Christmas is not so hectic here as at home. The season may be cold, but it is well lit, in part because so many people visit the mulled wine stands in the Christmas markets. We have not sensed the usual grasping hurry and competitive shopping pressure at the Christmas markets or in the stores, and all are free of the blare of Christmas music. Sometimes, though, we have been treated to live choirs. White lights--but no colored ones--are in abundance, hanging high above streets and festooning entries, doorways, and windows of apartment buildings and stores, but not homes. There was no rush by retailers, either, to start the season: Christmas tree lots have just begun to open. A 5-foot-high tree--nothing special--at one lot I passed on my morning walk costs 75 euros, or about $100.
Although the atmosphere is not so loud with the season as it is at home, the volume is definitely higher once Advent arrives. There are more people in the streets, on the trams, and in the shops, and the whole scene is busier: shoppers, though they tend to amble, are more purposeful and crowds are pervasive, on the trams and even in the art galleries and usually half-empty squares, many of which are now lined with the green structures of open markets. Things green are arrayed in front of florist shops--wreaths, evergreen boughs, and sprigs decorated with candles, bells, and tree ornaments. More tree lots, we are told, will show up the week before Christmas.
Parents normally decorate the tree on Christmas Eve--while the children are out at a special church service or being distracted by grandparents--at which time presents are also set out. Gifts simply have the recipient's name on them; there are no to/from cards. Gifts are all opened that evening. Perhaps 30-40 lighted candles decorate the tree, and they are extinguished not long after the gifts have been opened. Sparklers--the kind we have on the 4th of July--may be tied to the bottom of the tree. Gift-giving, from what I have been given to understand, is not the material orgy it is in the States, with children here receiving a sane, modest selection of toys.
The sun rises after 7:30 a.m. now and sets by 4 p.m. It is not until 9 in the morning that its rays get above the trees and begin to hit the snow, frozen slush, and icy walks. Alongside many buildings red and white poles are propped, angled out to the sidewalk to remind pedestrians to keep alert to snow and ice that may fall off the steep roof line three and more stories above. Some walks are still icy from last week's snow, and the ice films and clumpy layers of frozen slush are littered with gravelly grit, which, after a thaw, must be swept up and then deposited in one of numerous sidewalk receptacles for recycling. Daytime high temperatures recently have hovered just around the freezing mark; the high humidity makes the cold penetrate, most especially when the wind is up. The cold, however, does not seem to deter people from going out. I often pass parents with strollers, infants encased in thick plastic windows; on the tram they are sometimes taken out to sit on a parent's knee, bright wide eyes peeking out at the world from fat, down-filled, pastel snowballs of clothing. No matter how cold it gets, people are out walking their dogs and, for the most part, are assiduous about cleaning up after them; all but the largest breeds have on doggy sweaters.
Santas are in little evidence, only occasionally serving as a prop in a shop window or on an evergreen wreath. There are none on the sidewalks next to black kettles ringing bells. The young man who stood outside our grocery store for months selling magazines and soliciting coins has disappeared. We have not seen him for two weeks, and we hope he has found a larger, busier store and is getting more donations. The week after Christmas, school children go door to door singing and collecting for charities.
The Austrians are a jolly people. In early December we witnessed the enactment of another Austrian tradition--Krampus and Nikolo--in a street play near our neighborhood. Krampus is a pre-Christian figure who appears with fire-breathers and sundry devils in clouds of red and blue smoke. According to our German teacher, in rural villages Krampus has been known to stage faux kidnapings of small children, tossing them into a wooden crib on his back, while roaring at other children. Of course, the kidnap victims are returned to their families at some point, or so she says. After Krampus departs, the figure of Nikolo, dressed as a Catholic bishop, comes into the home. He brings along a big ledger book and reads out a list of the bad things that the household children have done during the year, although with children who have generally been good, Nikolo mentions one good thing. He then hands the children candy, or possibly a potato. Additional positive reinforcement risks spoiling the kids. Besides being good practice for Judgment Day, this is all extremely amusing in a Teutonic sort of way, and I understand better now the appeal of Grimm's Fairy Tales, with stories such as that of Hansel and Gretel, abandoned by parents and nearly consumed by a cannibal because of wanting candy. The Krampus figure, like the tales collected by the Grimm brothers, is wonderfully instructive as well as hilarious, and I also understand better now why there is a psychiatrist's office on nearly every block of the city.
Vienna, we are told, will shut down from mid-day on Christmas Eve and remain so for the two days after. Christmas Day is for family gatherings, and dinners featuring roast goose. Vienna is about music, and concerts are abundant; many of them between now and New Year's have long been sold out. After New Year's Day, the ball season--unfortunately, not the kind with spring training--starts.
Although the atmosphere is not so loud with the season as it is at home, the volume is definitely higher once Advent arrives. There are more people in the streets, on the trams, and in the shops, and the whole scene is busier: shoppers, though they tend to amble, are more purposeful and crowds are pervasive, on the trams and even in the art galleries and usually half-empty squares, many of which are now lined with the green structures of open markets. Things green are arrayed in front of florist shops--wreaths, evergreen boughs, and sprigs decorated with candles, bells, and tree ornaments. More tree lots, we are told, will show up the week before Christmas.
Parents normally decorate the tree on Christmas Eve--while the children are out at a special church service or being distracted by grandparents--at which time presents are also set out. Gifts simply have the recipient's name on them; there are no to/from cards. Gifts are all opened that evening. Perhaps 30-40 lighted candles decorate the tree, and they are extinguished not long after the gifts have been opened. Sparklers--the kind we have on the 4th of July--may be tied to the bottom of the tree. Gift-giving, from what I have been given to understand, is not the material orgy it is in the States, with children here receiving a sane, modest selection of toys.
The sun rises after 7:30 a.m. now and sets by 4 p.m. It is not until 9 in the morning that its rays get above the trees and begin to hit the snow, frozen slush, and icy walks. Alongside many buildings red and white poles are propped, angled out to the sidewalk to remind pedestrians to keep alert to snow and ice that may fall off the steep roof line three and more stories above. Some walks are still icy from last week's snow, and the ice films and clumpy layers of frozen slush are littered with gravelly grit, which, after a thaw, must be swept up and then deposited in one of numerous sidewalk receptacles for recycling. Daytime high temperatures recently have hovered just around the freezing mark; the high humidity makes the cold penetrate, most especially when the wind is up. The cold, however, does not seem to deter people from going out. I often pass parents with strollers, infants encased in thick plastic windows; on the tram they are sometimes taken out to sit on a parent's knee, bright wide eyes peeking out at the world from fat, down-filled, pastel snowballs of clothing. No matter how cold it gets, people are out walking their dogs and, for the most part, are assiduous about cleaning up after them; all but the largest breeds have on doggy sweaters.
Santas are in little evidence, only occasionally serving as a prop in a shop window or on an evergreen wreath. There are none on the sidewalks next to black kettles ringing bells. The young man who stood outside our grocery store for months selling magazines and soliciting coins has disappeared. We have not seen him for two weeks, and we hope he has found a larger, busier store and is getting more donations. The week after Christmas, school children go door to door singing and collecting for charities.
The Austrians are a jolly people. In early December we witnessed the enactment of another Austrian tradition--Krampus and Nikolo--in a street play near our neighborhood. Krampus is a pre-Christian figure who appears with fire-breathers and sundry devils in clouds of red and blue smoke. According to our German teacher, in rural villages Krampus has been known to stage faux kidnapings of small children, tossing them into a wooden crib on his back, while roaring at other children. Of course, the kidnap victims are returned to their families at some point, or so she says. After Krampus departs, the figure of Nikolo, dressed as a Catholic bishop, comes into the home. He brings along a big ledger book and reads out a list of the bad things that the household children have done during the year, although with children who have generally been good, Nikolo mentions one good thing. He then hands the children candy, or possibly a potato. Additional positive reinforcement risks spoiling the kids. Besides being good practice for Judgment Day, this is all extremely amusing in a Teutonic sort of way, and I understand better now the appeal of Grimm's Fairy Tales, with stories such as that of Hansel and Gretel, abandoned by parents and nearly consumed by a cannibal because of wanting candy. The Krampus figure, like the tales collected by the Grimm brothers, is wonderfully instructive as well as hilarious, and I also understand better now why there is a psychiatrist's office on nearly every block of the city.
Vienna, we are told, will shut down from mid-day on Christmas Eve and remain so for the two days after. Christmas Day is for family gatherings, and dinners featuring roast goose. Vienna is about music, and concerts are abundant; many of them between now and New Year's have long been sold out. After New Year's Day, the ball season--unfortunately, not the kind with spring training--starts.
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