T A B L E_T A L K Getting laid in foreign lands: Is it always a bad idea, or simply a way to deepen the cultural experience. Weigh in on sex and travel in the Wanderlust area of Table Talk ___________________ Check out books about Germany's magical traditions at BarnesandNoble.com ___________________   R E C E N T L Y Brahmaputra: Tales From the River By Tiziana and Gianni Baldizzone Extraordinary photographs portray a mighty river's journey through Tibet, India and Bangladesh (12/16/98) The yuckiest food in the Amazon By Mary Roach What tastes even worse than rodent knee and saliva-flavored manioc mash? (12/15/98) Ryoanji reflections By Don George At a Kyoto temple, a simple plot of sand, rocks and moss makes visitors stop -- and see (12/14/98) Dirty laundry By Tanya Shaffer A simple request forces a Western woman to face her prejudices (12/11/98) The Virgin king By Don George An interview with Virgin Group founder Richard Branson, one of the most remarkable -- and successful -- mavericks in the history of business (12/10/98) Browse the Wanderlust Postmark archives Wanderlust's Official Travel Book Partner S A L O N E M P O R I U M FREE! 12-ounce bag of Salon Blend with a purchase of $30 or more. While supplies last.		CHRISTMAS IN GERMANY | PAGE 1, 2 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In the morning, the traffic report says Autobahn 3 to Nuremberg is code red, or extremely slippery, from the four inches of snow that fell overnight. Having mastered the booklet of German driving rules provided to the military ("Wow, 'Flipping off an Army officer is a $2,000 fine!'" my husband reads aloud. "There are also fines for honking in town and touch-parking"), we set off into the snowstorm, driving behind big rigs that break up the snow and trying to avoid the skids that have sent a handful of cars into ditches. Hill after hill of the local vineyards is blanketed white, with gnarled arms of riesling and pinot plants poking through. The vineyards give way to forests as we settle into the autobahn routine of driving on the right for as long as your patience holds out, then venturing into the fast lane and praying a speeding Porsche doesn't rear-end you. We turn off at Nuremberg in just two hours despite the snow and traffic. After we're parked and bundled up to the eyeballs, we waddle to the bridge over the River Pegnitz and down to the red and white-striped booths of the market, along Konigstrasse and Burgstrasse. Row after row of booths offer miniature wishing wells, painted gingerbread houses, straw stars, beeswax figurines, metal snowflakes, crystal icicles and about a thousand varieties of painted wooden nutcrackers. In between them are the candy, cookie, wurst and wine booths. Gluhwein, the sweet, hot mulled wine that shoppers sip to stay warm, perfumes the air with citrus and cloves. The nieces laugh at miniature Bavarian figures built out of walnuts, prunes and figs, especially a pair in which a nut-headed wife is about to beat in the face of her fig-headed husband, who is swooning and holding his beer stein aloft. The miles of aisles of colored glass ornaments, wind chimes, bells, angels and stars tinkle in the lightly snowy air. The warm scent of fresh-baked stollen, the fruit-studded bread covered with powdered sugar, pulls the nieces to one booth. In the course of the day we eat apple strudel, butter cookies, springerle, various smoked, wine-boiled and grilled wursts, hot potato pancakes and strange, chocolate-covered, bomb-shaped confections filled with marshmallow fluff. At lunch, Maya picks at her boiled cabbage. Austrian tourists who share our table encourage her to eat it. "It's good for the constitution," says one Austrian, pounding his fists into his chest and smiling. Maya seeks out her mother. "Do I have to eat the sour-crap?" she asks. It's time for more fresh air. Searching for the perfect ornament, the girls point out a ceramic figurine, and I assume we're headed for a discussion of who's who at the crèche. But it's a false alarm -- they're interested in something to the left, a caricatured Bavarian toting a garlic rope. "It's a hard sell," my husband teases about the crèche. "Imagine trying to market them as action figures: 'The wise men! Collect all three!'" he bellows, TV style. In addition to Garlic Man, the girls identify other members of the Bavarian pantheon, including the Gun Toter, the Old Guy With a Beard and a Pipe, and the Hornblower. I'm hoping they don't notice the miniature crèche in some strange, dried tuber that's for sale, or the Pink-Marshmallow-Jesus-in-a-Chocolate-Shoe, obviously laid on for Danish tourists. Zee notices another shoe ornament, and explains that the shoes are left out for St. Nicolaus. "I think he's a relative of Santa's," she says. Finally, the nieces find an ornament stand selling, among other things, a milk-white, plastic baby nested into a moss-filled walnut. "Jesus on the half-shell?" whispers my husband, threatening our détente. "Why did they put Jesus in a nut?" asks Maya. I consider the possible Kaspar David Friederich naturalism/Joseph Campbell answer (Germans like to think of God in Nature) and the Economics 101 answer (they had a large supply of walnuts and thought if they put Christ in them they'd really sell), but settle on simplicity. "They thought that was pretty," I say. Finally, after choirs and more cookies, when the kids complain that their feet are frozen and the spires of St. Lorenz Kirche and the Altes Rathaus are lit against a dark sky, we buy giant, heart-shaped gingerbread cookie necklaces whose frosting spells "Ich Liebe Dich" and stand aside as the schoolchildren of Nuremberg begin to file past with colored paper lanterns. It's a rite held each Dec. 10, which references advent, or the season of darkness. The fluttery candlelight that fills the brightly colored suns, moons and brilliantly hued box lanterns, drifting in the cold air from a string tied to a small stick, is breathtaking. But the nieces are tired, and since there are no lanterns for sale (they're strictly homemade), they're ready to go home. On the walk to the car, I tell them that before the Holy Roman Empire brought its religion to this part of Franconia, children made paper lanterns to bring light to the very long nights, and to remind people of the cycle of seasons and the spirit of spring that waits in the ground. They think about this for a moment. "So spring is always there," says Mayaa. The three of us curl up together in the back seat for the long ride home. SALON | Dec. 17, 1998 Deanna Hodgin is a writer who lives in Northern California.