Page 26 of All About Christmas

There’s something magical about Christmas markets.

From the moment you walk under the arches strewn with lights, it almost feels like stepping onto the fairytale-esque Dreamflight ride at Efteling amusement park.

Along the street are several stalls filled with delicacies: from real German bratwurst, rosti , and sp?tzle to candy apples.

The smell of cinnamon, star anise, and orange drifts toward me from the huge buckets of mulled wine being served. People walk around with steaming cups that warm the fingers of those unlucky enough to have forgotten their gloves at home.

Where wet sleet fell from the sky in the Netherlands, here in Germany thick flakes are coming down. The kind of sticky snow you used to wipe off the hoods of parked cars with two hands so you could mould it into a big ball and throw it in your brother’s face.

I let my gaze glide over the wooden stalls decorated with pine and holly branches and other colourful frills.

Handmade Christmas decorations, wood carvings, baubles, and traditional toys are displayed on long rows of tables.

Artists and artisans stand proudly behind the cash register and hold animated conversations with potential customers.

The huge Gothic cathedral towers rise above everything else. The dark roof tiles are barely visible under the sparkling white layer of magic that shines in the light of the Christmas Market.

We dumped our bags in our rooms. The place used contactless check-in: we were given the code to a safe deposit box, and in it was a key that acted as a master key for both the main entrance and our rooms.

My woolen, dark blue coat is buttoned tightly, and I’ve pulled my white hat well over my ears.

My Christmas mitten-clad fingers hold firmly to the tray that contains a thick Belgian waffle decorated with hot cherries and whipped cream.

With my other hand, I try to cut off another piece of the pastry as smoothly as possible with my fork and then raise it to my mouth.

However, just before the delicious goodness passes my lips, someone bumps into me, and it tumbles to the floor after colliding with my coat.

I pout and look at the splattered clumps of cherries in the snow, looking as though someone has been stabbed.

“Hm. Good to see you don’t exclusively dislike my jackets.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe someone will actually end up stabbed later.

“Got your candy apple?”

“Why, of course.” He raises his sugared apple and takes a bite, the glaze shattering in a kaleidoscope of pieces with some crumbling to the floor. “And you have whipped cream on your cheek.”

“Oh.” My hand shoots to my face to wipe away the white goo, but Olivier beats me to it.

He strokes my cheek with his thumb before putting it in his mouth.

My gaze darts to his lips, where a tiny bit of divine sugary glory still clings.

His tongue flicks out, and he rakes in the last remnant.

“Delicious,” he says with a crooked smile.

“Hm,” is my brief response. I clear my throat. “Do you know where the Love Lounge is?”

“Yes, it’s stationed next to the Ferris wheel.” Olivier nods toward the big luminous wheel that rises above all the stalls—something I could have thought of myself.

The plan is for the letter writers’ counterparts to all be placed in separate passenger cars on the Ferris wheel, unbeknownst to the writers.

In these cars are several cameras which will record everything.

When the person who contacted us gets into their designated cart, he or she will be surprised by the presence of their one true love, or by the person to whom they still want to declare their love.

Not everyone is aware of the fact that something big is about to happen to them; some think they are extras in a movie.

If all goes as planned, José has done an excellent investigation job and has confirmed that everyone is single.

Ideally, you want to spare anyone from a rejection that could have been avoided.

Once people have taken a spin on the huge Ferris wheel and treated their eyes to the magical view of the winter wonderland stretching out below them, they may choose to go to the Love Lounge.

The Love Lounge is a tent decorated like a small restaurant.

There, the couples get to enjoy a three-course meal and unlimited champagne, mulled wine, and pints of German beer.

It’s similar to the setting of First Dates, one of my favourite reality television shows.

That’s why I love that I get to watch this time. I don’t have to arrange things behind the scenes. I mainly have to take in how everything works, how José manages a segment that involves more participants than one would see at a protest against harming fluffy unicorn foals.

We walk past the various stalls, and, for a moment, I’m tempted to buy Dad a huge ornament adorned with a Christmas sock that looks like a plaster cast. Olivier tosses his leftover candy apple stick into a trash can, and when I have shoved the last piece of my sugar rectangle inside my body, I do the same with my cardboard plate.

As we get closer to the Ferris wheel, the Love Lounge also comes into view.

There are several people standing outside the red tent.

I recognize Gabriel by his huge fur hat balanced on his blond curls.

Using various hand gestures, he describes something in detail to José, who nods seriously and taps her chin with her index finger.

Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” spills out from the speakers attached to the outside of the tent.

Behind a small table topped with a huge stock pot, someone is handing out mulled wine and chocolate milk with whipped cream to anyone who wants to delight their taste buds with winter in a cup.

Or simply with something that makes your nerves go away.

A young man in his early twenties hesitates on his heels as he stares, wide-eyed, at the Ferris wheel.

Some red hair peeks out from under his hat, and he looks even whiter than the snow around him.

He takes a sip of his mulled wine. And another.

And another, until he is addressed by someone from the crew.

“Hi,” I greet José and Gabriel as we join them. “What a turnout!”

“Yes, everyone’s here,” José says, smiling, just as Gabriel says, “Holly, do you have hospitality experience?”

“Um...” I frown and look at Olivier, who doesn’t quite seem to understand the question either. “Yes. During college, I worked in a pizzeria for a while, but...”

Gabriel claps his hands enthusiastically. “See!” he exclaims. “Resolved.”

“What’s resolved?” I ask, confused.

José pushes her glasses a little higher on her nose. “Look, Holly, here’s the thing. Two of the waitresses who were supposed to serve dinner tonight are sick. Apparently, the flu’s going around again and so... we have a problem.”

“Oh.” This is not what I had in mind when I came here. I’m here to learn, for my promotion. Not to practice the skills I gained during my part-time job as a student.

“We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really necessary, Holly,” José says pleadingly.

I look at Olivier. “What about him?”

“Good point, Holly,” José nods and she turns to Olivier. “Do you have hospitality experience?”

“No,” he replies even faster than light.

I look at him mockingly and fold my arms. “Why do I suspect that that’s not true at all?”

Olivier looks around as innocently as he can, and I slap him on the shoulder. “You know what,” I say. “I’ll teach you. It’s not that hard.”

Olivier’s eyes grow large in horror. “No, no... I, um...”

I tilt my head slightly. “Yes?” I ask with a sweet smile.

When he fails to come up with a meaningful answer, Gabriel clasps his hands in relief. “Well, great. That’s solved, then.” He nods in the direction of the tent. “Now you just need to put on your costumes and then...”

The snow crunches under my boots as I turn to face Gabriel. I pull my hat down even further and look at Olivier, who also seems far from reassured by that message. His eyes widen even more.

I raise an eyebrow. “Um... Costumes?” I swallow. “What do you mean... costumes?”