I’d wanted to spend a week in Berlin, partly because I love a good Weihnachtsmarkt; but also to finally see the place. However, for the second year in a row (last year it was installing new windows in the house) even I could see that my finances wouldn’t sustain the expenditure.
(Although, damn, I so miss walking around in the cold, wearing so many layers I look like the Michelin Man™, a mug of Glühwein in one hand & a bratwurst in the other, being utterly dazzled by the displays of, well, everything from really gorgeous ornaments to complete schlock. For some reason I don’t even go ballistic at the crowds; they just seem right in that setting.)
Well, so, no trip auf Deutschland, again, but it turns out that there’s a town on the other side of the Cascades called Leavenworth, which has been an honest-to-Gott ersatz Bavarian village since 1962. In addition to their annual Oktoberfest blowout they advertise a Christkindlmarkt & I thought, well, why not, & schlepped out today.
I was so intent that I even braved the Stevens Pass (elev. 4057 ft.). I say “brave” because, being a fourth-generation Californian, I don’t do snow. My first experience driving it it resulted in rolling my car. (Not spinning, a 360° roll.) It was, of course, raining, & I kept a close watch on the outside temperature. It got down to 35°F, & I didn’t like all that snow piled up at the side of Route 2, but I persevered.
Took me a skosh over two hours to get there. I parked the car & prepared to get into the holiday spirit.
Imagine my disappointment, then, to discover that the “Christkindlmarkt” consisted of about 15 booths in the town Festhalle (like a community center with Alpine murals painted outside). Quite the folkloric focus, too: the traditional kettlecorn, Silpada jewelry—made you feel absolutely gemütlich.
Not.
Well, after whizzing through that offering (considerably less interesting than the craft fair at the Methodist Church I went to a couple of weeks ago), I thought I might as well go through the surrounding faux Bavarian central tourist district.
Meinen Damen und Herren, what a bummer. The town’s primary industry appears to be kitschy shoppes & kitchier hotels. (There was one called the Bavarian Ritz. & a Bavarian-themed Howard Johnson.)
Everything in fake Alpine architecture & mock Gothic lettering. Even the Chinese & Mexican restaurants conform. It’s all relentlessly suddeutsche.
The shops seem to sell nothing but schlock—including the Australian one. (Why Australia & not Austria? Austria has Alps. & great coffee. You’d have thought that would have counted for more than “Gator Crossing” signs. &, BTW, there are no gators in Oz, there are crocs.)
I went into one shop, Kris Kringle, because I thought I might find something to add to my 12,673 Christmas ornaments (many bought at Christkindlmärkte in Nuremberg, Munich & Cologne). Alas, not a thing spoke to me.
So I left the town after a total of 50 minutes there. There were restaurants that advertised brats, but nowhere did I see Glühwein listed, so it wouldn’t have been right.
Well, next weekend the wineries of Woodinville have a Saint Nicholas Day deal going on, so perhaps I’ll pick up some Christmas spirit there.
Or at least a nice bottle of Pinot Gris.
I went into one shop, Kris Kringle, because I thought I might find something to add to my 12,673 Christmas ornaments (many bought at Christkindlmärkte in Nuremberg, Munich & Cologne). Alas, not a thing spoke to me.
So I left the town after a total of 50 minutes there. There were restaurants that advertised brats, but nowhere did I see Glühwein listed, so it wouldn’t have been right.
Well, next weekend the wineries of Woodinville have a Saint Nicholas Day deal going on, so perhaps I’ll pick up some Christmas spirit there.
Or at least a nice bottle of Pinot Gris.
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