimate scale, with small neat huts displaying pretty decorations for Christmas trees, seasonal foodstuff, and plenty of beeswax products. Although the dull and overcast sky had taken the shine away, the quiet charm of the Christmas market was unmistakable.
The Rathaus Christmas Market was different. It was brash, commercial, and brimful of tourist tack. Somewhere in some warehouses, there must be wholesale merchants selling volumes of such tack to stall holders, churning out same items year over year. There was even a stall selling football T shirts, the most unlikely of seasonal merchandise. The inner child in me took a hiding, and now awaits the next shiny object to rekindle the imagery magic of Christmas.
The Christmas Market at the Schönbrunn Palace was on an intimate scale, with small neat huts displaying pretty decorations for Christmas trees, seasonal foodstuff, and plenty of beeswax products. Although the dull and overcast sky had taken the shine away, the quiet charm of the Christmas market was unmistakable.
The Rathaus Christmas Market was different. It was brash, commercial, and brimful of tourist tack. Somewhere in some warehouses, there must be wholesale merchants selling volumes of such tack to stall holders, churning out same items year over year. There was even a stall selling football T shirts, the most unlikely of seasonal merchandise. The inner child in me took a hiding, and now awaits the next shiny object to rekindle the imagery magic of Christmas.
