So it might not be Siberia, but winters in Germany are depressingly long, dreary, gray and monotonous, full of snow, rain, cold, wind, darkness. It's enough to drive anyone around the bend. But the months without sun do give rise to one of the perpetual riddles confronting late winter visitors to Germany: Why the hell aren't the locals all deathly pale?

Of course with cheap package trips to the sun a mainstay for many, a number of those tans are legit. But a number of them aren't. Germany, as it happens, love the fake 'n' bake look -- to the point that one newcomer to the country was recently heard to ask, "Why are so many Germans orange?"

It is indeed astounding. The dermatologically enhanced can be observed in varying shades from jaundice yellow through to leathery brown, deep tangerine, Tuscan terracotta or brash bronze. And it's not just the women -- the blokes here are just as likely to maintain a perma-tan. The look is often teamed with baseball cap, heavy silver earrings and shiny white trainers -- kind of like what you imagine Bart Simpson's older brother might have looked like were Homer and Marge a bit more re-productive.

And they're everywhere. The Germans are Europe's most enthusiastic users of solariums, with over 16 million frequenting the 90,000 salons and solariums operating throughout the country. The tanning business introduced a limited degree of self-regulation in 2003, as a somewhat belated nod to skin cancer risks. But despite the warnings, an increasing number of young Germans are becoming addicted to tanning.

These tanorexics need the blast of fake sun not just to attain that "burnt to a crisp" look, but for the endorphin kick that they get from exposure to the UV rays. There are even those who go to salons in the middle of a scorching hot summer day. Some argue that regulating the sun dose in the salon is more controlled and therefore safer than the everyday natural sun. Others seem to just like the convenience of not trying to find a sunbathing spot in the park. They might have a point. Not having to deal with litter, dog faeces, mosquitoes, quarrelling drunks, bongo playing pseudo-hippies, or huge families grilling kilos of meat does have its advantages. Instead, they prefer to entomb themselves in a solar sarcophagus, turn on their favorite Euro-trash pop music and treat themselves to a solitary solar fix.

It was even a German who invented the original machine: Teutonic technological mastery overcoming something as trifling as the weather. The first bed was conceived to cure rickets and patients with poor bone density. Then in the 1970s the German scientist Friedrich Wolff developed a way of creating UV light to assist in athletes' training, and noticed the side-effect of an artificially induced tan. This was the era when cheap package holidays were just taking off; possession of a tan implied enough wealth to afford a few weeks lazing on the beach or by the pool in Benidorm, Mallorca or Antigua. A machine that could replicate the same effect for those who couldn't afford to travel to the real thing became a gold mine.

While the German cancer charity Deutsche Krebshilfe (DKH) would like a cancer warning sign at the entrance of every tanning studio, this seems unlikely to happen any time soon. Warnings about dangers to the skin don't seem to have diminished the German ardour for that "healthy glow". This is a big business, with an annual turnover of €1.5 billion, and employing 28,000 people. In what is a comparatively non-consumerist society this is one treat that many Germans will not forgo.

But perhaps a few should also fork out for a mirror. Going by the deep-tan look of many here, there is clearly a line between the healthy, sun-kissed look, and the Oompa Loompa look. And it's a line many have unwittingly crossed.