willkommen to bolzano

We don't speak German but the people of Bolzano think we do. They ask us questions we can't answer. They say things we don't understand. And all the while they serve strange and wonderful foods that don't belong in Italy at all.

But accepted principles of geography say Bolzano sits squarely in Italy. So when people speak to us in German, and we go ahead and respond in Italian, we feel only half bad about our brutta figura. We don't intend an affront to the language of our hosts, it's just that the only phrase we know in German is that unfortunate combination of words in which a US president identified himself as a doughnut.



Bolzano is in the very north of Italy, surrounded by mountains and saturated with the flavors and traditions of neighboring Austria. The buildings, people, and foods of Bolzano are distant relatives of the cities that we've visited in southern Italy. In fact, describing the north and south of Italy as "distant relatives" could be stretching it. Bolzano is the nephew of Bari in the way your Dad's good friend from work can be your Uncle. Those kinds of relatives.

This unique mix of Italian traditions with those of its neighbors to the north render Bolzano a very festive place for a Christmas market. Who doesn't find drinking mulled wine and eating plates of steaming polenta with gorgonzola - surrounded by a dramatic crown of mountains - an incredibly festive experience? You might as well start singing "On the First Day of Christmas..." as soon as you step off the train.



When every bakery is filled with heaping mounds of sugar-glazed gingerbread and the streets are teeming with giant pretzels you feel like you've been transported to another place. A place where hearty people eat sauerkraut and giant dumplings and don't put on stilettos to swing by the grocery store.

But the secret of Christmas time in Bolzano is no secret: our train from Milan was packed solid and people had resorted to sitting in the corridors. After three+ hours on the train we all streamed off and invaded the city with our holiday joy, not stopping until we'd personally amassed several new Christmas ornaments, at least one mug of hot chocolate, and a paper bag full of cookies that - meno male - taste the way cookies are supposed to taste.



Saturday was crisp & cold, and Bolzano - with its twinkling Christmas lights and decorations - was the perfect fairytale town. It was almost as if Santa was going to come zooming over the mountains on his sleigh and make a grand entrance smack in the middle of the Christmas market. At least it seemed that way to me. Then again, a little mulled wine in the afternoon makes anything seem possible...