Day 7 – Markets aint markets

If we’re talking spirit, essence, ambience, I would say Metz markets are more “Traveling show”; dagwood dogs, trinkets, faded facades behind which stand short fat men with money belts. Trier (or perhaps Germany?) is another class altogether. A sizeable forest has been denuded to supply the spruce they’ve thrown around, there are actual artisans plying their trade; bakers, glass cutters, wood and leather workers, and the stalls sell things you’d actually feel ok giving to someone for Christmas (as opposed to fridge magnets or ‘I love Metz’, socks – apologies in advance if we’ve bought you some of those). There’s a sense they’ve committed, gone all out, transforming the town square into a magical, warm-white, fairy-lit Christmas village. Metz felt more like rows of pop up stalls selling stuff.

Well there you have it. I don’t mean to knock Metz’ markets, we had a great time – but Trier is better – simple as that. And after two Kirsch spiked mulled wines, a fromage filled bratwurst and hearing Santa sing “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow” in German, we’re sticking to our guns – doesn’t get better than that – although we’re always open to it.

We left our bnb in Metz around half 8, strolled to the bus terminal and arrived in Luxembourg mid morning. As our train didn’t leave till one, we hung out in this dodgy cafe for a time and caught up on correspondence. Apart from the two, tight skivvy wearing, young woman serving, there were only men; four grouped at the bar around their red wine, one with a dog and an ipad, and another down-and-out looking fellow with a grubby newspaper and an espresso. Red and green l.e.d lights illuminated faded old black and whites of the Eiffel tower and a typical New York street scene in a totally failed attempt to inject some Christmassyness into the place. The green in particular created a seedy mirk that skulked into the dark, back reaches of the bar, casting dubious shadows of other lurking men.

Still, the rose was good, and the warmth kept us there till our train was due. Somewhere on the trip the train announcements and boards changed from French to German and shortly after we arrived in Trier.

We and our bags kroggled loudly over the cobbles through the beautiful Trier town square until the edge of the little timber hut village came into view and a hip gyrating Santa could just be seen down a spruce lined alleyway; “Lass es schneien, lass es schneien, lass es schneien”.