Back at home

I didn't want to pencil in a meeting for potential burglars by letting you know that I was going away, but beforehand I was so excited about the holiday that we've just returned from that I very nearly had to sellotape my fingers together to stop myself from typing about it. Last Autumn my mother-in-law invited us to go with her to Sweden and we've been looking forward to it ever since. However, like our summer holiday that had to be cancelled when one of our lovelies became ill, this one also nearly didn't happen and we only decided that we could definitely go about 24 hours before we were due to leave - which turned out to be a jolly good decision. Our destination was the far north of Sweden, in search of the Northern Lights and our first stop was at the Ice Hotel in the tiny village of Jukkasjärvi. I'll share my photos of the actual hotel in the next post, as it was too stunning to try and squash it all into one post, so for now I'll just tell you what we got up to during our stay there.

The temperature was thrillingly extreme and reached -40 Celsius during our time there. On our first morning there it was so cold that within just a few minutes eyelashes were frozen, any exposed hair turned white, each hair coated with frost (I now know what I will look like when I'm grey and will be investigating chemical-free hair dying options in preparation for it) and if you happened to stick your tongue out for too long that too freezes. A balaclava was almost essential, along with as many layers and coats as one could fit beneath the full body suits provided by the Ice Hotel.

I photographed these sledges pulled by husky dogs when we were out walking on the River Torne one day, but our own husky dog expedition took place after nightfall. They raced us across the open river for several miles, where the open landscape allowed the wind to whip through our clothing and bite at our bones, before bringing us to a stop in the shelter of the forest. Here, a fire was lit and we drank warm lingonberry juice and ate Swedish pastries.

 We'd stopped at this point...at no point did I drive one-handed.

Another evening, just before sunset, we set out on snowmobiles. When our instructor was showing us the controls on these beasts I stood (with his warning that accidents and frostbite were common ringing in my ears) listening with almost certainty that I felt too fearful to attempt driving one of these, particularly with one of my lovely children clinging to my waist as I took my first lurches into snowmobiling. It was only the knowledge that I would always regret having passed up the opportunity that prompted me into pressing the accelerator and following the others out onto the lake. Having gathered confidence over the expanse of the frozen river, when night had fallen we headed onto the narrow forest paths and into the wilderness. This was a trip mingled with terror and exhilaration in equal parts. With the added windchill, frostbite is common and after 1.5 hours of driving both children were crying and our instructor made the decision that we needed to get them back to warmth as quickly as possible using a shortcut which necessitated going off the main forest tracks. With twisting paths, and each snowmobile following the last at twenty metres apart, it wasn't hard to lose the others and suddenly the line of taillights which we followed disappeared, and the last four snowmobiles in the line were left completely alone, not knowing which way to go when the path divided. We turned off our engines and waited in darkness while the children howled, and inwardly I did the same. It was probably less than ten minutes before the instructor must have noticed that he had less people following and came back to find us, but it was ten minutes in which I wondered how long my children might have before their frozen fingers would necessitate amputation (we lucky snowmobile drivers had heated handlebars...the passengers did not). At the time it was terrifying, but with the hindsight of knowing that my children's fingers are fully functional and intact, I'd leap right in and do it all over again: the sunset; the views; the extreme temperatures; a Narnia-esque world flashing to life in the light of my headlamp; the roar of my own snowmobile blocking out any other sound; the thrill of doing something that I found so terrifying, was too good to miss. And once their hands were warmed our children's memories of it are all good too. The next day my upper arms were more than a little achy...snowmobiles do not seem to come with Power Steering.

Mr Teacakes & the small ones

But our holiday wasn't entirely adventure-based. We had time for long walks on the river.

To plod through the snow making shapes.

And to admire the sculptures that had been made in the ice sculpting sessions.

The sight of coming around a corner to see these sculptures twinkling in the sun was breathtaking.

The memories that I will take away from this holiday feel too numerous to properly organise in my head and I have scrolled through the photographs on my camera repeatedly, trying to neaten them in my mind and sort them in some way so that none of them might be forgotten. I'd love to show you the actual Ice Hotel in the next post...and then perhaps some photos that I took at Abisko when we travelled even further north in search of the northern lights.

I hope you had a lovely half-term too,
Florence x