LAPLAND OF THE GODS...
GERRY CORNER IS ENCHANTED BY LAPLAND’S FOOD, FORESTS AND MIDNIGHT SUN
DEEP in a far-off northern land, beyond even Tebay services, there is an enchanted forest. I know, because I’ve been.
My fellow travellers, up above the Arctic Circle, will tell you the same.
We had stopped to take in our surroundings during a ride on e-fatbikes through Finnish Lapland’s ancient woodland, and I found myself gawping in wonder.
There’s something magical about this place, I say. The others nod.
Our host smiles like I’m not even the first person that day to notice.
It’s June and everywhere is a lush, intense green, but cranked up, like Pixar in overdrive. Blueberries, lingonberries and all manner of herbs thrive in the uncontaminated environment, home to otters, wolves and bears.
We drink from a spring, clear and cool, and fill our lungs with officially the cleanest air on Earth.
E-fatbikes (strictly speaking it’s the tyres that are fat) were designed for snow, but in summer make light work of rough terrain and allow you to cover much ground.
Just be sure to stop and feel the magic.
For a man who considers himself northern and proud, journeying to Lapland is a confusing experience.
Two flights, from Heathrow and then Finland’s capital Helsinki, take us 1,100 miles above my native Merseyside to Rovaniemi, Santa’s official residence.
And we’re not done yet; from there a 90-minute drive nearer the top of the world still, crossing inside the Arctic Circle to our base in the Pyha-luosto National Park.
We stay at Lapland Hotels Luostotunturi, smart and roomy, with a restaurant serving some pretty special food.
Ever-helpful staff bail me out more than once, including when I realise I’ve brought the wrong travel plug (the wilderness-based electrical suppliers proved scarce).
We don’t finish dinner until 11pm but it’s not like it’s going dark anytime soon. Not until about August. It’s midsummer in the Land of the Midnight Sun, where, for three months or so, daylight lasts 24 hours.
Better known as a winter destination, Lapland summers offer many more ways to experience one of Europe’s last great wildernesses, from hiking and berry picking, to rock climbing and digging for gemstones in the continent’s only active amethyst mine.
Post dinner we make the most of a tranquil evening and enjoy the unfamiliarity of a late, light walk. From one vantage we look across dense forest – pines, larches, spruces – stretching to the horizon, broken only by the polka dot effect of innumerable lakes.
We were not always fortunate with Lapland’s variable weather.
On another night the irony of attending the Midnight Sun Film Festival in pouring rain was not lost on us. Still, a big-top movie showing with a celebrated director and actor, and the bohemian crowd up from Helsinki, was no less enjoyable.
Our first morning is spent at the adventure park in Pyha, where deep gorges slice through rugged fells, remnants of mountains formed two billion years ago.
I have reluctantly agreed not to be a misery and join the climbing experience, despite my fear of heights. Surely it would be a modest, man-made affair, unlikely to result in an embarrassing fatality for the tourist board, and certainly not an actual rock face, with assorted sharp edges, gorges, and five ziplines to negotiate.
I was wrong, and prepared to continue my Lapland experience from a hospital bed. In truth, though, a harness clipped to a safety wire extending along the course of the climb allowed for a feeling of jeopardy while actually putting us in no more danger than a walk round your average city centre.
Not quite courageous enough to tackle the ziplines alone, I bore the minor indignity of riding in our instructor’s lap.
“You do this for other people?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. “For kids.”
Nevertheless, I ended the morning exhilarated, proud to have at
least partially overpoint come a lifelong fear and proved myself as brave as any seven year old.
After lunch, canoeing proves altogether more serene. Two to a boat, there’s a short tutorial, then across Lake Pyhajarvi and into the river running off it. Now the current does the work, carrying us through an abundance of flora and fauna, and we slip into silent meditation, once more entranced by our surroundings.
Lapland is home to Europe’s only indigenous population, the Sami. Reindeer, semi-wild and outnumbering humans, have long been integral to their lives, providing food, warmth and transport, and our evening is spent on a reindeer farm, where Sami culture thrives.
Our Sami host Anu turns out to be one of those annoying people who is good at everything. When not herding reindeer, hosting cookery classes or singing like an angel, she’s knocking out my new favourite cocktail – warm cranberry juice laced with rosemary, black pepper, ginger and a generous shot of vodka.
Finnish food proved a revelation, drawing on a rich source of ingredients and prepared with know-how and simplicity.
At our hotel, cured Arctic char with spruce teriyaki sauce and pickled fennel salad; from Anu, soup from foraged mushrooms that had us begging for the recipe; and, from Lampivaara Café at the forest’s edge, doughnuts, soft yet chewy, cardamom balancing the sweetness. If I live forever, I won’t have better.
Anu had invited us to dinner in the farm’s restaurant, built to resemble a goahti – the traditional Sami home – where a blazing fire takes away the evening chill and cooks the reindeer meat, sweet and tender, that we enjoy later.
After a feast of food and not a little wine, Anu asked if we would like to see her yoicking. I wasn’t sure what this meant, but it sounded like something she might prefer to do in the privacy of her lavatory. As it happens, yoicking is an ancient Sami musical expression, songs without words, whose message is conveyed through sound and emotion.
And Anu’s rendition was a beautiful way to end a trip that’s been a joy – from start to Finnish.
On a tranquil evening we enjoy the unfamiliarity of a late, light walk