The Mail on Sunday

Bound for the Arctic... in a tin tent on wheels

Tim Moore joins an intrepid – or mad – band of British caravan fans as they head for Finland

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FINNISH Lapland in March isn’t an obvious backdrop for a touring holiday. In the far- flung settlement­s, every low- rise concrete roof stands thickly wigged with a full winter’s-worth of snow. Between them yawns a monochrome wilderness, bleak white plains under an iron sky, dark pines dolloped in puffy icing, clustered around frozen lakes.

By way of sightseein­g rewards, there’s an encounter with the Northern Lights if you’re lucky, or one of the region’s umpteen ‘official Santas’ if you’re not.

Two years ago, I rashly set out across this unpromisin­g landscape on a bicycle. My aim was to follow the route of the old Iron Curtain – almost 6,000 miles, from the deep-frozen tip of Scandinavi­a to the Bulgarian Black Sea.

Having somehow completed this journey, beginning with more than 1,000 miles of snowbound, massively sub-zero Finland, I felt well qualified to join an equally improbable Arctic expedition.

The Caravan and Motorhome Club, as the UK’s largest members’ associatio­n was recently rebranded, has been striving to reinvent itself. By cliched tradition, those caravan-clubbers are a homespun bunch with limited horizons, their wanderlust sated by a Clarkson-baiting pootle around the countrysid­e, interrupte­d with regular layby tea-breaks.

By welcoming motorhomer­s into the fold, the Caravan Club hopes to shift its demographi­c towards the Jamie Oliver campervan generation – younger, more dynamic. Out with socks and sandals, in with stubble and surf shorts.

The Arctic Adventure is the club’s boldest bid yet to push tin-tent holidaymak­ing out of its parochial comfort zone: a whirlwind endurance challenge with a pair of Bristolbui­lt Bailey caravans and a 25ft, twoberth motorhome, from Britain to the far north through a dozen increasing­ly nippy countries.

After a less challengin­g journey by plane and taxi, I join the convoy at the conclusion of its outward journey – the little town of Ivalo, 145 miles inside the Arctic Circle. ‘Wake up in a hotel, and you could be anywhere,’ says Martin Dorey, gazing out at the frozen wastes from his plucky motorhome’s threshold. ‘ Same telly on the wall, same breakfast buffet downstairs.’

Dorey, presenter of BBC2’s One Man And His Campervan and author of several tin- tent cookbooks, is the corkscrew- haired poster- boy for the club’s rebrand.

‘In a caravan or camper you’re right there with nature and the elements. It’s a primal t hing. There’s a bigger picture, and you’re in it.’ And that picture is never the same. ‘A couple of days ago, I was standing in a T-shirt, looking out at a sunny Baltic beach.’

The Finns are a hardy and implacable race. They barely batted a frozen eyelid as I slithered very slowly through their lives on my bike on my earlier adventure. One of the few natives to express any curiosity about my endeavour drew up alongside in a rusting Audi as I repaired a puncture in a roadside snowdrift. ‘A bicycle is a bad idea,’ he mumbled neutrally through the window.

By the same token, the trio of GB-plated tin-tents lined up at the front of Ivalo River Campsite seems invisible to the snowmobile­rs filling up at the neighbouri­ng petrol station. The fact the campsite is even open at this time of year – the temperatur­e fell to -14C one night – speaks volumes about the national character, and the Finnish definition of holiday weather.

Later, looking out through the frostrimed window of the Santa’s Hotel restaurant (reindeer pizza is on the menu), I spot a Finnish motorhome hooked up to the mains in the car park. ‘Yes, we have many like this coming all year,’ says the waitress when I point at it.

LATER, some of the Arctic Adventurer­s and I wonder if the tin-tent vibe taps into the familial cabin-in- thewoods t hat is s uch a n ingrained Scandinavi­an tradition. At the Ivalo campsite, it becomes clear over the days that many of the rental huts dotted about us in the snowy forest are occupied. One, no bigger than a wendy house, is home to at least three Finnish voices.

My crowning challenge – after two nights staying at the nearby Lapland Hotel Riekonlinn­a – is to spend a night in the motorhome, but while building up to it I spend two days discoverin­g what winter- bound Lapland has to offer visitors too old to get excited about Santa.

The answer is rather a lot – and cer

tainly more than I’d realised when cycling through the region. The Kakslautta­nen Arctic Resort is home to a dramatic, arch-roofed ice chapel and a cluster of bijou, glass-domed, twoberth guest igloos, pitched at the romantic Northern Lights enthusiast (£425 a night – maybe another time).

We go on a snowmobile safari, speeding across the frozen Ivalo River, then more gingerly through the forest opposite, mittens gripped around the heated handlebars.

There’s a slightly Top Gear afternoon spent putting the motorhome and caravans through their paces on the ice tracks at Ivalo’s Millbrook Winter Test Centre. After a preparator­y lecture (‘If reindeer appear – don’t be afraid, but be ready’), the instructor­s say they’ve never had a caravan on the ice before.

I’m expecting a slithery shambles, but to universal astonishme­nt the car-and-caravan combo outperform­s the solo car. And of course, every day ends in a stupidly hot cupboard – the sauna. There are more saunas than cars in Finland. Some hours later, I’m finally hunkered up in a sleeping bag at the end of my Bailey Autograph 75-2, fresh from a braci ng return dash from the shower block. Indoors it is a balmy, wood-lined cocoon. The outside conditions express themselves through a thick frosting of ice on my over-bunk skylight, foiling hopes of a Northern Lights bed show.

In the morning the sun is out, and the cold, grey world on my doorstep is recast as a shimmering winter wonderland. Further away, smoke coils upu from the campsite’s barbecue tepee: Martin Dorey is at work on a sensationa­l scall op chowder that will push t the boundaries of sub- zero a alfresco catering.

My Iron Curtain ride, more b by accident than design, establil i shed the bicycle as a goanywhere, do- anything machine. Watching Dorey stir his cauldron, I reflect that this trip has performed the same service for the humble holiday home on wheels.

Tim Moore’s The Cyclist Who Went Out In The Cold is published by Yellow Jersey, priced £14.99.

 ?? ?? BREAKFAST: Martin Dorey prepares his scallop chowder
BREAKFAST: Martin Dorey prepares his scallop chowder
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 ?? ?? SURPRISING SUCCESS: One of the caravans at Ivalo’s Millbrook Winter Test Centre NATURAL BEAUTY: The Northern Lights put on a spectacula­r display above glass-domed igloos at the Kakslautta­nen Arctic Resort
SURPRISING SUCCESS: One of the caravans at Ivalo’s Millbrook Winter Test Centre NATURAL BEAUTY: The Northern Lights put on a spectacula­r display above glass-domed igloos at the Kakslautta­nen Arctic Resort

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