I could feel the cold air snap around me as I stepped out of the plane. There was no fancy shuttle to escort me into the warmth of the Skellefteå airport. We were put out into the cold, to find our own way to the building on a tarmac paved with ice.

It was dark, and the details of my surroundings eluded me. I could only see this tiny, almost single-room building which functioned as the chief airport. Once I pushed through onto the other side to the bus station, I was struck by the four-meter piles of snow that flanked the tiny wooden airport and the single road out of it. I hastened on board.

Once settled with seatbelts fastened, the bus slid into the darkness along a dimly lit road. I could just make out the thick forest engulfing the street ahead. The branches of the pines were heavy and laden with snow.

My face stayed glued to the window the whole way into town. I marvelled at this Lapland beauty. I even spotted a strange track in the snow to my left, which turned out to be the track of a giant moose, staring wide-eyed at the single bus on the lonely road.

Soon enough we reached the town, which was a dusting of fairy lights in a dark night. Almost every house was draped with strings of light which wound around the windows, the balconies, and even the trees.
I was promptly deposited at the Quality Hotel and made to make my own way to my Bed & Breakfast. I eyed the street in search of a taxi, but none revealed themselves. I guess I will march on foot then.

My boots struck the road and I dragged my heavy carry-on behind me. The night air was nothing I had ever experienced before. The thermometer of the bus read -26°, but my body still couldn’t compute it.

All I know is that one kilometre felt like an hour’s journey.

Slow Mornings at Brunnsgården Bed & Breakfast in Skellefteå

My eyes open sluggishly and adjust to the new interior around me. Pastel pinks and greens fill my room. A peek out the window tells me it’s still early. It’s dark outside, or as dark as it gets in this winter wonderland. The window sills are thick with snow. I realise it must have snowed more during the night.

I slowly uncurl my body and lie in my bed on my back, thinking about how I got here.

My arrival was punctual and polite. My host greeted me, and let me tuck myself in for the night. I familiarised myself with one of two rooms in the Brunnsgården Bed & Breakfast. I was surprised to find I had a companion of a furry nature for the night. One of the house cats kept me company on my bed until her prompt feeding time at five a.m.

I walked to the window to draw the curtains. Thick swirls of snow were in a flurry in the sky. It was falling rapidly. I could see the first commuters cycle to their work. Others were cross-country skiing past. I decided to take a slow morning and wake my body up with yoga.

I am new to the yoga routine. It would be a good habit to feed, especially if I am to be living this far north in a land of extremes. I need to ground myself in the morning. I used the carpet in the room and worked in a good stretch. Then I got dressed and prepared for my day.

Breakfast at Brunnsgården B&B

Breakfast was also a slow affair. The cosy kitchen offered me some eggs, orange juice, local butter, ham and Ryvita. I set about preparing my meal.

After working out the egg cooker, I scraped a slice of butter onto the Ryvita. I also sourced a jar of apple and orange marmalade, which I heaped generously onto the dry bread. Orange juice splashed into the glass and water boiled in the kettle. Soon I had a full breakfast.

I took my time. I surveyed the room around me as I ate. It was light and warm, which stood in stark contrast to the view outside. A rack of razor-sharp pine trees broke into the sky on the horizon, thickly decked with snow. It was a frozen forested wilderness. But inside the houses, it was different, with ample light to freshen up the morning.

Setting out for Sunrise

Before heading out into the freezing cold, I layer everything I’ve got. I start with thermals, then a top, a fleece, a woollen jersey handknit by a friend, and finally my coat. I pull on my jeans, my two layers of socks and my thick hiking boots. My head is similarly layered with a winter buff, a scarf and a beanie. Finally, I swing my camera over my back before pulling on my ski gloves. I was ready to head out.

I think I have forgotten the charm of the early morning, even in the extremes. Stepping out into -26°C is a very humbling experience. The first breath of icy air snaps into my lungs, but soon enough, your body adapts. I take small steps on the ice, shuffling forward towards my sunrise expedition.

The sky is glowing orange and pink, building anticipation for the rising sun. The land and air are hungry for its warmth. I can feel it. I trudge along the snow-filled streets and snap some pictures of the dawn glow.

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