It was April 2005 and I had been invited to a ‘northern oil symposium’ in Lapland. Having arrived in Helsinki the night before, we boarded the connection to the town of Kittila, 100 miles above the Arctic Circle. The population up there is 0.6 people per square kilometre. Safe to say if Santa does exist he must be the principal employer.
Landing at one of the more remote airports I’ve ever been to, I was encouraged to find their facilities were still better than the charter side of Geneva. We were met by a rep, lead upstairs into a room and told to put on a flame retardant suit and helmet. We watched as the minibus I was convinced was our transfer drove off with all our bags in it and we were taken outside to discover that we’d be transferring to the chalet by skidoo. Finland being the country of rally drivers and speed freaks, there were about as many instructions given on how to make them work as there are on a clitoris and once all ten had been switched on, off we went, quickly discovering that speed limiter is also not a word that exists in the Finnish language.
Taking the long route to the ski resort of Levi via about three bars, a frozen lake and one trader going over his handlebars and into a tree, we arrived at a Husky dog station. Husky sleds look like sturdy contraptions when you see them on TV loaded with goods and being lead across frozen wastelands, but they’re basically recycled wicker chairs and about as robust as a chocolate oven glove. The owners had been cross-breeding their dogs with wolves for better performance and I was told mine were racing dogs moments before they released them, dragging me out onto the ice with all the aplomb of Stevie Wonder taking a typing test.
The next morning it was finally time to ski. Levi is basically a 400m hill with runs going off in every direction but champions itself as having the only bubble in Finland. You won’t be challenged by the runs but you will be challenged by the après-ski as multiple shots of vodka come marching out onto the lunch table as routinely as an SS platoon with OCD. Reindeer is the local animal and the local food so prepare for Rudolf sausages, steaks and stews. It’s also the moniker of the local nightclub, the Crazy Reindeer Arena, allegedly the largest bar in Europe. There we were treated to a band I can only describe as looking like Madness in shorts, and a variety of shots as oil traders from various countries in Europe tried to outdo one another with their respective local moonshines.
I boarded the plane back to Helsinki with a hangover the size of Mexico and nine other broken traders. It might not be the biggest ski resort in the world, or even the best equipped, but it still follows the tried and tested ski, drink, sleep and repeat formula. If you want to one-up your friends when they talk about the more unusual ski resorts they’ve been to, not to mention pick up some branded merchandise that looks like it’s a cheap knock-off of a popular American jeans company, then consider stopping by.
Tags: S4E18
