This is not the Boxing Day that I'm used to.By the afternoon of Chistmas Eve the bustling market stalls throughout Germany start closing shop. Shoppers evacuate the city centre and head home only to surface breifly from their abodes to attend church service.
I went to a Lutheran service at St. Lawrence's, a Gothic church. The stone-cold stone I stood on left my feet frozen. I never did warm up despite the cozy crowd I nestled myself in between to listen to the organ music. Standing room only that night.
The crowds quickly dissipate after mass. I headed back to the hostel for a quiet night, followed by an equally quiet Christmas (on which I ate 5 - yes 5! - leibkuchen), followed by an equally quiet "boxing day."
On this day (a monumental day for gross sales where I come from) I took a walk through town and was astounded by the echo of my footsteps on the cobblestone. Like a bat, I could have closed my eyes and relied on echolocation to navigate the winding streets. But then I trip on the cobblestone with my eyes open...
(If I were a bat on Boxing Day in Canada I would hide from daylight and creep reluctantly into the shadows only when the deluge of shoppers have retreated to their dinner tables for leftover turkey.)
It was nice to go for a peaceful stroll. I was prompted by slight boredom and an equal curiosity about who/what might also brave the awkward silence of the city street. I crossed paths with a handful of presumably like minded tourists and a few German families marking the moment with photos in front of fountains and church steps.
I walked briskly to stay warm, but slowly enough to browse the shop windows as I passed. It was a subtle urge to fulfill the 'boxing day' tradition that means consuming: consuming reduced items amidst crowds of shoppers along with mountains of mashed potatoes and re-heated stuffing. It took little to satisfy this urge. I would rather deny it.
I hate to shop.
Right now I feel very far from home, but very far from homesick.
