CHRISTKINDL, Austria -- It is a tiny little hiccup of a place. The wee dot that it is on a map shows not even the faintest squiggly line of road going there, and, thus, it takes a resident to guide foreigners to the exact spot.
No problem, he says. Go up the mountain, then left, left and right. He pat-pats the hood of the car for emphasis and sends the foreigners trundling up the mountain. No problem.
Grown-ups may find themselves losing the way, but the children of the world have never had a problem finding the hamlet of Christkindl. Tagged "the North Pole of Austria," it is -- of course, it must be -- the place where Christkind lives.
Christkind is the ancient figure of the infant Christ who, at the chiming of the church bells on Christmas Eve, adorns the tree with ornaments and, with the help of angels, brings along presents.
The letters begin
This place was named for a miraculous healing that allegedly occurred here nearly half a millennium ago, but nobody can say when the children's letters began arriving in Christkindl -- 100 years ago, maybe longer. Austrian children just began sending their wish lists here, and the mail for Christkind began to pile up.
More than 50 years ago, Austrian postal authorities decided to do something about all of this unanswered mail and set up a makeshift post office in a church building to answer the 40,000 letters Christkind was getting each December.
That was in 1949. Since then, the word has spread across the world that this is where the giver of Christmas presents lives, and the number of letters each Christmas season has reached more than 2 million.
Inside Christkindl's Weihnachten postamt (Christmas post office), Postmaster Alfred Steinbach has grabbed a fistful of letters from the back and is spreading them on a table in the front room. A few very young onlookers have gathered around.
"We get letters from all over the world," says Steinbach, and he begins to list the far-off lands. "We get letters from all across Europe, Canada, USA. We get them from New Zealand, Japan, South America."
So awed is one little eavesdropper that he can't help but repeat the list to himself as Steinbach names place after place. "New Zealand, Japan, South America," echoes the boy barely above a hush. He is outfitted in a stocking cap with earflaps and looks more Norman Rockwell American than he does Christkindl Austrian. He's one more kid at Christmas.
Myths merging
In recent years, there has been a merging of myths, but Christkind is not, by definition, Santa Claus or St. Nick, Austria's patron saint of children. He could be considered a relative or an ancestor of both.
Austrians are dismayed at the swiftly blurring lines among Santa, St. Nick and Christkind. The images are flowing together, even at the Christkindlmarkts. The markets, in Germany and Austria, operate in wooden huts from Dec. 1 to Jan. 6. They specialize in Christmas fare, offering mulled wine, roasting chestnuts and nutcrackers -- along with more signs of Santa Claus.
"There are no images of Christkind anymore. It is all Santa Claus," says Gloria Aust, a university student who lives in a small town near the border with Slovakia.
A few years ago, a former divinity student named Phillip Tengg formed a society called Pro-Christkind, trying to fend off the incursion of Santa Claus.
It's nothing personal against Santa Claus, Tengg says, it's just that Santa Claus isn't Austrian -- here, it's St. Nick and Christkind. When Santa and his reindeer show up, they are reminders of commerce instead of an impetus to worship.
In recent weeks Pro-Christkind set off a debate that reached all the way to the United States when it distributed stickers showing a crossed-out Santa Claus. Angry and offended letters poured in from the United States and elsewhere, and Tengg issued an apology that was reported by the Associated Press.
"In our zeal," he said, "we neglected two things: that there are people in the world we live in who believe in Santa Claus and for whom Santa Claus represents an important part of Christmas; and that we have actually expressed something completely contrary to what we wanted to express."
Wish lists
Here in Christkindl, the Weihnachten postamt considers all letters to Santa Claus, Father Christmas, St. Nick or even the Poles' Jezuskowo as letters meant for Christkind. Open only during the holiday season, the staff of 18, working 70 hours a week, makes certain that all letters are answered.
But impatient children don't write letters -- they dial numbers. "Some children call us on the telephone," says Steinbach. "The number is in the telephone book." He shrugs. "They want to know what he looks like and when he flies, where he puts the parcels."
In this age of robotic toys and virtual games, what kids want seems to be the sort of things they've always wanted. One girl from Italy says to please bring her a dog, and an American girl tops her list with a Princess and the Pea Barbie.
Steinbach said it is mostly the German and Austrian children who are forgoing toy requests and asking Christkind for something he cannot carry in his bag: "Many are asking the Christkind for there to not be a war."
Christmas Eve is the day of celebration in Austria. After being locked out of rooms and shooed away by parents all day, a moment will come when a bell is rung just after dark, signaling the instant at which children are not only allowed, but expected, to burst forth into the previously forbidden room.
And there the Christkind's handiwork will be, in the room, in the decorated Christmas tree, in the presents. How did that happen? It won't matter then whether it was Santa Claus, Father Christmas, St. Nick or Christkind. It just won't.