TravelWorld International Magazine, Winter 2021 - The Magic of the Holidays

For the next leg of the
journey, I was on a dog
sled. My hands and
head were warm, but
the wind on my
face burned
and my
beard was
frozen in
minutes.
The sled bounced along the trail until we turned
north, smooth sailing for the next couple of hours.
nd soon enough, we rounded
a bend and cleared the trees,
and what to my wondering
eyes should appear, but
Santa’s 2021 Distribution
Center, complete with
forty bays, and forty
sleighs—but I digress.
The Distro Center was
strategically placed next to the
decorated Christmas trees and the
Santa blow up by his marketing
elves, and in front of his workshop,
which looked out on—wait for
it—Santa’s North Pole! I jumped
for joy! I was so happy, and maybe
starting to feel warmer, too. (It
could happen.) I’m still not sure
whether the scene was real, or I
had just been in the sled too long,
I reached out and actually touched
the North Pole and I noticed a
bit of graffiti welded on the Pole
(check it out—“Bob,” as in Bob was
here), so I knew it must be real.
We deftly navigated
the sleigh parking
and the reindeer,
and my musher
pointed me
over a small
mound of snow.
The North
Pole! Not
Fake News!
A little graffiti
welded to its
sides, but
a real pole
indeed!
he next leg of my trip would help me
understand that cold was not defined by
winters in Detroit or Boston, or even by
the wind whipping off Lake Michigan
in February. No, cold is a few hours on
a dog sled. It looks romantic, and it is exciting,
but it is also COLD! Even with big gloves and
a Russian Ushanka hat with the flaps down.
But the dogs don’t run forever, and it was on a
rest stop, chatting with my musher, that my trip
was saved. I asked how much farther to Santa’s
North Pole, and he said, “Santa’s North Pole? I
was told to get you to the polar North Pole. That’s
different. Santa’s? That’s less than an hour away.”
Warmed by his comments (well, not really), we
set off, the course now corrected.
The dogs
were impatient,
ready to go, and
very yappy. Within
moments there was
only the sound of a
sled on snow.
Well, just one more thing
remained for me to check out.
I ran up to the door and asked
a couple of elves who were just
leaving where I might find Santa.
“He’s in the back,” they said. I
pushed onwards, really excited
now, and there I saw him, taking
only a little license, “in the flesh.”
He was real! Fake News, fie on you!
I was just going to get an interview
on my trusty tape recorder, when
I heard bells, not church bells,
maybe more like alarm bells, like
on my alarm clock. I sat up in bed,
wondering was this just a dream?
No interview, how could I prove
this was real? Fortunately, this
story was on my computer, so I
knew it. I knew it was real.
Santa’s North Pole—
Not Fake News!
“Oh, Santa’s North Pole,” the musher
said. “That is different, and within minutes
Santa’s Distribution Center came into view.
And finally, I met the Man
him-very-self! My faith was
restored. “Hey, hear those
bells? Sounds just like my
alarm…” Merry Christmas.
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