The Ice Hotel – Part 1: Room Made of Snow

The ice hotel rose out of the frozen river at Jukkasjärvi like a palace made of glass that had forgotten to melt. The walls glittered blue and white under the lamps. The ice chandeliers hung from the ceiling like frozen stars. Hanne stood in the entrance with her breath clouding in the air and a rucksack full of thermal layers that she was already beginning to doubt.

"Don't touch the walls," said a voice. "They're very sensitive. Like my sister."

She turned. A tall man in a dark wool coat and a fur hat stood by the reception desk, with a clipboard and a face made ruddy by the cold. He had pale eyes, a neat beard frosted at the edges, and the calm expression of someone who had been freezing for a living for years.

"You must be Hanne," he said. "I'm Viktor. I'm your guide for the night. Your room is ready. It's minus five degrees, which is considered a heat wave."

"That's not comforting."

"It's not meant to be comforting," said Viktor. "It's meant to be honest. Come, I'll show you how to sleep without dying."

The room was carved entirely from ice: a bed with a block of frozen snow for a base, a mattress of reindeer skins, and walls that caught the light of a single candle and turned it gold. Hanne stared at it, open-mouthed.

"It's beautiful," she said.

"It's cold," said Viktor. "But yes. It's also beautiful."

He showed her how to layer up, how to tuck the sleeping bag over her head, and how to breathe through a scarf so her lungs did not freeze. He was patient and precise, and he never once laughed at her clumsy attempts to put on her thermal boots.

They ate dinner in the heated lodge beside the hotel, reindeer stew and dark bread and a bottle of hot blueberry juice. The windows looked out over the frozen river, and beyond it the sky was turning from grey to violet.

"Why did you come here alone?" asked Viktor, over the stew.

"Because my father died in January," said Hanne, quite simply. "And he always wanted to see the northern lights. He used to say they were the only thing in the world that made him feel small in a good way."

Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then he set down his spoon.

"Then let's see them," he said. "Tonight, after dinner, from the river. Wrap up well. Only if you want to."

Hanne looked at him, the candle reflected in his pale eyes.

"Yes," she said. "But can I ask you something first?"

"Anything."

"Why are you so good at this? Being calm in the cold?"

Viktor smiled, slowly. "Because I used to be the one who panicked," he said. "My first winter here, I nearly froze on a snowmobile because I was too proud to ask for help. Since then I've been very good at asking. Which is why I'm asking you now."

"Asking what?"

"Whether you'd like to hold my hand on the river tonight. Only if you want to. It's very slippery, and I'd like to be the one who catches you."

Hanne laughed, bright and surprised. "Yes," she said. "But only if you promise to tell me when we're about to fall in."

"I promise," said Viktor. "Green?"

"Green," said Hanne. "Very green. Now show me the lights, Viktor, before I change my mind about the cold."