The Ice Hotel Experience

The Ice Hotel in Sweden. A crystal clear palace in the heart of a white
wonderland. Husky dogs prowl outside and unused sleighs lie buried
under the snow. Inside, seated behind a frozen ice desk, the
receptionist greets me warmly. I ask her for a single room for three
nights, and hand over the wad of money. As I walk down the cool,
slippery and unmarked hallway, I stop outside room seven. The one I'd
paid for. As I step through the door, I gasp at the interior. For the
ice hotel, it doesn't surprise me, but compared to the luxury of the
lounging area and the bar, it's almost suburban. In the middle of the
room, surrounded by opaque icy walls, a huge wooden platform catches my
eye. A straw stuffed mattress is placed on top of the wooden bed, and
layers of thick fur quilts are thrown upon it. I drop my bags; take one
last surprised look at the room, and head for the bar where my
welcoming drink is waiting for me. As I step into the foyer and walk
through the door to the lounge, I smile. A frosty bar top lines the
outside of the lounging area, where men and women sit drinking shots of
tequila, whisky or gin from ice cube cut glasses. I order a large
brandy and collapse in a soft squashy chair by the open fire, the
flames licking at the sides of the stone fireplace. Couples and groups
of friends sit dotted around the fire on sofas, rugs and beanbags,
their jubilant laughter ringing out in the evening air. A wave of
warmth washes over me as I take a sip of my brandy and watch the
couples giggle helplessly. I shake off my thick suede c oat and unravel
the scarf from my neck. Kicking off my boots, I bring my knees to my
chest, snuggle deep into the chair and carefully select a book from the
bookcase next to me. I had never felt so content as I do now, and the
brandy lulls me into a mellow frame of mind, while my cheeks turn rosy
and my blonde hair dries from the fallen snow, which had dampened it
earlier. The locks of brown drying to a pale gold, the colour of fallen
leaves in the autumn. A little while later, after introducing myself to
a group of travellers and enjoying a round of drinks, I manage to climb
into bed, pulling the fur blankets up to my neck. The sleeping bag,
which I bought from the airport, gave me little warmth, but as the
brandy was still inside me and I had layers of fur blankets on top of
me, I felt warm and cosy. I awake to the sound of huskies barking and
the Swedes yelling in their strange and foreign language. The bright
sunlight shines through, and the birds twitter pleasantly. After a
quick wash and a change of clothes, I button up my suede coat, plonk my
woolly hat on, pull on my woollen gloves and tie my chenille scarf
around my neck. I cheerfully say goodbye to the people in the foyer,
and take the first step into a wintry silence. Snow crunches under my
feet, and my breath is hot compared to the coldness. I rub my hands
together, and pull my hat down over my ears. Signalling to a Swede, I
mine to him to take me into the town, which is a couple of kilometres
away from the hotel. He nods his head in agreement, and then goes over
to the shed, bringing a wooden sleigh, which he attaches four huskies
to. Motion for me to sit down on the furs in the back, he pulls at the
leads and we're off. Snow flying behind us, the wind in our hair. The
coldness stings my eyes, but I forcefully keep them open and enjoy the
view. After a short while, we draw up to the small town, huddled
beneath a mountain. I pay the sleigh driver and reschedule for him to
pick me up in two hours time. We part, and I walk into the town high
street as he tugs on the reins and flies off back to the hotel. As I
look around, it reminds me of a little village, the kind you get on a
Christmas card with the twinkling lights, heavy thick white snow and
the villagers bracing the oncoming winds. Stuffing my gloved hands in
my pockets, I step inside a shop; it's lights glimmering in the window.
A bell rings somewhere in the depths of the shop and a plump, smiling
woman steps up from behind the counter. "May I help you madam?" she
asks in flawless English. "I'm okay for the moment," I reply, "Just
browsing." She smiles, and returns to stacking the shelves in the far
corner. I stop to look at a shelf of golden teddy bears with crimson
silk ribbons and black button noses. Jars of sweets are stacked behind
the till, tempting and seductive in their sparkly and glossy wrappers.
My stomach groans hungrily. I buy a bag of mints and a bulky novel by
Aidian Chambers, thank the shopkeeper and step back outside into a
flurry of snow. Clutching the brown paper bag to my chest, I hurry
across to a caf?, it's fogged up windows and smiling faces of customers
seems welcoming. I dash inside just as a huge gust of wind sweeps all
the snow off the pavement and into the air. The waiter seats me by the
window and I hastily ask for a large hot chocolate and a slice of local
apple pie. She brings my order to me, and I settle down to read the
first chapter of Mr Chambers's novel. After a good heartedly discussion
with an English woman about novels, I bid her farewell and visit a few
more shops. Being a common tourist, I but some little souvenirs and pay
a handsome price for a gorgeous cashmere sweater in deep red, it's
thick material adding even more warmth and comfort I had never known.
As I wait for the sleigh ride I watch two little girls throwing
snowballs at each other, their infectious giggling swirling through the
air along with the wind. I laugh, and hardly notice the sleigh has
arrived and the Swede grins at me. Embarrassed, I climb in and he takes
me back to the hotel. When I get back to the hotel, I ask the
receptionist if I can use the outdoor hot water spring Jacuzzi. She
gives me the key and orders one of the hotel staff to prepare it for
me. I slip into my bikini, shivering as I do, wrap my thick cotton
dressing gown around me and head outside. The twirling wind whirls
around me, and I shrug my gown off me and quickly slip into the hot
water, letting its warmth surround me like a quilt. I relax and let out
a contented sigh. The Swede who set up the Jacuzzi for me laughs as I
close my eyes and smile lazily. He offers a selection of rich smooth
soaps and I choose a round ball of pink soap. Rubbing it on my skin, I
unwind, and enjoy the luxury. After the Jacuzzi I get dressed and head
to the bar for a couple of drinks. I meet another group of friends, who
ask me to join them. We have a heated conversation about the hotel, and
after a round of shots, we are asked, politely, to leave the bar, the
staff laughing helplessly as we thank them for their excellent
alcoholic beverages. We head to the restaurant and have a rich, lavish
meal. All the while we laugh and talk of back at home. Many of them are
from the Midlands, a few from Ireland but I'm the only Devonshire
person. I bid them goodnight, and stumble into my room in the early
hours of the morning. As I collapse on the bed, I go over the last
events in my head. The first initial view of the hotel, the town, the
Jacuzzi, the friends I have made. I smile, as I know I'll remember this
vacation for a long time to come. The Ice Hotel. I will definitely
return. For that I am sure.