Leo hadn’t been exaggerating: the temperature was plunging

There were a dozen of us waiting for the guide. The redhead in a furtrimmed hat and huge quilted jacket, its burgundy colour matching her hair, had told us at lunch that her name was Jane Galloway. The Ellises arrived late, looking as though they’d just had a row. Robyn was red in the face and hissing at her husband who was trying to ignore her.

I turned away to hide a smile. The Ellises were going to be fun.

The Bibbys were absent. I wondered why, given Wilson’s comment about wanting to visit the Icehotel. Perhaps they were getting a personal tour later. The things money can buy.

Leo Tullis appeared, clutching his clipboard. “Are you conducting the tour, Leo?” I said.

“I could do, I’ve been on it so many times. No, it’s one of the hotel staff.”

Right on cue, a young woman marched down the corridor.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “My name is Marita and today I will be your guide.”

She spoke in a calm business-like manner, as though she were reading the news.

Unlike most Swedes, Marita was short. Her blonde braids, threaded with red ribbons, were wrapped round her head in a style more Germanic than Scandinavian.

Unconcerned

The patterned jacket, threatening to burst open, and the black skintight trousers, did nothing but emphasise the heaviness of her figure.

What endeared her to me was that she seemed entirely unconcerned by it.

She surveyed the group, her gaze lingering on Mike’s suit. I could guess what she was thinking: only a complete idiot would dress like that.

Mike smiled at her, apparently oblivious to the effect his clothes were having.

When Marita had everyone’s attention, she took a deep breath, pushed her bust out further, and launched into her speech.

“Welcome to the Icehotel. As we are 200 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle, the outdoor temperature can drop to as low as minus 30 degrees Celsius.

“So before we take our tour, you will need to dress appropriately.”

She paused for emphasis, making a point of glancing again at Mike’s suit.

“Everything you need can be borrowed from the Activities Room. Now please follow me.”

Her command of English was excellent, although the words were thickly accented and the delivery more sung than spoken.

Harry, always unforgiving of foreigners, nudged me and pulled a face.

The Activities Room was the size of a small warehouse: coloured ski suits hung in rows that occupied most of the room.

There was little else apart from the cupboards and slatted wooden benches lining the walls.

Robyn marched to the nearest rack and squeezed a snowsuit with both hands.

She released it quickly and inspected the material as though checking the quality.

“We have snowsuits of different sizes and thicknesses,” Marita said, motioning to the racks. “On the trays above the suits, you will find gloves, hats, and ski masks. Outdoor boots are at the back.

“The cupboards contain sports items – snowshoes, skis and ice-climbing equipment.” She spoke quickly and confidently, in what was evidently a highly practised routine.

“Now let’s get our suits on, as I’m sure you are impatient to see the Icehotel.”

Sweating

She picked out a suit from the middle rack and dressed quickly. I took the first medium-sized snowsuit I could find and clambered into it.

It was one of the thicker suits, and I was sweating by the time I’d zipped it up over my clothes.

At the back of the room, I found a pair of knee-high boots. I sat down next to the fire door and struggled with the stiff straps.

Liz was examining the door. “Where do you think this leads to, Mags?”

“The outside. It’s a fire door, I think.”

“A fire door, here? Really? In all this snow?” “I’m sure they have fires, even in Lapland.” Sweat was dripping from my brow. “What size is your snowsuit, Liz?”

“Small, and extra long.” She studied me, looking slim and elegant in her white suit. “What on earth are you wearing?

“I’m sorry to have to say this, Mags, but you look just like the Michelin Man.”

“Thanks.” I was sweating heavily now, my clothes are sticking to my back. “So where’s Harry?”

“He’s helping Mike with his inside leg measurement,” she said meaningfully. “Can you stand up in that thing?”

Ignoring her, I levered myself off the bench and waddled out of the room.

We left the Excelsior, and followed Marita down the slope to the Icehotel.

Leo hadn’t been exaggerating: the temperature was plunging.

Marita gestured to a low wooden building on our right. “That is the Locker Room, where you will change before you sleep in the Icehotel.”

“About that,” said Jim Ellis hesitantly. He peered at Marita, his eyes huge behind his spectacles.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What should we wear?” Robyn glowered at him, as though he’d made a social gaffe.

“Only a sleepsuit. No clothes.” Marita smiled encouragingly.

“Put your things in a locker,” she added, “making sure to take the one with your room number, as it is reserved for you.

“At the back of the washroom, there’s a door which takes you outside, then to the Icehotel’s side door.”

A murmur passed through the group. Jane Galloway gave me a look that said: “This can’t be right.”

“You mean we go outside after we change?” said Jim.

“That is correct.”

Doubts

“What happens if we get cold at night? I mean so cold we can’t sleep?” He tried not to look at his wife.

Marita smiled indulgently. “It’s a psychological thing.

“You might think you’ll be cold but you’ll be surprised how quickly you warm up.

“There is hot lingonberry juice in the Locker Room, and in the morning Karin and I will bring some to your room.”

I felt sorry for Jim; the holiday must have been his wife’s idea. But others seemed to be having their doubts.

Liz was speaking earnestly with Mike and Harry, and Jane was frowning listening to the Danes I’d seen taking over the restaurant at lunch.

It was too late to worry about the cold. We were here now.

More tomorrow.