By: Eva Toschi
Vassijaure Haglöfs Ski Camp
When I was asked to participate inHaglöfs Ski Camp in Lapland, the first thing I wondered was whether there was skiing in Lapland in the first place. I have always associated, and I don’t think I’m the only one who has, Lapland with three things: Santa Claus, (his) reindeer, and the flat, desolate moors. In these images in my head there has never been room for snow-capped mountains to ski, but I look forward to filling my eyes and soul with new sights and new experiences. Of course, I decide to leave and be surprised.
While most of the time travel is simply a (rather boring, let’s face it) way to approach and prepare for adventure, the journey to Lapland is an adventure in itself: you take an overnight train from Stockholm up the whole of Sweden and with a quick change you arrive, only 19 hours later, at the tiny station of Vassijaure, our destination.
In these hours, in addition to sleeping, one gets to know, with the right timing, those who will be one’s skiing companions for the following days, and one enters, again according to human and natural timing, within the territory one is visiting. You can see it, you can feel it. Hour by hour. And if for a very long time the landscape always looks the same, when it changes you suddenly feel it. And lo and behold, snow replaces grass, houses begin to disappear, and mountainous outlines timidly make their way into the distance. And if you don’t find yourself locked in the bathroom when the train engineer announces the sighting, you will be able to see a reindeer near the railway.
Although dazed by the journey, when it is a short time before we arrive we slip on our clothes and prepare to ski to camp. The train stops in the middle of nowhere, in front of a building that looks more like a church to me than a station.
We get to know our guests and guides and, divided into groups, start pelting. It would almost be sunset time if it were not for the fact that at this time of year the sun never sets. We soon reach a knoll from which we can see the tepee tents where we will sleep the next few days (or rather nights, but they are the same anyway) we take off our skins and reach camp with skis on our feet. It is something I have always dreamed of: snow everywhere and nothing to do but sleep, eat, drink and ski. And I came all the way here, by train, if you couldn’t tell, to do just that.
The first night I struggle to get to sleep because of the light and mostly because of the worry of having to put on my shoes, go out into the snowstorm, and go to the bathroom tent to pee. Necessity I have to deal with every night. The toilet, in the interest of intellectual honesty, consists of a plastic bucket basted with a wooden seat: the flush, on the other hand, is a dustpan full of sawdust with which to cover what you have just done. Fortunately, the bucket is emptied daily.
The following day the weather is infamous: we are in complete white out and the wind is very strong. These are not ideal conditions, but all we can do is zipper up our jackets and start climbing.
We split into groups and I unknowingly jump into the most advanced one. Before long, as I exchange a few words going up, I realize that I am with the pros. My companions are all Haglöfs ambassadors. I offer them Haribo candy and we become friends: I will not be remembered as the one who skis hard, but as the Italian who offers gummy candy at the summit.
We realize we are at the top because a pyramid of stones has been made at the highest point. Traditionally you have to touch it, and so we do.
The descent is pure survival: I don’t make any turns to keep up with my fellow excursionists, and anyway, the snow doesn’t promise or allow much, at least to me. Arriving almost at the end of the descent, the boys stop, get the shovels out of their backpacks and start setting up a jump. After a while I admire them close several backflips. It is impressive how comfortable they are with all kinds of terrain and conditions, and how they are able to enjoy themselves on a day that, had I been at home in the Alps, I would have spent on the couch reading and petting my dog.
Back at camp I drink a small beer in a hurry to squeeze into the sauna before dinner, but once I enter the tent, I am overwhelmed by some wonderful surprises. The first, which is definitely unexpected and welcome, is that you can drink in the sauna and everyone is holding a cold beer. I will get one immediately. The second is instead that Swedes, seemingly cold and aloof, once they put on a costume start drinking and sweating in places where proximity is unavoidable and become party animals.
Between chatting and beers we also give ourselves a rinse with a bucket of cold water before dressing for dinner. It is the only way we have to wash during our stay. The evening ends in front of a fire in the surprising clear gray light of the evening.
On the second day of skiing, it’s skiing for real. Lots of elevation gain, little talk, blue sky and snow, finally light and powdery. I can’t imagine a better day of skiing, made perfect by arriving at camp accompanied by live music and a beer offered and uncorked while still on skis. We sing and dance until we realize it’s nighttime, but only for checking the clock.
On the third day we wake up and it is raining. It would be a case of staying warm and doing nothing, much less skiing, but we can’t help but make up something to do, with skis on. There is no alternative. And the thing as alienating as it is is interesting.
I let myself be dragged figuratively and literally, as we attach ourselves with a rope to the snowmobiles, to a more distant valley. Between rain, skins that won’t stick, concrete snow, I certainly don’t spend an epic ski day, but still in good company trying to remember every fragment of this place so far from home that I will be forced to leave tomorrow. After what yes, I can say the worst skiing of the year, we close on a high note with another ride towed by the snowmobile back to camp. Skiing hanging from the rope, with the buff up over your face so you don’t breathe in the exhaust, is undoubtedly the most fun thing about the day.
At camp, we celebrate the last evening by doing all the things that have brightened our afternoons in the last few days: drinking beers around the campfire, drinking beers in the sauna, dancing (drinking beers). Martin, one of the boys who closed the backflip on the first day, sits back and lets his blond hair be cut in a beautiful mullet cut. He is young and strong; he can afford it. In the morning we put on our skis only to reach the train station. It is an absurd sentence to say and yet, that is exactly what it is.
10 things to know about Swedish Lapland:
- No one smokes but everyone, but everyone, uses snus.
- The snow can be unbelievable in May when I am not there.
- It is essential to sleep with an eye mask. In the event that one lacks one, the buff is perfectly fine.
- Craft beers cost 8 euros and are very good. The same ones, for free, taste even better.
- Sauna can be more aggregative than a disco.
- Even if you are in the middle of nowhere, you may be awakened by the whistle of a train announcing its passage.
- In Sweden, in addition to abusing snus, people eat excellent pizza.
- The reindeer are not there. Especially if you pee on the train at the wrong time. For Santa’s, I reserve the right to come back in December with an empty bladder.
- The night trains are equipped with beautiful showers. Which after four days of camping and skiing, let’s face it, is a miracle. Especially for those who will sit next to you on the flight back to Italy.
- In Lapland there are mountains. And yes, there is skiing.
