The rain became ice that fell sideways against a furious wind. I also trudged at an angle toward the last building on the deserted street against a windswept coastline featuring the largest mailbox I had ever seen. It was bright red and contrasted Nuuk’s gray November sky. The snow crunched beneath my feet as I trudged for a closer look. As small as Nuuk is it still felt too big and too far south to really be the North Pole. However, I was assured that this was really Santa’s House — actually Santa’s post office. Legend has it that letters addressed to “Santa, North Pole” arrive here. But if you are in the neighbor hood, and for a small fee, Santa will personally sign, and send, a note to visitors’ kids with a special stamp and postage mark all the way from the North Pole in early December. My kid (and wife, shhh don’t tell Santa) got one this year.
For the record, Santa is. He works as a full-time employee of Greenland handwriting several hundred letters a day to children all over the world and making personal appearances in Nuuk. He has mastered the art of ho-ho-ing. He is jolly in a red velvet suit, but he’s not really fat. My daughter has not been naughty since my return with tales of the real Santa Claus in Greenland.
Written by Devin Galaudet