Revisiting Saints

When we first moved abroad, I had a four-year old and a two-year old, and quite frankly it was an awful lot easier to convince them of the traditions of our then temporary homeland.   In the run up to Christmas we would watch the nightly advent programme on Danish TV, which filled their heads full of tales of the Julemand (Father Christmas) and Christmas Nisse (tiny house elves that get up to all sorts if you don’t leave them out a bowl of rice pudding (in our house!) every night, inspiration for the modern-day “Christmas Elf” perhaps!?).

Fast forward a couple of years to our lives in Munich, and a Christmas season that was about to get a lot more complicated than merely having to explain why we call the guy in red “Father Christmas”, while in Denmark everyone called him “Christmas Man”, as now we had to add good old Saint Nicholas to our repertoire…

That first year was full of excitement, as fully clued up (thanks to their class mates), they put their boots outside in the freezing cold on the night of the fifth of December (might I suggest the back door if you are about to adopt this tradition yourselves?  Reopening the front door much later in the evening to bring the boots in to fill them always, always wakes everyone up!!).  Putting aside the tiny bit of resentment I felt at having an extra Christmas job to do, this revisiting saint celebration was soon to become my favourite adopted Bavarian tradition for a couple of reasons – a) I could also leave a shakily written note from Saint Nicholas himself (!) congratulating them on their good deeds throughout the year, and highlighting his “hopes for what they could improve upon”, and b) the threat of a visit from the newly learned about Krampus, which meant that Saint Nicholas often didn’t have a lot to complain about in the first place (clever people those alpine folk!)…

We have carried on this seasonal tradition adopting it firmly into our family, but inevitably (as comes to all parents eventually) as the years have passed, both the boots left out for Saint Nicholas and their owners have grown ever bigger too, and their belief in various things has seemingly and quite sadly well and truly passed (although understandably they are both still quite petrified of Krampus!).    I was secretly happy then when I told them both I was a little sad that they felt they were now too big for such things, and they (conveniently!!) insisted that we should still leave boots outside, “so as not to spoilt things for their baby brother (who has absolutely no clue about any such tradition at the tender age of 14 months!!)”…

So, despite the non believers, did good old Saint Nicholas revisit this year?   Of course he did, he had promised he would when we saw him at the weekend after all…

Besides the school music room, various spots in the centre of Munich, and actually walking up our road on Tuesday evening (complete with a very tame Krampus!), the Austrian village of Obertraun has to win any and all prizes for the most stunning location to meet the big guy himself, and it’s where we spent the weekend to explore nearby Hallstatt.

The super friendly owner of the apartment we stayed at just happened to mention that Saint Nicholas would be arriving by boat at the local lake that evening…   So, leaving behind Mr R and a super grumpy teething baby (we didn’t think Saint Nicholas would want to meet him that day!), we walked down to the lake just as darkness was falling.   A crowd of families had gathered, warming hands over braziers and hot mugs of rum tea and kinder punsch (non-alcoholic gluhwein), while a small group of children from the music school played Saint Nicholas songs.    And then it was time.   Far across the lake, a little tiny lantern came into view, and gradually as the boat drew closer, music could be heard played by the oompah band passengers, until gradually Saint Nicholas came into view…

As it was such a spectacle, even my two “non-believers” were quite excited about his arrival, choosing to go with all the other children to crowd around him.   You don’t get any presents here until you’ve recited a poem or sang him a song.   It wasn’t hard to recognise who was singing “We Wish you a Merry Christmas” through her giggles, and at that point I thought her brother had chickened out.   A  few children later however, a little clear voice rang out into the night with a perfect rendition of Stille Nacht (Silent Night) in German.

It was a good job it was dark by that point as it made me cry for a minute or two.  Not just for the fact that he had sung so beautifully (even if that and We Wish you a Merry Christmas, are probably not the most traditional of choices!!), but for the traditions we have adopted, the customs that have become ours, what we have seen, been through and done in all the time that we have lived here, and how we will soon leave it all behind…  Will Saint Nicholas come with us?  I think he will, but in the mean time…

Have you adopted any traditions that weren’t yours over the years?