Where the Silence Glows - A Winter in the Swedish Laplands
As the clocks ticked forward, the sky outside remained a deep purple with only a hint of tangerine leaking through the horizon. At nine in the morning, the sun was still not out and I finally understood the true meaning of the polar nights in the Arctic Circle. I walked outside the hotel and was welcomed with an incredibly crisp and cold air, carrying a sharpness that I could feel with each breath. As I stepped into the serene morning, with soft lights reflected upon a blanket of snow, bundled up in layers of warm clothes, I heard tinkling sounds. I stopped to identify the source, only to realise it was the tiny crystals of snowflakes hitting against my down jacket.
I looked up towards the sky to see snowflakes drift down gently, each one unique and intricately designed, swirling and shimmering as they caught the light from the hotel’s lobby. Outside on the grounds, the snow reflected the faint glow of the moon and stars, adding a soft illumination to the otherwise dark surroundings. In the early morning hours, there was an overwhelming sense of tranquillity as the snow muffled sounds, creating a hushed, serene environment. The quietness can be almost surreal, broken only by the occasional crunch of footsteps in the snow or the distant call of Arctic wildlife.
After breakfast, we headed out for a photography session at the frozen Torneträsk lake. We drove up towards Björkliden, and after a short hike reach the top of the hill from where we could see the entire Abisko fjord and the town snuggled up in the valley. The frozen lake created beautiful reflections of the mountains. We spent some time here, mesmerized by the silence and peace of the surroundings. Beyond the small wooden cabin at the top of the mountain, which serves as a sentry post, we spotted a deep and rich, blue patch of ice amongst the sea of white. Curious, we walked towards it. Nearing the spot, we were welcomed by a small, stunning frozen waterfall surrounded by banks of snow. It seemed like a sapphire had casually been dropped there.
From there, we drove towards the belly of the frozen lake. After disembarking from the vehicle, Claudio, our lead, handed us metal foot claws to tie under the shoe-soles. Owing to the smoothness of the frozen lake, the area can get very slippery and these claws help with walking on the thick sheet of ice with steady feet. We meander around trees, with branches laden with soft snow. Admiring the beauty around me, I was so lost that I didn’t hear Claudio’s warning call for me to stop and landed straight into a 3-feet deep snow bank. Buried up to my waist in thick, yet soft snow, I tried to pull myself out of the hole, but to no avail. Helplessly stranded there, I waited for the group to arrive and rescue me. Instead, they stood around me laughing hysterically at my foolishness. Finally, two of them held me by my shoulders and pulled me out of my plight.
Having learned a valuable lesson in following the footsteps of the guide, I toed the line—both figuratively and literally—and stuck to the well-treaded path ahead. After a short walk and a climb uphill, we were greeted by a frozen pier standing at the edge of a vast field of ice, surrounded by the majestic mountains. The pier, which was completely frozen, had fascinating ice formations. It seemed like the water was frozen in the middle of lashing out against the metal. Sharp, clear icicles hung from the rails. Ahead, the vast expanse of the frozen lake was adorned with different textures. At places it had fractal-like formations, at places smooth, and at other places chipped and stacked.
All this stood surrounded by the Lapporten, also known as Tjuonavagge, with its famous U-shaped valley known as the “Doorway to Lapland”. The peaks are considered sacred by the Sámi people, the ancestral tribes of Scandinavia. It was like stepping into a serene and enchanted winter world, where nature’s beauty is on full display. As the invigorating and pure air filled my lungs, I couldn’t help but imagine how pristine and untouched everything felt. It is as if I was in a world that’s been frozen in time. The landscape glistens, with snow and ice crystals sparkling like a sea of diamonds under the daylight and even the soft glow of the polar night.
The next day, we had the chance to interact with the Sámi people and explore their traditional tepee dwellings. We drove two hours towards Kiruna town into Jukkasjärvi and arrived at a reindeer farm which also houses an open-air museum. This place was a quaint village with a church, and a road that wound across the snowy landscape, flanked with colourful wooden houses. The architecture followed here was very typical Scandinavian style of boxy houses with slanting roofs so that the snow doesn't deposit on them. Picketed wooden fences surrounded the boundaries and at each window you could see Adventljusstakes – a small candlestand that’s used across the country to symbolize warmth and light during the dark winter months.
We explored the area and were given a glimpse on how the local Sámi people live, the kind of dwellings they have, and the clothes they wear. We then walked towards the open fields, covered in snow, and interacted with the reindeers. These gentle creatures, a little larger than cows, were strikingly beautiful, especially with their majestic antlers. We bought some moss from the gift shop and fed the reindeers, petting them — they seemed to enjoy the attention.
After this, I decided to visit the famous Ice Hotel. Walking up the village road and into the highway intersection, as I reached towards its entrance, it was filled with uniformed officers. They informed that the hotel was not open to the public for that day as a European Union summit attended by the King and Queen of Sweden was underway. Disappointed, I took a detour onto a side road and was immediately filled with glee at seeing the scenery ahead of me.
This offbeat path opened into a snowy forest. The trees were laden with thick snow, with the branches capped and drooping with layers of fluffy snow, creating a picturesque winter wonderland. I walked for hours around in the peace and tranquillity of those trees and snow. I remembered my previous misadventure and kept to the main trail to avoid snowbanks. If I fell into one this time, there was no Claudio to pull me out! It's a wonderful experience walking those roads, devoid of traffic, devoid of people. There could be hours before I would see another soul even walking by. That solitude felt extremely pleasant and quiet – there was a certain sweetness to it all.
As the soft crunch of snow echoed beneath my boots, I paused once more, alone in that forest of white silence. The Arctic has a way of speaking not through words, but through stillness, through sky and snow and wind. And in that silence, I found something I hadn’t realized I was looking for—a deeper breath, a quieter mind, and a kind of peace that lingers long after the snow has melted from your boots. Lapland has etched itself into my memory not just through what I saw, but through how it made me feel: awed, humbled, and blissfully small beneath its vast, wintry sky.
