I had absolutely zero inkling that the Mulhouse Christmas Market was something I was missing out on until a friend told me that they had a Ferris wheel.
I have something of a weird reverence for the invention that was Chicago’s answer to the Eiffel Tower back during the 1893 World’s Fair. This has less to do with the fact that I’m from Illinois than the fact that I love the competitive spirit that surrounded the Ferris Wheel’s creation. And the inherent romance and cyclical symbolism in being lifted into the sky for a predetermined number of orbits before being deposited back onto the earth.
But I digress
There’s a massive, indefinite train strike planned to begin tomorrow in France, so when I was feeling uninspired to sit at my desk and work, I found myself looking at train tickets. Mulhouse is only an hour away from Strasbourg by train and a round trip costs less than €20. With the sun literally shining down on my decision, I booked the tickets and threw my original plan for the day onto the couch along with my laptop. I did bring my Kindle, Candide (in French, SOS), and fancy camera though. Naturally though, when I arrived, I turned on my camera to see one of three battery bars glaring back at me.
Anxious that my camera would die before I even got to the Christmas market, I power-walked from the train station so fast that I missed my turn on Google maps and ended up on a major road heading back out to the highway. The silver lining of this was that I passed the café I would return to later in the afternoon to take shelter from the cold, but at the time I was super annoyed.
Fortunately, my frozen fingers were worth it to visit the Mulhouse Christmas Market
Rounding the corner onto Place de la Réunion felt like I was entering a secret Christmas haven. Strasbourg definitely beats out the Mulhouse Christmas Market in terms of market quantity (11:1), but, from festive stall to festive stall, Mulhouse definitely rises to the challenge posed by its more touristy neighbor. And that Ferris wheel! I love that it’s integrated within the market itself as opposed to set up off to the side the way fair rides normally are. There’s probably a blatant disregard for the dangers of setting up a giant rotating wheel happening, but then again, the French always did enjoy a little rebellion.
Mulhouse also has a better tourist office
Mulhouse has an extremely industrial heritage, which is reflected in the number of automobile and train museums you can visit in the city if you’re inclined. The mission today was centered on experiencing the Christmas market, but they’re definitely something I’m looking to add to my return trip itinerary when I return.
Today, the city’s economy is largely defined by its work in the textile, printing, and engineering industries. This aspect is cleverly threaded into the identity of the Mulhouse Christmas Market. Every year, a specific pattern of fabric is chosen to feature throughout the duration of the month-long event. This fabric adorns many market stalls and Christmas decorations, but none more so than the tourist office.
The tourist office is also great because it offers a spacious, warm reprieve from the bitter cold that inevitably descends on Eastern France most years. Today happened to be such a day, even with the clear skies, so I spent a lot of time examining the souvenirs and gifts on offer inside.
When the feeling returned to my nose, I ventured back outside and set off around the Temple Saint Etienne, a massive church that towers above the Ferris wheel and market. I stopped by a busy stall (busy food place = good food place in France) to grab a baguette with melted Munster cheese and bacon bites on it.
From there, the afternoon wound down almost as quickly as the sun. I visited Librairie Bisey, a multi-floor bookstore, but left when I was afraid my self-control would snap and I’d buy more too-advanced books in French. Finally, I meandered back to BB Café, the place I’d passed when I’d gotten lost earlier. There, I passed a pleasant interim reading Amy Klobuchar’s biography on my Kindle while Candide burned a practice-your-French-you-lazy-American guilt hole into my thigh.
All in an afternoon’s work.
