Overview of German/Austrian Christmas Markets (or, How a Poor Kid Got to the Christkindlmarkt)
When I was 10, after my grandfather died, my grandmother took in a German nun named Margaret who worked for the Catholic parish church he had attended (even though Grandma was a Methodist).
The ancient nun was meaner than a dyspeptic wolverine and smelled like Limburger cheese kept in an outhouse, since her generation apparently considered bathing verboten.
Oh, and she was a Nazi. Veeeery unhappy about the whole WWII thing. Especially the ending. Not sure, but she might have lit a candle every April 20th.
(Note: this says zero about Germans in general — in my 30 years of travel to Germany, I’ve never met anyone over there I’d call a Nazi — many wistfully delusional Communists, but no unrepentant NSDAP members. A tad too far left and overly regulated for my tastes, but I still love the country.)
However, Margaret had pride (if little else), and tried to pay her way. So, one year, she bought Grandma a massive tin box filled with Lebkuchen (a particular style of German gingerbread) and other Weihnacht treats. I knew neither what a Lebkuchen nor a Weihnacht was, nor (as I know now) that the box came from Lebkuchen Schmidt in Nuremberg. I just knew I loved it.
