For the previous two weeks preparations have been underway, first the trailers carrying the small wooden booths arrived, and then the lights and decorations were strung. HH was becoming increasingly excited at the prospect of riding on the small carousel that is set up in the far corner of the plaza under a huge Santa Claus that can be seen from blocks away. His kindergarten is on one of the main roads leading to the Rudolfplatz and since this Monday, instead of taking our normal route home in the afternoon, he pulls at my hand and leads me in the direction of the carousel.
As we crossed the ring on the first official day of it’s opening, he looked over into the market and sang out in a loud voice that caught the attention of most of our fellows on the street corner, “Bambi!” he shouted, “Papa there’s Bambi and the mice from Cinderella!” He was shaking he was so excited – I could feel it in his hand which I was holding a bit more firmly than normal for fear that he would dart out into traffic in his enthusiasm to get on with the fun. And so it was, on the large banner that was spread across the entrance to the Weihnachtsmarkt, a colorful assortment of cartoon characters, some of his favorite Disney friends and a few others I wasn’t familiar with.
In the market there were Santa’s and reindeer and colored lights and the smell of cotton candy and spiced apples and Glühwein from the holiday cafes that sprinkle the area. I didn’t taste the Glühwein that first night but I know on subsequent visits – and I expect there will be many in the coming weeks – I’m quite sure I’ll warm myself with a few as HH spins and turns on the carousel. I like that about the Weihnachtsmarkt, the fact that there is something for just about everyone in the family to enjoy, but it is mostly for the children that people come, the Glühwein notwithstanding, and children were there in abundance on that Monday night.
As we approached the carousel we noticed the familiar face of the man who sits in the small white room just to one side of the carousel and sells the green plastic tokens the children ante up for each ride. He smiled broadly as we set HH in the Police wagon – his favorite ride by far. The carousel was packed with children and as it turned to the canned Christmas carols that blare out from the PA system overhead, the parents clustered very near the cars and horses and motorcycles and waved at their children and called their names, as if they were about to leave home for good, off to college or to get married. And they were on a journey of a kind, these two and three and four year olds. There they were on those shiny little vehicles, turning the steering wheels and pounding the horns, without Mama or Papa holding their hands or sitting them on their laps.
They were the masters of their own fate for the short time it took to make the dozen circles the carousel describes until it slows down again and stops and the children run or waddle or are otherwise persuaded to return to their parents. It is a form of independence this carousel and with every turn, and with each successive year, these children get closer and closer to gong off on their own for real, and we know that all too well, those of us who stand at the sidelines and watch our babies, now grown large enough to hold themselves erect on the carousel ponies.
As I watched HH I wondered how many more Weihnachtsmarkts there might be before he tired of it all, before he simply shrugged when he saw the decorations going up and decided it would be much more fun to go over to a friend’s house or almost anything but accompany Mama and Papa through the Rudolfplatz at Christmastime. Maybe we have another year, maybe two, maybe more, but how quickly the time passes. Better to enjoy it while it lasts – maybe it’s time for that Glühwein after all.
R.W. Dooley is a freelance journalist based in Cologne. You can read more of his work on www.expatica.com
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