In Lapland, Finding Santa at the Source

Our tour is supposed to last three hours. But as we get within a short distance of the lodge, we find the snow too deep to navigate. We have to retrace our path, so our trip extends to nearly six hours. Everyone, except maybe the guides, is thrilled to get the extra time to tear through the forest on a bracing and exhilarating ride.

Back at the lodge, the cooks have prepared a traditional Finnish Christmas Eve dinner of reindeer, salmon and duck. After dessert, word goes out that Santa has been spotted. He arrives in a small sleigh pulled by a single reindeer, the aforementioned Charlie.

While the kids stand by to await the distribution of presents (the hotel works with parents to make sure Santa gets the wish list straight), Maddie and I go out to meet Charlie. His owner and driver, Markku Rauhala, an English-speaking Sami in traditional native costume, invites us to talk to the animal but tells us that reindeer are shy, gentle creatures that prefer not to be touched.

In winter Rauhala lives in town, but all summer, he and his family live with the herd, traveling around the countryside in search of good pasture. Being a reindeer herder, he tells us, "is not a good living, but it is a great life."

Away in an Igloo

Christmas Day dawns at about 10 a.m. By the time we've tucked in a hearty breakfast an hour later, it looks a lot like dusk. But we spend the rest of the day in the snow, sledding, visiting the huskies and skiing at a nearby resort with lighted trails. Christmas dinner is described as American, meaning that they've included turkey on the menu, along with the reindeer steaks and fish.

After dinner, Maddie and I pick up sub-zero sleeping gear and a thermos of mulled cider and walk the 100 yards from the lodge to the electrically lighted igloo on the grounds. Although four families can use the igloo at any one time, it turns out we're the only family that has chosen to spend Christmas night on beds of snow that are covered in reindeer pelts.

You don't know the meaning of cozy until you feel your own body temperature fill a sleeping bag with warmth and snuggle far down enough in the bag to keep your chin from freezing.

We quickly fall asleep in the icy room that is just below freezing, but at 2:45 a.m., nature simultaneously calls us both. It's then that we discover an igloo trade secret: If you leave your boots on the floor instead of tucking them next to you, they will freeze and you won't be able to get them on your feet.

Once you've run on snow and ice in your stocking feet to an outdoor privy, you lose your taste for nature. We abandon our sleeping gear and run as best we can in stocking feet back to the lodge.

The bar has just closed, and as we stumble into the lodge, a couple of dozen locals are stumbling out, singing and heading to their cars and snowmobiles for the trip back to town. Hearing the sound of a broom sweeping broken glass, I glance into the bar and see that the floor is covered with shards. The bartenders are nonchalant and say the glasses and bottles simply fell from the hands of various patrons.

"How can you tell the difference between a regular night and New Year's Eve?" I ask a bartender, thinking I'm making an obvious, if somewhat lame, joke.

But he takes me seriously and answers, "Oh, we're close to the Swedish border, which has an hour's time difference. So on New Year's Eve, we celebrate twice."