– my best Lapp dance ever
I looked down from my window onto the frozen landscape below. Everything was white. So many different shades of white and nothing else. Yet still so beautiful and surreal. The flight from Stockholm up North, right on the Arctic Circle into southern Lappland somehow looked more like a local bus. Village folk were sitting with boxes and baskets of supplies, various farming implements and even apparently a few cages and traps of sorts. And everyone also seemed to know each other well and mumbled quietly amongst themselves, in typical local exceedingly discreet fashion.
It was only our small group of multinational travel agents who stuck out like a sore thumb in this small plane, as it landed and took off at successive tiny local airfields, servicing this part of central and Northern Sweden.
Besides for myself, I remember that my companions were individually from Italy, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and the USA. All being incoming travel specialists in our respective countries of origin. This was the reason why we were selected and invited by the Swedish Tourist Board on a four day travel incentive trip in Southern Lappland, which they were then trying to open up to tourism. We were then asked to present our recommendations and constructive criticism on the various aspects of the trip.
So as we skidded across one tiny ice covered runway after another, we all sat there in anticipation for a trip which, in spite of its short duration, will remain for me at least, one of the most memorable in my entire life.
When we finally landed in Storuman it was late evening and we were all rather tired and hungry. However our journey didn’t end there. We were greeted by our guide and companion throughout the four days – Sven, who was a middle aged rugged outdoor type of man, in a Davy Crockett or Crocodile Dundee type of way. He was polite and also entertaining in his own quirky way, displaying a very subtle cutting and dry humour, which I very much enjoyed. Compared to everybody else there he was very outgoing and talkative, although this would still be equivalent to the most quiet, reserved and introverted Maltese!
For people there barely talk, let alone discuss and argue and god forbid anyone ever contradict them in any way, as this would be considered very confrontational.
When they had taken our particulars in Stockholm, they had also asked for our clothing sizes, which we all assumed was to present us with branded tee shirts or jackets. However being January, with temperatures hovering at around minus 35C, the first thing Sven did was to order us out of our coats, trousers, hats, gloves and shoes. Luckily we were not in the hands of a Nordic pervert, nor did he want us to perish from instant hypothermia. He insisted because according to him, our useless city folk clothes were far from adequate for such an extreme climate. We were all in fact wearing the thickest and definitely the warmest clothes we could all get our hands on, but as he handed us each a set of special clothing, scientifically designed for the extreme cold, he simply stated that what we were all wearing was not at all suitable. Having spent a mini fortune on the warmest Winter clothes I cold buy before I left on this adventurous expedition, I gently persisted by politely asking why? He turned towards me and with a small glitter in his eye he softly and calmly replied “Because you die”. Haha, nice one I thought – this guy has lovely humour. I think I like him already.
So we all huddled up into this large 4×4 and off we drove into the white frozen wilderness, over deep ice tracks and then over puffy virgin snow. Over large frozen lakes and various sized rivers, through frozen forests with towering icicled conifers. Then it started to snow. Enormous white fluffy flakes which floated down ever so slowly all around us, adding to the surreal and enchanting surroundings we had all been suddenly transported into.
Throughout the journey Sven mumbled on various facts and figures and filled us in on our trip. Part of us wanted this trip never to end, while part yearned for some comfort in the form of a nice hotel with a lovely hot dinner and a couple of drinks to warm the heart.
About two hours later we finally arrive in Vilhelmina, a tiny village lost in this perfect picture of a Winter wonderland. By that time we were all more than happy to arrive at our destination, which I must admit turned out to be rather odd. At that time at least the accommodation options were extremely limited. So we were accommodated in a small disused school. Upon our arrival we were shown to our rooms and informed that dinner would be served in 30 minutes.
Needless to say 20 minutes later we were all there impatiently waiting, totally famished from our exhausting journey. It was a large hall, visibly originally used for assemblies. Although still rather bare it had been smartly converted into a dining room, in the centre of which was a massive table stunningly prepared. Adorned with two massive silver candelabra, each placing had loads of cutlery, different sized glasses and various pieces of crockery, all making for a truly impressively laid table.
We rushed to our seats virtually salivating, awaiting the splendid banquet to come. With the seven of us sat Sven and the young couple who were hosting us in this surprising establishment. In the centre of the table they placed three average-sized trays of crispbread with various toppings, such as salmon and smoked reindeer. By the word ‘yourselves” in the phrase “Please help yourselves” the trays were as bare as a Lapp Winter, as we all swallowed down these tasty titbits. We looked up towards them and waited. Then we waited a little bit more. But absolutely nothing at all happened, until after several awkward and terrifyingly long minutes the harsh and horrifying truth slowly descended upon us.
I looked at a panicking Italian, who in turn glanced at a distraught Spaniard. A ravenous German and rather chubby frustrated American looked hungrily at our petite Belgian companion licking their lips with very obvious intentions, while our rather lanky new Dutch lady friend was nearly fainting from hunger.
Now you can all guess who was the most boisterous throughout the trip and who kept everyone laughing within the group. So within seconds they all slowly turned towards me and nodded determinedly towards me with menacing eyes. So as the selected spokesman, I was left with no other option than to make my rude request in typical Oliver Twist style. Although my words were softly spoken and politely chosen, when they had fully sunk into the ears of our guests they sent them into a mad panic. They frantically ran in and out of the kitchen, made phone calls, exchanged tense words of alarm with Sven, but alas it was all in vain. They had nothing else in the kitchen and the one or two shops in the village had long closed.
As my cowardly friends slowly slid down in their seats in shame, seeing the utter commotion we had caused, all deviously pointing fingers at me to our hosts behind my back, passing the entire blame to me, I was forced into justifying my previous request. I tried to explain that for us Southern Europeans at least, our food was very important. Dinner for us was the main meal of the day and we were cold and hungry and had eaten virtually nothing all day.
They were visibly shocked and embarrassed for their massive oversight and sheepishly explained in their singsong Swedish accent, that for them the opposite was true. Because of the extreme cold they start the day with a massive breakfast, followed by a medium sized lunch and ended with just a very small snack in the evening. They promised again and again that as from the day after they will ensure that their kitchen is properly stocked, as they poured water, juice and soft drinks into our glasses – AND NOTHING ELSE!!! For this part of Sweden was virtually dry with very strict licensing laws and naturally as a converted school there was no way they could ever obtain one. There was only one licensed establishment in Vilhelmina which we later found out only served beer and an unrecognisable liquid they called wine.
I cried for much of that night alone in my bed. Hunger and alcohol withdrawal pains ravishing my sobbing body. Was this going to be the trip of a lifetime, or a nightmare straight out of hell?
The next morning as we all gradually congregated for breakfast, we were greeted by an extraordinary site. The massive central table was covered in dish after dish of amazing food. Breads, crispbread and pastries, eggs, hams and sausages, hot soups, stews and all types of meats including bear and reindeer, salted and cured fish of all sorts, yogurts and cereals and more.
We ate ourselves through the entire table, as they looked on in utter shock and amazement. And by the end of it we all slumped down in our chairs, brimming with Scandinavian food and relieved satisfaction.
When Sven finally managed to round us all up for the day’s activities spirits were high. There’s nothing worse than going to bed with an empty stomach, but the morning’s banquet had largely made up for the previous night’s omission and we were now all rearing to go.
In Sven’s subtle style, he would only sketchily explain what he had in store for us. He had vaguely alluded to heights to unveil any possible phobias, but once we all gave him the green light his face did take on a cheeky grin. So we drive out onto the endless frozen lake just next to the village and I ask him if there was any danger of the ice breaking through. In his true fashion he looks at me slyly and replies that the clothes he provided us with were waterproof too.
So he drove and he drove far out into what can only be described as white nothingness. Until in the distance there was a black dot in the middle of the frozen expanse. As we approached the dot became gradually larger, until we finally arrive next to a small group of men on several snowmobiles, with large parachutes attached to their backs and unfurled on the ice, dozens of metres behind.
Yes you guessed it. That morning’s activities was their take on Winter parasailing! So with shaking knees and murmuring our last requests to the creator, they each put us on skis, strapped us in a parachute harness and before we could scream “couch potato” up we went high up into the sky. The fear was intense as was the pain on my face from the freezing wind. But once I had climbed high up over the frozen lake, the staggering views were simply awe-inspiring, making all the pain and the cold and the apprehension quickly fade away.
Far down beneath me was the large white expanse of the lake, with the tiny black speck which was the snowmobile projecting me forward. To the sides were endless frozen forests with the occasional clearing covered in white virgin snow. I could see the village in the distance with its many wooden buildings and in all directions dreamy hills and mountains glimmering in a light pastel pink in the weak wintery glow.
As I was rushed through the freezing air somehow trying to fully take in this heavenly sight, there were little ice crystals in the air all around me, sparkling and shimmering like tiny pinpricks of magic stars as they reflected the morning light.
Once we got back down we were all speechless and gasping for air. Not from physical exhaustion but from the pure excitement of one of the most exhilarating experiences and most spectacular visions of mother nature one could ever be blessed with.
Sven came along equipped with a beaming smile and baskets full of supplies. We looked in amazement as he threw down a canvas sheet onto the ice and brought out sandwiches, dried fish, raw salmon and cured bear. “I only once made a mistake twice” he quipped, “but now I will certainly never marry again”. And with that superb and timely joke he also handed around small individual fruit juices with a straw, which suspiciously seemed to have their seals broken and then slightly clumsily re-affixed. At that point his face really lit up and he said in his normal singsongy way “juice is cold but it will still warm you up”. He had gone as far as to lace it with vodka to satisfy our every need. What a pity that gay marriage was still not available at the time in Sweden, cause I would have thrown this handsome Swede onto the closest snowmobile and sped him to the local town hall, picking up a bone or wooden ring along the way.
Throughout our entire stay Sven proved to be exceptionally resourceful and attentive to all our needs. In spite of his outward bristly appearance and somewhat distant self, he always knew what we wanted and always somehow came up with the goods, each and every time.
We were definitely never again left hungry, as he had taken the habit of packing supplies which he carted around everywhere and repeatedly asked us if we were hungry or thirsty without fail. The little ‘juices’ were also always at hand and helped to soften the biting cold and the miserable lack of alcohol during meals and at all other normal occasions. In fact funnily enough, we somehow ended up with exactly the opposite drinking habits that we would have back home. Our meals were accompanied by juices and soft drinks and we met at lunch time or in the evening around a large bottle of Coke. But then when we were driving or walking in the snow and ice, or doing activities and climbing hills, we frequently stopped for a swig of vodka and juice. And one of Sven’s favourite tricks was always making a funny big thing about the choice of fruit juice he would serve to each one of us. “Now who prefers orange, or pineapple? And I have a pear or an apple as well”, knowing very well that nobody at all cared about the flavour, it was the vodka we all wanted and nothing else.
One of the most spectacular features of this magical landscape was most definitely the light. As we were right on the arctic circle in January we never saw the sun. But the sky was constantly lit up with this soft heavenly glow, shedding a range of smooth silky wisps of light subtle pinks and lilacs and purples and reds and blues all over the forests and mountains around. And this lasted throughout the day, mysteriously dressing up the snow and the ice in enchanting fairylike colours. I very often said to myself, if heaven does exist then it would definitely look something very much like this.
We had a full and truly exciting programme with many a euphoric activity. We visited a small authentic tented Lap settlement, as well as a reindeer herd. We engaged in Nordic pastimes such as target axe throwing, splitting wood and target shooting. We were taught how to drive snowmobiles out in the wild, along icy tracks and down frozen waterways. We followed spectacular snowy trails up hills and mountains. But by far the most mind blowing experience for me at least, was when Sven took us dog sledding.
We were given snowmobiles and followed our majestic leader blindly deep into the woods. Until we come to a very large clearing on quite a steep slope which must be transformed into a large meadow in Summer. And there were several large Scandinavian men holding possibly around twenty sleds, each with eight beautiful huskies harnessed up in front. This first sighting alone was beyond belief in its everlasting expression of something you might dream about or see on TV but never expect to actually experience yourself.
We were each assigned a sled and asked to acquaint ourselves with our dogs. They were beautiful furry creatures of different sizes and colours. Some had deep blue eyes, while others were brown or black. They were not excessively friendly yet still gentle and benevolent. These are hard and toughened working dogs, not pampered house dogs used to caressing and constant fondling.
We were given a rather worryingly brief crash course on how to handle the dogs and the sled. We had to stand at the very back, leaning back and pulling hard on the cords. To stop the sled we had to put the entire weight of our body on a pivoting blade-like metal flap which ran along the width of the sled, driving it deep into the snow. The dogs knew the trail well and didn’t really require steering per se and in any case there were instructors on their own sleds in front and behind us to guide and assist. The only one thing that kept on being repeated was to hold on to dear life and to do everything to try not to fall off.
Sven’s last words which came with his now customary glint, were in response to the visibly shaken tiny Belgian girl’s desperate and rather shrill query. She asked what would happen if she did indeed fall off. So in his usual brusque self he replied “we try to find you”, with a slight emphasis on the word ‘try’.
The dogs which until this moment were perfectly still, suddenly stood up to attention and the moment we all stepped back onto the sled all burst out into a deafening chorus of barking and howling. They went absolutely wild with excitement instantly snapping into their main role and purpose in life. We were all told to step hard on the brakes until it was our turn to join the long queue of speeding sleds and were signaled by the instructors to do so. But even for me, holding them still was a considerable effort. Little Miss Brussels started slowly sliding down the hill, not only far too soon but also somehow entirely in the wrong direction. She screamed and she squealed as she soon lost grip and tumbled down the slope, setting free the dogs who leapt forward and chased off unbridled after the departed sleds.
My turn soon came and one of the instructors waved frantically at me to get off the brake, lest I miss my crucial slot. The instant I did, the dogs took over madly and I set off swiftly behind the others, holding on desperately to the sled. Initially it was hard to hold on. The pure force of these eight powerful dogs was like a freight train heaving with force. The speed that we travelled over snow and over slopes and swerves and bumps, took a lot of force and balance not to be thrown off. And when going downhill we had been instructed to step hard on the brakes.
Although I had my share of hair raising moments, after a while I settled into it rather comfortably. We sped through plains and clearings, over flat frozen waters and through magnificent forests and all the time the dogs were eerily howling.
I slowly became transfixed by it all. Totally mesmerised by the entire experience. I felt I had transcended into an entirely different dimension, a very rare feeling I have seldomly lived through in my life. As I slid effortlessly through these wondrous landscapes I become one with nature all around me. I felt like I blended into the hypnotic pastels of blues and yellows and pinks and golds. The whooshing cold air numbing my face and the haunting howling of the dogs penetrating my soul. The intriguing snow and ice formations all around me. The onlooking trees silent and speechless and frozen in time. It was like watching a supernatural movie, like being deep inside a glorious dream. All my senses were highly perceptive of the endless details around me, while being transported forward mystically in space and time.
Up to this day I am not quite sure exactly what happened to me. But I literally cried like a baby when it all came to an end. I was so moved by the whole experience that even after returning to Malta, I was constantly told by those around me that I looked totally spaced out for many weeks.
Had I somehow taken a glimpse into my past or into the future? Was it all just a trick of the mind? Whatever the reason may be, I have kept somewhere within me such magical memories of this phenomenal experience that it has also somehow contributed to the person I am today. A life-changing experience which I will cherish until the end of my days.