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CHRISTMAS

Why there is one thing about German Christmas that sends a chill down my spine

Growing up in Scotland, I had limited connection to my German heritage. The only time of year that this changed was Christmas, which was magical - for the most part.

Why there is one thing about German Christmas that sends a chill down my spine
Photo: DPA

I grew up in a tiny village in the northwest of Scotland. For much of my time in primary school, I was the only child in my year. To say we were isolated from the outside world is to put it rather mildly.

My siblings and I never learned German. Instead we were brought up singing Gaelic songs. Rather than listening to Bach and Beethoven, we played the bagpipes. And we never cared about German football, all that mattered to us was Scottish rugby.

But this all changed in December when the wonderful characters of German Christmas tradition took a detour from their trips around the Bundesrepublik to travel across the North Sea.

It all started on the evening of December 5th, when we would polish our boots and put them out for St Nikolaus. The next morning we would wake up to find them filled with tangerines and nuts. The other children in our primary school couldn't understand why we got this extra visit from a jolly old man in the depths of the night, so some of them started putting boots out too. (As far as I remember, their gift the first year was a boot full of rain water before their parents caught on the year after.)

My German grandparents also helped out from afar. A huge box would arrive covered in stamps in the days leading up to Christmas. We unpacked it to find the finest marzipan from Lübeck, delightful Stollen from Dresden and Lebkuchen from Bavaria.

Eating the Stollen was taken particularly seriously – we had a special knife, kept in its own case, which would only be brought out at Christmas time to cut the sweet loaf.

Whereas the other children's houses all lit up with fairy lights and glowing Christmas trees much earlier in December, ours still lay bare on the day of the 24th. Not a single decoration was to be put in place until the Christkind arrived. By that time we had all been packed off to our bedrooms, where we eagerly awaited the sound of a bell, the sign this mysterious German man-child had finished his work and vanished.

When we came down the stairs there was a tree standing in the corner of the living room, covered in red, crepe-paper roses – another German tradition that had been passed down through our family for generations.

The Christkind had left each of us a pile of presents. It was the peak of the Christmas celebrations. But it was also the point that an odd feeling started to form in my stomach, a queasy sensation that only grew with the opening of every new gift. By the time there was nothing left on the floor but neatly folded paper (ready to use the next year) my face had turned a pale green.

I knew that the next thing that awaited me was that unavoidable, most dreadful of German Christmas traditions – herring salad.

In the middle of the kitchen table a large bowl awaited us filled with a mixture of hard-boiled eggs, beetroot, potatoes and pickled herring. There was no side dish, no bread that might fill me up. I had no choice but to force down as much of this sadomasochistic Baltic “delicacy” as would calm the angry, baying voices in my belly.

It is only after I moved to Germany as an adult that I came to realize that pickled herring is just one of several traditional German Christmas meals my parents could have picked from. We could have just as easily ended up scoffing down a carp or stuffing ourselves with raclette.

The dessert on Christmas Eve was the only bit of Britishness we had – a steaming Christmas pudding followed the herring salad. Nothing made me feel as happy to be brought up in Britain rather than Germany. Maybe that was my parents' psychological trick.

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READER QUESTIONS

How much should tourists really tip in Germany?

Some suggest that tourists from the US have pushed their tipping culture on metropolitan cities in Germany. Others say foreign nationals in Germany don’t tip enough. Here's what you need to know.

How much should tourists really tip in Germany?

As a visitor in Germany, or a newcomer to the country, knowing a couple key things helps to ensure a smooth transaction.

Initiating the payment process

The first is knowing how to ask for the bill: Wir möchten zahlen bitte (We’d like to pay please), is a tested and true simple option.

Then you just have to be able to navigate a couple likely follow-up questions: Mit karte oder bar? (With card or cash?) And, Zusammen oder getrennt? (All together or separate?)

In casual establishments, oftentimes when you wish to pay by card, the server will ask you to follow them to the cash register to complete the transaction.

Since paying at the register is not uncommon, it’s also common enough to simply get up and walk to the register when you’re ready to pay – especially if you’re short on time.

How to tip like a German

The second thing that’s good to know is how to tip in Germany.

American tourists, coming from the land of mandatory tip-culture, are prone to falling into one of two classic errors. The first is reflexively tipping 20 percent or more, even at places where tips tend to be much more modest. The second would be to think “Nobody tips in Europe,” much to the dismay of every server they come across in Germany.

The general consensus is that tipping is good practice in Germany, especially at any establishment where you are being waited on.

So not necessarily at a Döner kebab shop or an imbiss (snack shop) where you are picking your food up at a counter and very often taking it to go. But certainly at any restaurant where someone takes your order and brings food or drinks to you.

The Local previously inquired about customary tip rates in Germany with an etiquette expert, and also with a sociologist who conducted research on tipping culture – both of whom confirmed that Germans tend to think a five to 10 percent tip is standard.

Of course bigger tips for excellent service are also encouraged, but there are few cases where Germans would consider tipping 20 percent. 

For smaller transactions, like for a couple drinks at a cafe or a bar, a ‘keep the change’ tip is also normal in Germany.

If you were paying for a couple beers that came to €8.90, for example, you might hand the bartender a €10 bill and say “Stimmt so” to indicate that the change is a tip.

Especially compared to the US, it’s true that the expectation to tip is expressed less in Germany. But many Germans do make tipping a common practice. So making a habit to tip modestly when dining out in the country will help you blend in better with the locals.

READ ALSO: Eight unwritten rules that explain how Germany works

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