I’m standing on the balcony under the blazing sun, eyeing the
morning surroundings through fold-away binoculars, the kind you slip into a
pocket of a Tilley travel vest. I see a rush of people hurrying down
the gangway. Their journey is interrupted by photographers wanting to take
their photo with a pretend pirate, wearing a pretend eye-patch and a pretend
prosthetic hook for a hand. They oblige and continue on their way once the photo
is snapped.
In the distance I spot a tall Christmas tree glistening in
the morning sun. Gold-coloured tinsel and large, green, red, and yellow balls sparkle on its branches. Next to the tree, sitting on a low-lying wall, is Santa
Claus. Say what? Santa Claus? Here? It’s 26 Celsius (80 Fahrenheit). I’m on a cruise in the Caribbean, and we’re docked on the island
of Saint-Martin.
When you come from a climate that celebrates Christmas with
tuques, shovels and long-johns, Santa Claus, nutcrackers and carols just don’t
seem to fit together. It’s... well... weird. It’s also a novelty.
“Check it out,” I say to my husband, bemused. “There’s a Santa Claus out there. In 80 degree weather. A Santa Clause!”
“He must be hot,” he says, as he lowers the thermostat in
the cabin.
“He must be. There are a lot of women gathered around him
taking pictures.” I continue looking through my trusty binoculars. “I need a
photo with him too.”
Two hours later, after a leisurely breakfast on a sun-filled
deck, with Jose Feliciano wishing us all Feliz Navidad, I
check on Santa. He’s still there.
“We should go now,” I say. “How much longer can he
sit on that ledge in this heat?” Poor Santa-man, I think. I feel sorry for him.
I’m concerned with his dehydration. “I hope someone is giving him water.”
We disembark the ship, pose for the obligatory pretend-pirate photo, and I bee-line it to Caribbean Santa, who, unbelievably, is still perched on the ledge... in 80 degree heat. With camera in hand, I excitedly approach him. Gasp! He’s not
real. He’s a fake Santa, blown up like a balloon and screwed to the concrete like a bench to a city sidewalk. A fake
Santa. Sheeesh!
Realistically, would Santa Claus actually make it to the Caribbean? I don’t
think so. He’d sweat his nuts off in
that suit, and besides, I doubt Rudolph, even with his shiny nose, could guide
the sleight that far away. So what choice is left but to prop an air-filled
Santa on a concrete ledge? The irony in this, is that everyone who gathers
around the air-filled Santa does so for the novelty of it. Practically all of my
fellow passengers are from northern climates, stocking up on vitamin D for the long winter ahead. The amusement of Santa Claus, Christmas trees and carols piped through loud-speakers in the Caribbean, is something we all
share.
“It’s so strange to
be wearing shorts and hearing Christmas carols” I hear the woman behind me
say. She's right. After all, who's ever heard of a Christmas carol
about building sand castles on the beach?
For us northerners, Dreaming of a White Christmas and walking
in a Winter Wonderland, is what we do. We also do
have Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire, because, Baby, It’s Cold Outside. But who cares. It’s nothing a cup of Hot
Chocolate can’t fix.
Let it Snow
Let it Snow
Let it Snow 
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