Christmas holiday showdown: Europe v Down Under

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas - said nobody, ever, on a beach in 38-degree heat.

If you want to know where Christmas lives, ask Santa. The festive season's global ambassador is not a man made for sunshine. He has never, to my knowledge, rocked a pair of budgy smugglers, nor even a sarong. Would you, if you habitually ate more than a billion cookies a night?

Some sources, including the Elf on the Shelf, say Santa's home is the North Pole. Others place him in interior Alaska, while Europeans address their correspondence to Arctic Lapland. Maybe he lives in them all, given the speed at which we know he can travel. But the point is, they're northern and cold. Very cold.

Snow is Santa's co-star. It defines every quintessentially Christmas moment: soft flakes falling in It's a Wonderful Life as Jimmy Stewart cries "I want to live again!" George Michael smouldering in the Swiss Alps in the Last Christmas video.

Festive traditions are designed for cold climes: chestnuts roasting on open fires (it's just not the same on the barbie), twinkling fairy lights, ice rinks, holly and mistletoe, cosy pubs all aglow, cobbled streets. Carols by candlelight - without the mozzies.

In cold weather, cocooned in layers, it feels right - in fact necessary - to eat, drink and be merry. Your winter metabolism loves lavish roasts, rich Christmas pud and mulled wine. But exposed in your bathers beneath the sun's merciless glare, the final destination of all those extra mince pies is uncomfortably obvious.

So take a sleigh ride to Lapland, where you can witness the Aurora Borealis, nature's own magical light show, sing "Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway", in a palatial ice suite in the Swedish Icehotel, or see your little people's eyes widen with wonder by meeting the big guy at Santa Claus Village in Rovaniemi (ruining them for the local Westfield forever).

And you really can dash through the snow on a sleigh, pulled by reindeer or huskies.

Germany glitters with Christmas markets such as Berlin's Winterwelt (Winter World), with its massive toboggan run, and Cologne's Markt der Engel (Market of Angels). Or sip gluhwein beneath snowy pines in the Black Forest, feeling as if you've woken up in a snow globe.

Silent Night was first performed in Salzburg, Austria, and the carol even has its own museum there. Vienna, Copenhagen, Basel, Strasbourg, Prague - all winter wonderlands.

And if you haven't partied in Edinburgh at Hogmanay you've barely glimpsed the true meaning of "Auld Lang Syne".

Summer's splendid, but I prefer mine in July. Yule should be cool. Let it snow!

By Mal Chenu

How heart-warming are those scenes of Christmas reunions at Heathrow Airport at the end of Love Actually? Well, to borrow from the vernacular of the movie: what utter bollocks!

Australians who do actually head for miserable northern climes such as London at Christmas actually emerge from customs 23 hours later looking like dishevelled, jet-lagged zombies rather than happily reunited loved ones. Actually.

Airports are hard going at the best of times, and in winter in London - or other frozen parts of the world when every man and his husky are travelling - it is the worst of times.

There are other forms of Christmas transport in the northern hemisphere but most of them still involve freezing your baubles off. Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh is all well and good until the sleigh hits a snow bank or the horse slips on the ice. The only reason you're laughing all the way now is because of the ugly Christmas jumpers you're wearing.

Aussies do the silly season in summer and prefer the flying kangaroo to the flying reindeer. Flights within the sunburnt country are rarely cancelled because of blizzards and our luggage consists of boardies, thongs and a cricket bat.

Our roads are dry and passable too and everyone's destination is a sunny beach somewhere. In Australia, everyone has at least one awesome memory of a beachside Christmas. It's the law.

Beyond our bounteous beaches, we're girt by travel opportunities, none of which require six layers of clothing, gloves, a scarf and Wellington boots. The Christmas break is a great time to take a cruise on Sydney Harbour, explore the cellar doors in the Barossa, sail the Whitsundays, hike the Tarkine rainforest in Tassie, tackle the Gold Coast theme parks and a million more sun-soaked escapades.

As is often the case, Melbourne does it best. Fed Square becomes Christmas Square, the Myer window displays light up the Bourke Street Mall and the Christmas Carnival by the Yarra is a treat for the kids. And the Boxing Day cricket test quickly dispatches any post-Christmas blues to the boundary.

All over the world, Christmas travel is often about gathering everyone together for the big family lunch. In Australia, everyone arrives before the first prawn is peeled. Back in London, uncle Harry and auntie Dot are stuck in traffic on the sleet-covered M4 near Slough.

Travel is also about food and while the calorific northern hemis-fare of roast turkey, stuffing, Yorkshire pudding, plum pudding and eggnog does sound tempting, give me barbecued snags, salad, pav, mangoes and a cold beer any Christmas day. Just yell out when it's ready - I'll be drinking white wine in the sun or playing Marco Polo in the pool with the kids.