A Swedish Adventure: Polar Nights at the Icehotel

The airplane landed at the Kiruna airport around mid-afternoon, in time for twilight in the Arctic Circle. I didn't realize that twilight was as bright as the days would ever really get. But northern Sweden is so far north that in early January, the sun never rises above the horizon. And there I was, about to hop on a dogsled for two hours through the polar night.

I was part of a group heading to Sweden's Icehotel, located 125 miles north of the Arctic Circle in Jukkasj�rvi. Before the Icehotel opened 25 years ago, this village was known for two things: snow and reindeer. But now they're just part of Jukkasj�rvi's main attraction: a hotel made of 31,000 tons of ice and snow on the bank of the Torne River.

The river is frozen solid for more than half of the year so you can't tell that you're actually on a riverbank from the Icehotel, or when you're dogsledding across it. But there I was, smushed cozily between two burly men (my fellow passengers), the dogsled driver standing at the back of this same simple contraption that indigenous S�mi people have used for centuries to traverse snowy Lapland.

It already felt like midnight, and without our driver's headlamp we would see nothing. The 11 mid-sized Alaskan huskies pulling our sled were so much smaller than the massive beasts I pictured in my head, and they were bred and fed for one thing: running. When they weren't running, they were howling and barking, in anticipation of more running!

Also, it was cold. But cold is relative. I was let down to learn that the Jukkasj�rvi forecast would see highs in the 20s - while back in New York the highs were a measly 9 degrees. It was colder at home than in the Arctic Circle! And cloudy weather meant the Northern Lights would remain elusive, somewhere past the snow-laden horizon.

Still, there I was being towed by a band of fervent wee dogs through the woods and along the frozen Torne to this winter wonderland. Since 1990, the Icehotel has built this sanctuary of snow every fall, only to watch it melt away each spring. Some 50,000 visitors come from around the world each winter to view around 65 uniquely designed and hand-carved rooms, sip cocktails from an ice glass in the Icebar, and reflect (and sometimes marry) at the Icechurch.

Many people don't realize that the Icehotel is also a year-round complex with permanent, climate-controlled structures and hotel rooms. Not everyone wants to slumber in 23-degree temperatures, much less dine and socialize there. And for gay and lesbians couples traveling together, snuggling in the sub-zero temperatures won't be frowned upon. Homosexual relations have been legal in Sweden since 1944 and ever since, the country has been at the forefront of LGBT rights.

Ice, Ice, Baby

Even for a cold-lover like me, spending one night in a "cold room" was daunting, despite the super-thermal Icehotel overalls, boots, coat, face mask, waterproof hat, and giant mittens they supplied. All that gear would be shed down to one layer of thermals and a sleeping bag by bedtime.

To help ease my impending fear, I headed to The Homestead restaurant for a hearty dinner and wine. They say drinking slows your metabolism and won't keep you any warmer. But it certainly helped numb my reservations. Dinner in a 1768 timber cabin paired well with a visit to the nearby Nutti S�mi Siida camp, where I got to drive a reindeer sled, then relax by a fire inside a teepee, taste reindeer jerky and learn more about the how the S�mi have made a home in this territory for the past 5,000 years. Suddenly one night in a snow room didn't seem as daunting.

I shuffled back to my Icehotel dressing room, stripped down to long underwear, boots and hat, and headed into the giant igloo hotel. My beautiful "art suite" was designed by Chilean artist Francisco Cort�s Zamudio, and dubbed "Renaissance." I slipped into my sleeping bag atop the foam mattress and reindeer hides and let the soft blue light and deep silence calm me. After about two hours of sleep, I woke feeling like I was wearing an ice mask. So I rolled over and formed what I dubbed a "breathing chimney" out of the sleeping bag's hood, and was surprised not to awaken again until the nice bearded man with the warm lingonberry juice greeted me at 7 a.m.

Few mornings begin with such refreshing enthusiasm to pop out of bed. Soon I was dressed, fed, and ready for a full day's adventure. I joined a snowmobiling tour across the frozen river and into the woods, stopping for a lunch of reindeer-and-vegetable stir-fry cooked over a fire inside a cedar hut. My first drive on a snowmobile taught me two things: You can quickly satisfy your need for speed on this Arctic hotrod, and do not forget your goggles.

The day wrapped up with an ice-sculpting lesson inside an enormous teepee, filled with ice bricks on carving pedestals. My artistic sensibilities were overjoyed by the ease of carving ice, which is both malleable and easily correctable. If you break off the wrong piece, you can "glue" it back on with a little water. Working on my frozen fleur-de-lis, I entertained ideas for an Icehotel suite of my own design, and was encouraged to apply for the 2015-16 season by our ice-sculpting teacher Lena Kristr�m. She's created a cold guestroom every year since the hotel opened; this season her design was the gorgeous, mystical-themed "Rays of Vision."

I'm not sure I'm quite ready for the challenge of sculpting an entire room yet, but since the Northern Lights eluded me on this winter adventure, they may magically lure me up to the frozen tundra again someday. And if not, there's always the midnight sun at the Icehotel in June.