Sunday Mirror (Northern Ireland)
Ready Sleddy Go
Wrap up warm - very warm – and head north for an Arctic adventure with Santa
Ihave never driven a team of huskies before and my son is about to be a passenger on my maiden voyage. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Dad?” my son asks. He is right to be worried.
My stomach tightens at the prospect of being hurtled across the Lapland Arctic with my son on a flimsy wooden sled pulled by six yelping dogs.
But it’s time to go, so I release the brake and, in a frenzy of barking (by the dogs) and whooping (by us), we rocket forward across the snow. It’s difficult to tell who is more excited, me or the boy, as we whizz through the Finnish landscape.
The cleverness of these huskies astounds me as we complete a 5km loop back to the kennels without any real guidance from me. I may be “driving” the sled, but I know I’m just a passenger too.
It is one of the many adventures 10-year-old Edison and I enjoyed on a four-day trip to Lapland. The home of Santa and wintry fun is the perfect destination for families wanting to make the most of the Christmas experience. And how better to get into the festive spirit than a sleigh ride through northern Finland?
We visit Heidi, who runs a reindeer farm near Yllas, our base, to check them out. We are pulled along by the bullish Tahti, which means star in Finnish, for a gentle trek through picturesque wilderness, tucked under a blanket.
And we need it. While Lapland is “only” -10C to -15C around Christmas time, we are out in
-30C. This is pain-inducing cold.
Our Snow Princess Hotel gave us snow boots, extra thick socks, woolly gloves and waterproof snowsuits. But multiple layers are still required underneath.
Wrapped up properly, there is a magic in the air. There is an otherworldliness to the place.
Nestled in the sleigh, I notice the stillness and the clearness of the air. And when those first snowflakes begin to fall and I stick out my tongue to catch them, I am drawn to memories of childhood.
Lunch is at Restaurant Poro, a five-
minute walk from the hotel. I order elk carpaccio to start and sautéed reindeer with lingonberries on creamy mash, for main. Both are delicious, and there are less exotic meals for those, like my son, who are not adventurous diners. Full up, we decide to take a snowmobile safari.
Helpful elf Tinsel briefs us: “The snowmobile is very dangerous and you can hurt yourself if it goes wrong.” Good to know, especially as we are travelling in the dark. The sun stays up from only 10am to 3pm here, and by the time we have finished lunch it is already pitch black outside.
Despite my initial trepidation, the snowmobiles are easy to operate. Soon I find myself in a rhythm as we speed along the wide, rolling path out of town, surrounded by snow-clad pines.
A shot of Valhalla, a sort of black, Finnish sambuca, awaits me at an ice bar upon our return. There, even the drinks are served in glasses made of ice.
No trip to Lapland is complete without paying a visit to see the big man himself. Father Christmas has set himself up on the shores of a lovely lake where children play while they wait their turn for an audience.
Finally it’s our turn, and one of his helpers ushers us into his hut. He is exactly how I expected: a plump old man with a flowing, white beard and a benevolent air. He is yet to bring me a Porsche, but I still believe.
And if you get the chance to see Father Christmas in his true, Nordic home, you will keep believing too.