Latitude: 65.8°
Weather: -27, ☃️ Sunrise: 10:45 Sunset: 14:11
On one of our long train journeys, watching small cabins appear and disappear in forest clearings beside the tracks, Tim mentioned that he’d always wanted to stay in a cabin deep in the snowy woods.
The joy of a trip like this is that we have no fixed plans. Luleå was the last stop we’d planned before leaving home, so from here we’re freestyling in a generally southwards direction. So – why not make the cabin dream happen?
To go south we actually first needed to go north, tracing the coast of the frozen Gulf of Bothnia up into Finland. We took another thoroughly lovely bus ride, jumping on the number 20 from Luleå bus station for the 3-hour ride to the border. In an act of brilliance that we really should copy in the UK, the longer distance buses here are half bus, half delivery lorry. We watched a forklift truck load up our bus with pallets of parcels at the bus station. Result: fewer vehicles on the road and a bus line which has an extra source of income – this seems very clever.
Two happy Ashtons bagged the front seat upstairs (what is it about a double decker bus that’s so exciting?) and settled in for another gentle morning of snowy roads, village scenery and the slow rise and fall of the arctic sun. Moose and fox were spotted, along with glimpses of frozen rivers and estuaries.
The bus took us as far as Haparanda, on the Swedish side of the Torne river, which marks the border with Finland. Haparanda is home to the world’s most northerly IKEA, which I’m sorry to report we did not visit – no room in the rucksacks for meatballs. Leaving the bus station, turning right means staying in Sweden. Turning left hops you across a bridge to Finland, seamlessly changing both country and timezone.
We hired a car in Tornio (Finnish side of the river), loaded up with groceries at not-quite-the-most-northerly Lidl, and tracked down an alcohol shop for wine. Like the rest of the Nordic countries, sales of alcohol are controlled; you can buy low-alcohol wine and beer in regular supermarkets but need a government-run alcohol shop for anything else.
I was nervous about the drive after the conditions on some of the roads on the bus trip up, but the E8 was clear and in perfect condition. I’m still grateful that Tim handles the driving, leaving me to navigate (and sightsee). It was dark before we left Tornio but a full moon meant that the snowy fields and woods were almost spotlit, making it a pretty journey.
The cabin is … idyllic. It’s everything we could have hoped for and has been a joy for two lovely days. Tucked in the woods, surrounded by snow, with views down to the rapids on the Torne river, and then across into Sweden. A big fireplace, cosy living space and cute bedroom up a steep ladder. And, this being Finland, our own perfect little sauna attached to the shower room (fun fact: Finland has more saunas than cars. Sauna use is a huge part of their culture, for both health and socialising).
On our first evening, Mr Tim managed to coax a fire out of the snow-filled fireplace by the river, and we toasted marshmallows in the biting cold while listening to the rush of the rapids.
Walking back to the cabin, we spotted a green haze beyond the trees, and soon the sky was dancing with light – fully vibrant green to the naked eye this time, even under the light of a full moon. It was genuinely magical – frozen trees, snowy ground, our little cabin and the other-worldly dancing lights.
Our cabin day was equally beautiful. A long sleep and a solo walk to the river in the blue light of pre-sunrise (10am). It’s hard to describe the magical beauty of the light here, which feels so special and ephemeral. The daylight hours are so short, the sun never climbs too high in the sky, giving an almost constant haze of delicate pastel pinks and oranges as sunrise fades seamlessly into sunset. Mist rolling off the river, and the silver birch sitting delicately alongside the more solid pines. The moon only sets for a few hours and has been full, bright and oh-so clear, sitting huge on the horizon at twilight to add to the sense of living in a fairytale.
We took a drive to the next village to visit the cafe and shop belonging to Sirpa Kivilompolo, a paper artist. Her shop and work reflect the sense of light and space that’s found up here, with delicate paper watermark art designed to come to life through sun or candlelight. We’ve bought a couple of small pieces to take home and hope they survive 5 weeks in a rucksack. The coffee and cake was good too – highly recommended.
On Sirpa’s recommendation, we took a crunchy walk through the snowy village streets, past a beautiful pastel-yellow church and down to a hut beside the river (frozen here, away from the rapids, with the setting sun painting warm colours onto the ice).
The beauty of the light may be hard to describe – but so is the harshness of the extreme cold. We arrived back from our village walk and decided to try out the snowshoes kindly left for us by the cabin owner. I quickly realised that this was one piece of cold air too far for an already-chilled body, and we had to beat a slightly chastened retreat. Tim calculated that it takes about 8 seconds for your nostrils to freeze, and around 1 minute without big gloves for hands to become intensely, painfully cold in the thin inner gloves worn underneath (needed to take photos). The landscapes here look like a snowy playground, but the reality of such brutal, intense cold is absolutely not to be taken lightly. Each new place we’ve visited has got a little colder than the last, and despite all the right clothing and many, many layers, we’ve realised that we need to plan our days quite carefully to make sure that we’re staying safe and warm.
Retreating from the -27° weather, our last evening was perfect for cosy cabin time. A sleep on the sofa in front of the fire, a sauna looking out over the snowy trees and a lovely steak for dinner (thanks Tim). Slow, relaxed, thoughtful time.
From here we will start to head gently south, first round the Gulf of Bothnia to Oulu and then making the long trip down to Helsinki. I’m so glad we had these cabin days to slow down and enjoy a little bit of peaceful Lapland magic. I’m taking with me a sense of the most delicate and beautiful of light, contrasted against the deceptive harsh cold, and a huge respect for people who make their lives and living in this beautiful but challenging landscape.
