Lapland: the journey begins

OK, it's not a great picture. In fact, I'd be willing to concede that it is crap. But in my defence, I'd unwittingly put my camera on a weird zoom setting on Sunday, and I didn't have a tripod. Either way, there it is: aurora borealis, surely one of the most magical sights a human can witness. On arriving at our hotel a couple of hours earlier, Grania and I had, without pause for discussion, abandoned our suitcases in the lobby and run into the gift shop area, laughing delightedly at the extensive range of amazing products on offer: fleeces with husky motifs, reindeer magnets, local Christmas tree decorations, Finnish balaclavas, furry boots, spa products – it was, we both agreed, justification alone for our trip. But then, just 120 minutes later, we were out in 'the swamp' (actually a stunning and deserted snow-covered field) in our Moon Boots and lucky enough to witness the Northern Lights as they shifted in the midnight sky for a good while. In some ways, they looked exactly as I'd imagined: hazy, ghostly and green. But standing there, together alone, on a white expanse in northern Finland, as the sun's rays bounced off swirling dust clouds in front of us... well, it was extraordinary. Truly. I can't recommend it enough.

Yesterday was our first full day, and our team of ten went skidooing - an 80km ride through the most beautiful landscape I've ever seen. I don't deny my natural tendency to be hyperbolic but I have given this much thought over the past 24 hours, and I really do think that this place is incomparably stunning. It is so fresh, so utterly unspoilt. We've covered a fair bit of ground, and the only piece of litter I've seen is one plastic bag caught on a tree. It is spectacularly pure and I feel extremely lucky to be here, so very grateful to the South African chalet company for going bust and so glad that Grania and I decided to do something a bit unusual instead of skiing in Switzerland.

We are finally understanding the old cliché about the Eskimos having so many words for snow – it really is different here. With daytime temperatures averaging minus 15, and those at night averaging 30 under, the conditions are different than anything I’ve seen before. It has amused us that when you ask a local about the temperature, they don’t say ‘minus’, though, so obvious is it that it is below freezing. As we in warmer climes don’t say it is “plus 20 degrees”, they merely say, “So it was 35 last night” – the minus is implied. Snow doesn’t fall often, but when it does, it freezes fairly solid. And because of the sparseness of the population, vast, inconceivable swathes of land are untouched, with perhaps only the footprints of an arctic hare disturbing the flat white expanse. The skies have been deep blue on both days, with only a tiny puff of cloud crossing the sun every few hours. Yet despite the lack of white clouds above, there is still a regular fall of tiny silvery particles, like glitter. This is not snow, but frozen humidity, that twinkles in the sunshine on its way down, enhancing the magic.

The skidoo ride was an exhilarating way to start our trip, bouncing over humps in the snow and trying to maintain a 25 metre stopping distance. At one point, Pascal, our guide, made the signal for us all to stop, and came to talk to us. "Up ahead there is a steep slope," he explained, "and then a main road. I want you drive up the slope, and stop at the top before crossing the road." We nodded our understanding. Inside, I felt nervous. I had visions of M25 levels of traffic hidden on the other side of the ridge, its roars disguised by our skidoo engine. He waved us on. I gingerly pressed the accelerator and we ascended the hill. At the top, I stopped. Grania and I searched for the road, and then realised we had stopped too late, and we were already halfway across it. No matter: it was deserted. Traffic in Lapland is not a problem. The mental image that we created following our London existence was clearly not typical. And in the three or so hours we spent riding in total, we saw one house. One.

Our lunchtime destination was a snow village and hotel, featuring two vast 60 metre domed function areas, several suites, twin rooms, a chapel for weddings (apparently mostly Brits) and an ice bar. Having been vaguely tempted to spend one night of our future lives snuggled up in an ice hotel with a fictional boyfriend, Grania and I both agreed that a 15 minute tour of the place was more than adequate. Save your pennies. Definitely an idea that’s better imagined.

Returning to our centrally-heated hotel yesterday afternoon, we did half an hour of yoga in our room and then had our first Scandinavian sauna experience – no clothes, obv., but a tear-off hygiene sheet on which to sit. We roasted merrily, having got fairly nippy at 30km per hour on the Skidoo, then returned to our room for a brief pre-dinner hiatus, where I fell asleep before I could do justice to the day’s events in blog form. Then dinner with our group – we are not only the only Brits in our team, but in the hotel, which is a wonderful novelty and just adds to the sense of distance from real life. Our team mates speak some English, but are all from Germany or Holland, so tend to communicate in German. We sit around guessing what they’re saying or doing ‘hilarious’ comedy translations, while feeling ashamed of our lack of linguistic skills.

If yesterday was a fantastic taster, today was a highlight, not just of this trip but of my 32 years. Husky sledding was the main reason why Grania and I had been drawn to this particular holiday, and consequently I made sure that I prepared myself for the (surely inevitable) anti-climax. Today, however, was every bit as dreamlike as I could have hoped and about 50% more on top of that. God it was good; we just got back to our room thirty minutes ago and I’m still high. My concern had been that all this stuff I’d heard about the dogs loving to run was just a line we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel better, like the children in sweat shops need all the money they can get and if we boycott Primark then they’ll suffer more. But blimey, those dogs really do love to run. They are absolutely unstoppable. My team of four, led by a beautiful blue-eyed gal called Fatima, could not get enough of it, pulling me up hills without complaint and whipping round enraged every time I applied the brake to prevent us from running into the back of the man on the sled in front. When we stopped for lunch, they rubbed their muzzles in the snow to quench their thirst and lay down for thirty minutes while we sat on benches covered in reindeer hide, gathered round a log fire , the sky above us vast and blue, and a frozen river as wide as the Thames in front of us. Returning after our meal, the dogs were hysterical, howling, desperate to carry on running, jumping vertically and straining forward with such force that it was extremely difficult for me to hold them. I was truly gutted when we arrived back at the farm, although I was distracted from my disappointment by the opportunity to hold two ten day old husky puppies. A day of a lifetime and one I’ll never forget (until dementia sets in). I feel so fortunate. Sickening, isn't it?

Right, now I must post this, awaken sleeping Grania, do yoga, go for our sauna, and then return for beers and a selection of Finnish treats that we just bought from the local supermarket. Big aurora storms are forecast for tonight so I'm crossing my fingers. ’Til tomorrow, Faithful - hey hey (that’s Finnish for bye).