Wintertime, there’s south to Florida. West to Arizona. I picked north to Sweden. Serious north. 200 km beyond the Arctic Circle. So far above there is no abover.
I went to the Icehotel. My nearest neighbor was Matt Damon clawing out of downtown Mars.
How cool is it there? By comparison, Siberia’s a sauna. You need to partner with an Eskimo with a high fever.
In the forever schlep to get there, the first stop’s cheery cozy cuddly Stockholm — where one already freezes one’s seat belt off. A four-hour wait, then a transit to some Donder and Blitzen service for that popular vacation spot — Kiruna. The rest of the way you mush on — ready? — dog sled. No cracks about stewardesses being huskies.
In bad taste
When were you last invited for dinner with, “Hey, let’s go out for Swedish?” The flight outbound was OK. Inbound to New York, whoever did the meals must’ve apprenticed with a shoemaker. They should reimburse me. I haven’t tasted food this lousy since I made it myself.
Cold comforts
Mid-April weather turns torrid, like up to zero, and that’s when the Icehotel turns to water and closes. But before it became slush, my friend Copacabana manager Glee Ballard said, “Let’s go.”
The Icehotel’s proffered pajamas were a sleeping bag with a liner inside. The bed, covered in reindeer fur, ice! Waterglass? Made of ice. Your contact lens fluid? Ice. Your eyeballs can crack.
Before things melt the nearest peeing’s on a glacier two miles south of planet Uranus.
November, a chorus line of artists spend six weeks carving 2,500 blocks, 1,000 tons, into 55 guest rooms. Two-ton blocks of ice, harvested from adjoining river Torne (520 km long), transform into chandeliers, beds, suites, animal statues.
White weddings
You can feast on master chef Alexander Meier’s Michelin-level gourmet dishes. You can overnight in a cabin in the wilderness an hour’s dog sled mush away. General manager Kerstin Nilsson says yearly it’s 50,000 guests, 2,000 artists, 80 weddings in a chapel fashioned from snow and ice. Temps dip to minus 30 degrees Celsius. So damn cold after 15 minutes newlyweds don’t care who they’re sleeping with.
Toasty, cuddly, no. A once-in-a-lifetime experience, yes.
Unsettled land
Dominating the region is Mother Nature’s mountain of iron ore, which once fed, supported and nourished the entire village. That area has now been condemned. The indigenous Samis — much like our native Americans — pronounced the mined ore “not treated respectfully” — and predicted the mountain will “punish you.”
It has. That far off portion of Kiruna has been declared by experts unsafe. It is sinking. Homes are being removed. Lives upset. Shops closed. People relocating.
The Icehotel was born 25 years ago. Midnight sun blazes for 100 days. Home to the Northern Lights. The sky so pure you see thousand of heaven’s lights.
Clamor for clams
So days away from civilization my cellphone rings. Judge Judy. My former assistant Molly called her to say Sal Scognamillo from Patsy’s is desperate to reach me. It’s important. Important!
Nobody can find me. So Sal on West 56th calls Molly, who calls Judge Judy in Jackson Hole, Wyo., who calls me in Sweden.
In the Arctic, asleep on reindeer and ice, I don’t happen to have Scognamillo’s phone number on me. I call Molly. Then, Sal. The news? John Kasich, who loves Italian food, took my advice and came into Patsy’s restaurant with his crew for clams oreganata. Sitting on an ice cube, I then had to report back to Molly and Judge Judy.
Only in Kiruna, kids, only in Kiruna.