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Almost 400 years old, the Nuremberg Christmas Market (or Christkindlesmarkt) is Aufnahmen vom Nürnberger Christkinlesmarkt 2010 Credit: Nuremberg’s Christkindlesmarkt, overview (Steffen Oliver Riese)
Almost 400 years old, the Nuremberg Christmas Market (or Christkindlesmarkt) is Aufnahmen vom Nürnberger Christkinlesmarkt 2010 Credit: Nuremberg’s Christkindlesmarkt, overview (Steffen Oliver Riese)

Germany’s Christmas Markets: A place where holiday shopping definitely isn’t a chore Add to ...

Christmas markets are best seen at night: It’s easier to keep illusions alive. In the dark, makeshift wooden stalls groaning with wooden toys look like Santa’s workshop. Kiosks wreathed with curtains of hanging ornaments shimmer in the moonlight; wandering the rows of stalls, a visitor can feel like an elf filling orders. Look up and there’s always a towering fir tree covered in sparkling lights. Breathe deeply and you’ll pick up the peppery, cinnamony scent of mulled wine – its Christmasy smell warming your soul before you’ve swallowed a drop.

At the Christkindlesmarkt in Nuremberg (384 years old, and one of Europe’s best known Christmas Markets), the dark also helps you temporarily put aside an awful history. The town is so synonymous with the Second World War – Hitler’s infamous Nuremberg Laws, Nazi rallies, Allied bombing that destroyed much of the medieval old town and the Nuremberg Trials – that it is hard to think of much else when you arrive. And when a tour guide explains that, hundreds of years before Hitler, the city rulers destroyed a Jewish ghetto to make room for the Hauptmarkt (main town square), upon which the market stands, well, you’re also glad the dark hides the shock on your face.

Christmas Markets are a huge draw in Europe, from the beginning of December to Christmas Eve. There are hundreds – one website lists 69 major markets in Germany alone – and they attract millions of visitors each year. At most, you won’t find plastic toys or fake mistletoe, or food sold with disposable cutlery. And you won’t hear I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. In Germany, where many Christmas icons originated, the markets are still influenced by tradition, and avoid the fussiness of Victorian-style Christmas themes. (Pagans don’t do doilies.) But for all the Old World charm and wooden toys, the vibe is current – the markets are full of young professionals gossiping over mulled gluhwein and raclette, and young families lining up at the sausage grills. There’s even a German market app.

In North America, we get steamrollered by the season long before anyone wants it to begin. Consumerism runs rampant and mandatory shopping can ruin the holiday. Buying Lego online is easy – but soulless. Hanging fake garland is convenient, but an empty derivative of the ancient ritual (there’s no fragrant scent to ward away dark spirits).

For me, trimming the tree with coffee-shop ornaments (a Timbit snowman, a ceramic Starbucks venti) was the last straw. I’m not looking to find the true meaning of Christmas in a Christmas Market (shame on me if I did), but I do need to reignite the retail spirit of the season.


For centuries, Nuremberg has been known for its artisans, toy craftsmen and metalworkers. Even today, this is still the place to buy exquisite handmade toys and crafts. So I set out among the more than 180 stalls with high hopes. I’m trying to find a wooden toy that will take my eight-year-old’s mind off the piles of plastic blocks he’ll be given on Dec. 25. And a less-toxic option for my preteen, whose wish list includes magnetic nail polish.

Nuremberg is also famous for its gingerbread – but it’s better than gingerbread, it’s lebkuchen. The soft cake-like cookie is made from a 600-year-old recipe seasoned with a potent mix of cloves, ginger, mace, cinnamon and nutmeg. The spices were once believed to be aphrodisiacs – no wonder the lineup into local baker Lebkuchen-Schmidt is so long.

After nearly an hour of browsing, the crowds are thick and unmoving. Apparently, I’ve arrived on the opening day, and Nuremberg’s Christmas Angel is about to officially launch her Christkindlesmart.

Suddenly, the stall lights go out, and thousands of people turn and look up at the Gothic church. A spotlight finds a young woman with curly blond hair in flowing gold and white robes standing with a brass band and a choir on the balcony. A fanfare plays. When it stops, the angel slowly spreads our her arms and begins her annual speech. The crowd listens in near complete silence (kids who start chatting are quickly hushed). A choir on the balcony sings Stille Nacht and concludes with another popular Christmas song. All around me, young and old, packed shoulder to shoulder, sing along. The moment is remarkably moving, even if I don’t understand a word.

When the crowd thins the search continues and, eventually, I find the right gift for my son. It looks like a Rubik’s Cube made of wood, but with a flick of the wrist it stretches out into a long double helix. It’s the perfect puzzle for a kid who likes to put things together.

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