I went to a summit at the start of the Swedish EU presidency. It was a different kind of trip, because naturally the Swedes wanted to show off their wild and wonderful homeland, so off we all went in a chartered plane, to Sweden’s northernmost town Kiruna, way above of the Arctic circle, whence to discuss the presidency agenda and priorities.
It’s different there because this far north the nights are long in the winter (20 hours plus) and the only hope for natural light rests with the magical – but fickle – aurora borealis, or Northern lights. So when we arrived at four in the afternoon, to be greeted by the chairman of the Sameting (parliament of the indigenous Same people) and other local dignitaries, all decked out in impressively serious and furry winter gear, it was in pitch darkness. The Commissioners were whisked off to the Ice Hotel in Jukkasjärvi, while the skeleton crew of foot soldiers (myself included) was shipped to a rather more mundane hotel inside the security parameter of the conference centre.
Not that I’m complaining. We had a minder assigned to us, and actual hotel rooms waiting when we arrived – unlike some of the security detail (there were hundreds of policemen flown in for the occasion), who rumor had it were lodged all over, in old military barracks and even bunk beds in local garages; not a pleasant place to sleep when it’s -10C, but still preferable to standing watch outside the premises in the snow throughout the night, as some did.
It’s easy to forget how quiet it gets when a place is covered in snow. All noises are dampened by it, and so as we took a ride through town it was eerily silent. It wasn’t just due to that, tho. Kiruna is a mining town, situated literally on top of the world’s biggest iron ore mine, and because the latter is expanding, the former has to move; the old part of town is being evacuated so that mining operations can be carried out right underneath it, and that means most of the houses are vacant, staring emptily at us as we drove around. It’s effectively a ghost town.
That feeling of otherworldliness is further enhanced by the sight of Iron Mountain (Malmberget) across the valley, covered in lights and smoke in the darkness, like a vision of Mordor (mining goes on 24/7, as there is little point to adhere to a normal working day when you’re miles below ground). Add to that the fabulous wooden church that looks more like a temple to Norse gods than to their middle-eastern counterpart, and you get the feeling you’re in some Tolkien/post-apocalyptic/Viking/snow zombie crossover story.
The next day couldn’t be more different: while the Commissioners have a chance to hob-nob with the King of Sweden, open a satellite launch site, and other media-friendly events, those of us who weren’t allowed near the Ice Hotel last night are now given a guided tour of the venue, and it doesn’t disappoint: it’s like a very different kind of fairy tale, one where you are transported to a world of ice – the rooms, the furniture, even things like chandeliers and glasses are made out of ice, and the designs and decorations are incredible; the hotel is rebuilt every year, but they save the best rooms, so over 30 years they have accumulated an incredible array of weird and wonderful rooms (not all of them conducive to a good night’s sleep, it has to be said!). The overall impression is one of a winter wonderland (in the Elsa-from-Frozen-meets-C.S.-Lewisian sense) and the setting – all forests and snow covered vistas plus the frozen river (from which the building blocks of the hotel are taken) – doesn’t do anything to diminish this.
It’s easy to see why it’s popular, but since the sun barely makes it over the horizon (at noon it is fully visible for less than an hour) it is soon dark again, and the politicians get down to business. They spend the afternoon hammering out a work program and looking at various high tech business displays, and then there’s just enough time for a joint press conference of the Swedish PM and the Commission’s President before we all hurry back to the plane and travel back south.
Our 24h adventure is at an end. As we rise into the velvety darkness I peer out for a last chance to see the aurora, but there’s nothing there. Reason enough to come back? Maybe. I find myself next to one of the Commissioners, and discuss the possibility of bookending the presidency with another meeting at the height of summer; he is keen to see the midnight sun but less so about experiencing midge-infested marshes. I tell him how the indigenous people spend a night in early summer sleeping naked in the marshes, getting stung enough to aquire immunity, yet he seems unconvinced by my implied solution. My one attempt at direct lobbying is apparently a failure – but who knows? We’ll see in July.
On Monday I was supposed to receive a medal. It’s one of those traditions the purpose of which I don’t understand: you get one after twenty years as a civil servant. But it isn’t merit based – everyone gets one. All you have to do is stick with it two decades. That made me think.