Something worth remembering - Three Days in the North

I recently read an article about doing something worth remembering. Well, it was really about how so many people across the world have spent the last twelve months in some degree of lockdown. Trips were postponed, then cancelled. Birthdays, weddings and sadly, funerals were held in small numbers. Days passing without any discernible change in routine or environment, quickly merge into one big blob memory of home office, home schooling and separation from family and friends. That is something no doubt many can relate to. 

Looking back on the last twelve months of my life, I am grateful that there are things that stand out, and quite significantly so. Last summer, I went on a solo hike on the coast to coast trail in southern Sweden for two weeks. It was a trip born in equal parts out of a lack of viable alternatives and seizing the opportunity to do something I always wanted. It was a trip that pushed the boundaries of what I thought I could and dared to do. 

In the beginning of January, I took a trip up north. The trip was short, though the journey, as I previously described, was long. The experience though, will live long in my memory. This was also a trip that pushed the boundaries for me, opened my eyes and got me back in touch with myself. 

Arriving in Jokkmokk

Murjek station

The overnight train and connecting bus got me to Jokkmokk on morning of 6th January. Jokkmokk, with its population of several thousand must be quiet at the best of times. On that winter's morning, it was shrouded in white and a deep silence. Snow piled up to a meter high on either side of the roads and paths, and just about everything else. There was barely a car on the road. It was of course a public holiday, which I had forgotten about. The 20 hours it took me to get there was enough for me to lose track of days and time. I met a girl at 7am at Murjek where we both got off the same train and were waiting for the same bus and I kept saying I left Malmö this afternoon. She had to repeated correct me to say that it was yesterday. Incidentally, my fellow arctic explorer was originally from Berlin, studying in Lund. Seems like all the women traveling on their own I meet (grand total of two!*) are from Berlin. Is this some kind of confirmation that Berlin might be my kind of place? 

She was right of course, I left Malmö in the afternoon on the 5th and arrived in Jokkmokk in the morning of the 6th. The final stage of the journey was by bus and I ended up getting off at the wrong stop. I had fallen asleep on the bus and woke to find that were were in Jokkmokk. I recognised a museum that I knew to be near where I needed to go. So when the bus stopped around the corner, and I saw the Berlin girl getting off, I assumed we've arrived and scrambled off the bus. It turned out that was in fact her stop as she was meeting her airbnb landlord there. It wasn't mine. I ended up having to walk 1.3 km instead of 200m. In the snow and with my two heavy bags and skis, it took me almost 20 minutes of feeling like a packed animal to arrive at my destination. I was glad then that I decided on a backpack and not a suitcase. Dragging a suitcase through that snow would have been a nightmare. I was also glad that the strength I gained during the hiking experience had not completely deserted me. It was hard going through the snow, but being enthralled snowy landscape and the magical morning light was a good distraction.

I eventually got to where I needed to and met Björn, who was my sort of host and sort of guide for the duration. I rented a glass igloo shaped hut by a frozen lake for three nights from him, and also booked a few activities through him. Upon meeting me, he told me that we would be heading out to the hut on what he called a scooter, what I would call a snowmobile. He was also going to give me a scooter tour so I could see a bit of the surrounding landscape. It would take about half an hour and would be cold on the scooter. I borrowed a pair of outer trousers from him for the ride. My own ski trousers were deeply buried in my bag, tightly wrapped around my bottles of wine and Kriek, so I wasn't about to dig them out. 

It was a truly beautiful morning, the most beautiful during my entire stay. The sun was just rising at 10.30 a.m. and everything was bathed in a pink glow. We drove over a few lakes, followed the edge of another lake,  through the forest to get to the hut. He gave me some information about landmarks to help me get my bearings in case I am out there on my own. 

Wading through snow

The hut looked small from a distance and it is really quite small but is something really special. Walled with glass on almost half of the hut, it provided an unobstructed view of the frozen lake and distant forest. The hut was still being cleaned when we got there, I went for a short walk while I waited. I followed a scooter path along the edge of the lake onto the frozen river. I saw a cabin on a slope and veered off the path to investigate. There were some footprints in the snow so I figured it was doable. It was, but the snow was a lot deeper in parts that the footprints belied. The snow was knee deep for the most part, though at some point, I was up to my thighs in the soft fluffy white stuff. The trail I left behind me was more trench than footsteps.

I didn’t do much else the rest of the afternoon. I realised that there was no electricity socket in the hut. There were a few USB outlets so I could still charge my phone and Garmin, but I had no way of charging my camera batteries and laptop if I needed to. That meant that I had to rethink my plan for the rest of the three days. I had planned to spend some time writing on my laptop. I also wanted to use the time to rethink certain life options. But rethinking required research, which required access to the internet. Oh, the wifi was also not working. The network with the provider I used was good down south. When I was traipsing across Skåne in the forest, I did not have any issues with the signal at all. But up north, it's useless. I had a weak signal in Jokkmokk and none at all at the hut. Thankfully, I had my work phone with me which used a different provider and had a good signal. So I could use that as a hotspot to check in with people and post the occasional obligatory photo on Instagram. Other than that though, I remained offline for much of the time I was there. 

Lying in the hut, soaking it all in.

I spent most of the trip doing nothing. I read about ten pages of the two books I brought with me. I spent a lot of time staring out into the snow, gazing at the stars, just sitting and letting my thoughts drift. Oh, and I wrote a lot. I journaled pages and pages, initially processing some of the baggage I carried with me, but mostly trying to capture every stirring emotion I felt just from being there and trying to capture the peace and serenity. 

Sámi and reindeer

I did plan some things to do, and was one them was an experience with a reindeer herder. That was to start at about noon, and my guide was going to pick me up from the hut at about 11am. This meant that I had most of the morning to myself. I decided to venture out on my skis. I had after all, lugged them 1600km, I might as well get as much use as I could out of them. Seeking the reassurance of the familiar, I set off in the same direction as my walk the previous day. That turned out to be a good thing. It had been eight years since I last stood of skis, and I was rusty. Not that I had ever got that good to begin with, having only learnt to ski in my thirties. I felt like a beginner and had to get use to the movement and the technique all over again. So it was good that I stayed along the river where it was nice and flat. Cross-country skis, by the way. Not long after I set off, I saw a group of reindeer emerge from the trees a few hundred meters ahead of me. Of course, I then I had to leg it back to the hut to get my camera, which I had also lugged with me for 1600 km and needed to get good use of. 

Björn arrived at noon as arranged and together we set off on foot through the forest towards the road where he had left his car. There was a narrow cleared path about a foot deep in the snow. When I ventured off the path out of curiosity, I discovered the snow to again be somewhere between knee and thigh deep. 

Anna and one of her favourite reindeers, Pikachu

The visit with Anna, the reindeer herder was a very interesting experience. I had my doubts before going, mostly because of the conversation I had with the girl from Berlin. She said that she had already done a lot of "cultural" experience things in Norway and so wasn't interested in doing any of that in Jokkmokk. She did not use air-quotes but her tone implied the inverted commas. I was then suddenly concerned that it was going to be a tacky tourist trap. But, I paid quite a lot for it and it is supposed to be for three hours, and I was going to be the only person there. So I was quite sure I would get something out of it. Personalised experiences are always more rewarding. If nothing else, I knew I could learn a lot just from talking to people. Three hours gives me a lot of time to ask questions. And so it was! There is too much to tell about that to included it here - this post is already going to be never-ending! Suffice to say, I learnt a lot. It opened my eyes to a lot of things and challenged some assumptions I had accepted about Sweden and racism. I gained so much insight into the life and struggles of the Sami and reindeer herders, and reindeers themselves! I am so glad I went for it, and got to speak to Anna. I would love to learn and experience more. 

Anna ended the experience with a joik or yoik, which is a traditional Sámi form of song, which was heartbreakingly beautiful. I later received a Spotify playlist of Sámi songs including a few joiks from my host, some of which I listened to endlessly for a many a day. 

Through the night forest

Three hours went by fast, and darkness was setting in by the time we emerged from the lavvu - a traditional temporary tent of the Sámi, shaped like a tipi. By the time I was dropped off by the side of the road near the path that would take me back to the hut, it was dark. I did not have my head-torch with me, so I had to use the torch on my phone instead. It was almost pitch black going through the forest. I turned the torch off for a bit to see how much my eyes would adjust. They didn't. Or at least, they didn't adjust enough or quickly enough for me to think that I could make my way without a torch. Wasn't I afraid? some people asked. No, not really. And this is not a false sense of bravado. There wasn't really anything out there that I was afraid of. Sure, there could be wildlife. Seriously though, that close to the road, I had no expectation that there would be any predators around. I realise I could be wrong of course. But considering people pay quite a lot of money to join organised expeditions for a chance to spot a predator, I did not think the changes would be high. I was more afraid of tripping over a tree stump than being attacked. I went out again later with a head-torch and took a video of the walk. This was, by the way, 4 p.m.

Nature's rules

Life out there is so different from life back home. One of the thing things that I realised up there, is that people have adapted their lives around nature, most importantly I suppose, around the snow.  In Jokkmokk, the roads were cleared but people have left the snow as it fell everywhere else. Out of the town, even more so. It has to be said though, considering I spoke to a grand total of two locals while I was there, I might not be in the best position to speak about their views on the weather and snow. Looking at the simple paths carved out through the snow and how people went about their business, I sensed and personally felt a simplicity that comes from acceptance of the circumstances. I don't really see how anyone could continue to live there without coming to some sort of acceptance or tolerance of what life in that environment means. In towns, we try to subdue the snow to suit what we have determined our lives would or should be like. Up there, one has to live by nature's rules. There was something liberating about that thought. 

Living my nature's rules also extends to the food. Björn, in his capacity as my host, provided me breakfast each day - a personally delivered luxury which I am so glad I opted for. On the first day, I got some yogurt with cloudberries. Cloudberries are berries which grow in cool, temperate climates, alpine forest and arctic tundra (thank you Wikipedia). And they are delicious. Blended with yogurt, they became my favourite breakfast food. And this from someone who does not generally eat yogurt. The cloudberries were picked by Björn himself last season and kept frozen since. That started a whole conversation about the different times which the different berries are in season, and the different season for different types of fish. Then there was the season for reindeer slaughter, which provides a large part of the meat they eat over most of the year ahead. Everything had its time and its place in the cyclic passing of the season. Again, there was something incredibly appealing about the simplicity of it all. Of course, I know that the simplicity and reliance on nature can also bring hardship and struggles. I know it's not all harmony and happiness. But still...

The magic of snow

I do love snow. Actually, I love winter. Proper winter, that is. Not the wet, soggy grey winter that we have seen so much of in the last few years. And this is something else that I can never find the words to explain. There is something about the cold crisp air that I find invigorating. And I really do think that there is a kind of serenity that only comes with a snow covered landscape. Somehow, the world seems quieter and more peaceful. Harshness softened, the world seems kinder. Snow, dry and soft, hard and crunchy, icy and slippery, mesmerises me whether I am staring at it covering the landscape, watching it fall, walking or running on it. In fact, the name of this blog references snow - diamond glints in snow. 

Peace

More than anything else, peace is what the frozen north meant for me. I am still not able to put into words the appeal that the wintery north has for me. Those few days I was there, I felt more at peace than I had for a long, long time. My usually overactive mind rested, and drifted calmly and aimlessly from anything to nothing. All the troubles and stresses I brought with me as I boarded the train seemed to melt away; their urgency dissipated; their importance diminished. Without having to try, I was in that state of calm acceptance one strives for through meditation. My restless spirit, content. Well, mostly content. The sense of peace of contentment accentuated how far away I had been, am in the "real world". I could not help but question life and its purpose and what I was doing with mine. 

Man make fire! 

On the night of the second day, I built a fire, rediscovering the thrill of single handedly making fire! The sense of achievement was slightly less than during the coast to coast hiking trip. This time around it was easy because all the wood was super dry. I spent half the evening watching the fire and snow and stars. There were a couple of reindeer skins in the hut which provided incredible insulation against the cold snow. Lying on my back watching the sparks fly up towards the dark sky as snowflakes drifted down from above, there was nowhere else I would have rather been. I stayed out for about two hours. Eventually, I felt guilty about using too much of the firewood, and let the fire die out. 

Into the ice!  

The other event I had booked happened on my third and last day there. In the afternoon, Björn came round again on his snowmobile with the trailer full off equipment he was going to need for my experience that day. He called it cryotherapy. I call it an ice bath, which is still a glorified way of saying I jumped in a hole in the ice. That story is told in another post. For the sake of melodrama, I might say that my life will forever be divided into before the ice and after the ice. But no, not really. I do however feel like I pushed some boundaries that day and learnt a bit more about what my body can cope with and what my mind can do. And for that alone, I will cherish that experience. 

Elk about town

And just like that, it was time to head home. I packed with reluctant hands and a very heavy heart. My bags and I were dropped off at the bus station in Jokkmokk. While I waited, I spotted a huge dark shape in the distance across the road. Cars came to a sudden stop on the road while their drivers and passengers leaned out with their phone to capture the image. It was an elk! Or rather, two. A mother and her calf. I had already seen mamma elk and baby earlier from the car. They had apparently decided to take a trip into town for the urban culinary experience. Now they were just across the road from the bus station having a snack off some trees. I knew I lugged my zoom lens with me for a reason. 

Home

Amid other conversation, my guide asked if I would consider moving to somewhere like Jokkmokk. I answered his question as best I could though I cannot remember what I said. Looking back, I wonder what made him ask me that. It seemed like an odd question to ask a tourist. I would imagine that many people would go there for the sake of the experience, have an amazing time and head back to "normal" life and never think about it again except when they regale their friends with amazing stories of the far north. Surely only a very small minority would consider living there. Did he see something about me that told him I could belong to the small minority? Do I belong to that small minority? I honestly do not know. I don't think so. There is too much about city living which I will miss. Having said that though, it takes no effort to imagine spending more time there. A couple of months in a cabin in the winter, with a fireplace and a sauna, would do me very nicely. I wished that I had thought to do what the girl from Berlin was doing, taking advantage of the current remote-everything situation to stay there for two weeks. I could have worked from there, and as long as the wifi was stable enough, it would not have made a difference where in Sweden I was. Why didn't I think of that?

Whether I can live there or not, the train ride home was not as enjoyable as the trip there. The experience of the long journey, private cabin etc, was still enjoyable. But this time around, I was accompanied by a melancholy that grew with the miles we covered. My mood fell in proportion to the amount of snow outside the window. By the time we were nearing Malmö, the surrounding landscape seemed to have never known snow. As the train pulled out of the last station before Malmö, I wanted to cry. Whether it was a reluctance to face the realities of life waiting for me or the longing for the land I left behind, I don't know. Face the realities of life, I will. Return to the land I left behind, that I will too.** 

*The only other solo female hiker I met on my Coast to Coast trip was Luna, from Berlin. 

**As it turns out, much sooner than I feared. Still lacking viable alternatives, I'll be back there before the winter melts into spring. By this I mean, at the end of the week! Just in time to catch the turn of the season into what the Sámi call Spring-Winter, one of the eight Sámi seasons, as the lights returns and before the snow disappears.