We have all heard stories about Santa Claus, the jolly red-cheeked, white-bearded father figure with an elaborate system of hidden webcams and covert elf agents to determine if you’ve been naughty or nice. You might also know him as the psychic who instinctively knows which presents you want for Christmas and personally delivers them to your oversized unmatched sock, in return for the cookies and milk that you leave on the table, or as the cheeky guy who risks life and limb to claim the adulterous kiss and tickle from your mum under the mistletoe.
In reality though, Santa must be an employee of Warren Buffett.
Michelle and I were on a winter holiday in Scandinavia and decided to stop by Rovaniemi, a town that has unabashedly taken commercialism to infinity and beyond by proclaiming itself to be The Official Hometown of Santa Claus® (yes, complete with the registered trademark!). It is also one of the few places in the world where you can celebrate Christmas all year round, even in 20ºC summer temperatures. Situated close to the Arctic Circle, Rovaniemi is the capital of Finnish Lapland and the gateway to the Arctic regions of Finland.
We arrived in Rovaniemi late in the morning, having made an almost four-hour journey from the border town of Haparanda in Sweden, where we had stayed the night. A light sprinkling of snow had just begun when our rented vehicle finally pulled up at the train station — a brand new cherry red Honda Civic station wagon to put us in the mood for Christmas. We got in, drove into town to complete the paperwork, and proceeded to look for food.
For a town that professes itself to be The Official Hometown of Santa Claus®, downtown Rovaniemi seemed decidedly ordinary. It had hardly anything Santa-ish about it, save for a few souvenir shops trying to cash in on the bearded man’s popularity. There was also a Hotel Santa Claus situated right in the heart of the city centre, but instead of rustic wooden cottages with charming fireplaces, a modern eight-storey building stood at the site, with an interior that looked just like any other ordinary four-star hotel. With a name like that, the least you could do is put in some effort to look festive!
Over at the Rovaniemi Airport, a big poster proclaiming it to be the official airport of Santa Claus (sans trademark) hung from the ceiling of the airport departure concourse, which otherwise also looked decidedly unextraordinary. Where were the stables for the overworked reindeer? Where was the huge warehouse and sorting centre for the millions of toys awaiting delivery? Where was the parking bay for Santa’s state-of-the-art Airbus Aerosleigh Mark II? And where were the cute cabin crew in their sexy Santarina outfits and red knee-high boots?
In order to meet the man himself, we had to drive out to Santa Claus Village, a short eight-kilometre drive north of Rovaniemi. We had expected a huge theme park the likes of Disneyland or Universal Studios, but the “village” was so small we almost missed the turn-off.
From the carpark, we noticed that there were just five main buildings in this tiny village, which was probably no larger than the size of a small farm. The first building we entered was the official Santa’s post office, which sold all kinds of tacky and wacky Christmas cards and postcards to send to your friends and loved ones back home, lauding the fact that you’re on holiday and they are not. You even have the option of sending yourself a greeting card for the next Christmas, just to remind yourself of all the euros you spent (at exorbitantly high exchange rates) coming out this far into the Arctic to send a card a year ago.
We moved on to the main building in the village — Santa’s official residence — and found a long queue of kids with their subservient parents waiting to meet their idol in person. Imagine my horror when I was told that it would cost 20 euros to sit on Santa’s lap and have a photo taken with him. Now, correct me if I’m wrong (and I certainly don’t speak from experience!) but don’t lap dances in some places cost less than that? Perhaps Santa is now pressed to include a cover charge when kids’ Christmas wishlists these days consist of iPhones, iPads and iPods. But 20 euros for a one-minute “snuggle up and say cheese!” moment?! I’d rather have the lap dance.
As if that wasn’t enough, there were about a hundred or more souvenir shops all around the village hawking overpriced memorabilia. (The number was probably closer to about 30, but who’s counting?) There was even a specially painted arctic line drawn in the middle of one of the buildings. It was conveniently located next to a booth that sold genuine “I have crossed the Arctic Circle” certificates (and even stamps on your passports), available in this global day and age in 13 different languages, just to make sure you understand and complete the motions of taking out your wallet and parting with your money.
Aside from their fleeting moment with the Santa, there was a small playground within the village for the little ones to enjoy reindeer, husky and snowmobile rides. The snowmobile ride looked fun enough, but each of the reindeer had long, disgruntled faces and looked as if they were one step away from forming a union and going on strike (fortunately, they were Finnish and not French!). For 10 euros, the poor animals were made to repeatedly take passengers up and down a small hill, and as a bonus, to the car park too. The husky ride was another short experience around a circular flat track which had the poor dogs running around in circles, perhaps wondering why Man’s best friends were not given a minimum wage and better working conditions.
Despite all the experiences on sale in a place of extreme commercialism, the highlight of the village was two (free) makeshift slides made out of dirty-looking ice, just in front of the building where Santa’s residence was located. With gleeful abandon, kids of every size, gender and age were hurtling down the 40-degree incline feet, head, hands and even buttocks first, without so much as a care in the world.
At the end of the day, perhaps life should really be this simple. Now hand me that Santa suit…