Industrial Germany at Christmastime
It's Germany, that much is for sure. I'm downtown, what city I can't quite be sure, but I think it's Mannheim. The streets are unfamiliar, and I'm not seeing anything that gives me a clue. But I know the basic direction in which I need to travel. I turn to my sister and my (long dead) grandmother and ask if they can follow in theihr own cars. Sure, they nod, ready and eager for the challenge. I tell them to stay tight, be aggressive, and we're off.
It's not three blocks before my dumbass sister mucks it all up. She hesitates, falls back, and is instantly out of sight in my rear-view. I pull over and stop, and the two cars are just gone. I walk around the block, looking for them, staying close to the curb, hoping they'll see me. Nothing.
I stumble into what is clearly the main square, flat and large, and amazingly open. The snow is falling, and is packed tightly onto the street. It crunches underfoot, that wonderful unique sound of snow. The bite in the air is sweet, mixed with the incredible wintertime smells of the city, even downtown that unmistakable German scent of woodsmoke. Floodlights pour down into the square, and I see from tracks in it that the annual holiday parade has just passed. Sorry that I missed it. I look up to the other side of the square to see the doors of the cathedral open wide, all of them, that golden glow pouring out, a few stragglers coming out, mass over now for a good 20 minutes or more.
In the distance is the even brighter glare of what I know to be the Christkindlmarkt. Everything to be had there, including a cold beer and some warm sausage on a fresh roll, and lots of mustard. Time for some chow.
I look up in the square to see the entire thing is fully enclosed, a massive and incredibly complex glass ceiling over everything, a good ten stories up. The cathedral spire actually penetrates it, soaring up into the darkness on the other side of the glass. I wonder how all of the snow got in, and I can see those clever Germans have actually put snowmaking apparatus on the buildings to generate snow under the roof. I wonder, then, what is the purpose of having it in the first place?
It's not three blocks before my dumbass sister mucks it all up. She hesitates, falls back, and is instantly out of sight in my rear-view. I pull over and stop, and the two cars are just gone. I walk around the block, looking for them, staying close to the curb, hoping they'll see me. Nothing.
I stumble into what is clearly the main square, flat and large, and amazingly open. The snow is falling, and is packed tightly onto the street. It crunches underfoot, that wonderful unique sound of snow. The bite in the air is sweet, mixed with the incredible wintertime smells of the city, even downtown that unmistakable German scent of woodsmoke. Floodlights pour down into the square, and I see from tracks in it that the annual holiday parade has just passed. Sorry that I missed it. I look up to the other side of the square to see the doors of the cathedral open wide, all of them, that golden glow pouring out, a few stragglers coming out, mass over now for a good 20 minutes or more.
In the distance is the even brighter glare of what I know to be the Christkindlmarkt. Everything to be had there, including a cold beer and some warm sausage on a fresh roll, and lots of mustard. Time for some chow.
I look up in the square to see the entire thing is fully enclosed, a massive and incredibly complex glass ceiling over everything, a good ten stories up. The cathedral spire actually penetrates it, soaring up into the darkness on the other side of the glass. I wonder how all of the snow got in, and I can see those clever Germans have actually put snowmaking apparatus on the buildings to generate snow under the roof. I wonder, then, what is the purpose of having it in the first place?
posted by Scrumpox at 9:44 PM
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