I’ve been feeling restless with memories of past travels. I loved to travel! —And I did plenty of it. I’d save, then go on some wild trip. The new header photo for this blog is from a trip to the Ice Hotel in Lapland, Sweden (2007).
I was met at the airport by my dog sled crew of eight. For an hour and a half, in -20 Fahrenheit I bumped along. A born and raised a Southern California girl, I took in the opposing thrills my new adventure held: The hush sound of snowfall; the sled wooshing—catching air, then jarringly landing back onto the ground. The rhythm of 32 dog feet running in sync.
To take photos, I’d quickly remove my camera from my parka, brace it on my knee, and “click”—then quickly return the camera to warm safety in my parka. The Ice Hotel was cool (actually, it was freezing!) In a place filled with tourists, I was still a novelty and my photo and story were in the newspaper. I’d traveled alone from San Diego, California. To Lapland, Sweden. In the winter. “. . . from San Diego, USA, traveling to the Ice Hotel is a dream come true. Ten years ago she was sitting at her mother’s, watching the news. There was a segment on the Ice Hotel. She knew she must visit there one day.”
I friend of mine was planning to come with. When it came time to book our flights, they didn’t have the money saved. I asked two other people if they wanted to go. One was leaving for Hawaii; the other, after a recent death of their mother was spending time with their Dad. I went alone. There are so many aspects I look back on with fond memories — one of my favorite? It was paid for before I left.