Jennifer Jeffrey, Writer & Editor

The -6 Degree Bedchamber

It's 11:28 pm in Sweden, and we're getting ready to go to our ice suite. The bed is set behind a forest of thick tubes of ice like so many frozen tree trunks. Bubble-shaped sculptures are scattered about floor. Our instructions are to go to the locker rooms, strip down to our thermals, put our boots on, grab our sleeping bags and run back to the room. Once there, we immediately jump into the sleeping bags and fasten them high around our necks.

I'm a wee bit nervous.

Today was one of the coldest days they've had here thus far this winter. It was -32 this afternoon. My eyelashes froze.

Our bedchamber for the night will be -6, which seems balmy in comparison.

I ate reindeer today! Twice. It was amazingly delicious.

More on that later...

Nighty-night!

It's Colder Here Than Wherever You Are.

The Ice Hotel has wireless Internet. That is nowhere near the most amazing thing about this place, but I can hardly believe that I’m uploading this post via my iBook as I lounge on a blonde pine bed, while deep piles of snow lie heaped on the ground outside my windows. Wireless Internet in the Arctic Circle! Somebody pinch me!

Excuse me if I sound giddy; it’s only because I am. I haven’t slept in nearly two days, and I just spent the past few hours wandering through rooms carved out of ice, each one designed by a different artist around a distinctive theme. Waterfalls. Angels. Time.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s been a very long day. Our flight was scheduled to leave Heathrow at 7:00 am this morning; before we went to bed last night, we set the cell phone alarm for 4:15. But we had spent a lovely evening laughing our heads off with a group of artists over Indian food at a restaurant near Hyde Park; we didn’t get to back to our room until after midnight, and frankly – why bother trying to fall asleep when you’ll only get to stay that way for a couple of hours? And besides: we were still on San Francisco time.

We managed to stay awake until 4:00, and then we stuffed our things back in our bags and phoned a taxi. The flight from London to Stockholm lasted about two hours. In Stockholm, we retrieved our bags and dragged them back through customs. Finally, around noon, we boarded a flight for Kiruna.

Going, Going...

In less than three hours, the Moroccan and I are embarking on an adventure. We'll fly from San Francisco to London, where we'll rest for a day before flying in to Stockholm. From there, we catch a flight to a tiny town called Kiruna in northern Sweden, where we'll stay at the Ice Hotel. On a bed of ice, no less! Really and truly.

If we don't freeze solid, we'll move on to Morocco.

I've spent the last two weeks searching for the right kind of hat and warm but-not-too-bulky gloves, and laying in extra stores of Chap-Stick.  Now everything is safely packed away.

I'm. So. Excited.

Look for a post or two from the great beyond...

A Phone Conversation between California and Paris

SETTING: A late October afternooon. A woman sits at a large desk in front of a computer screen. Her fingers hit the keyboard in a steady, droning beat, as if there was a sign hanging over her head with the word D-E-A-D-L-I-N-E written on it. A phone rings, punctuating the silence.

HE: So I went to that place you told me about.

SHE (eagerly): The l'Etoile d'Or? You found it?

HE: I can’t believe I didn’t know about it before! The lady there was so cute! I think she’s famous or something. There was a group of very excited Japanese girls taking pictures of her. She told me in French to hurry up and buy what I wanted before they bought everything.

SHE: That was Denise Acabo! I can’t believe she was really there! Was her hair in pigtails? Was she wearing a tie? 

HE: Yes! A tie! She must be at least fifty. She carries chocolate from Bernachon. So delicious. You won't believe how good it is. I hope I don’t eat everything before I get home.

SHE: Stop tormenting me! I’m jealous enough already. (sigh)

HE: These caramels are amazing.

SHE: Wait. You got the salted caramel spread, right? From Henri Le Roux? Not the individual caramels.

HE: But when I said "Henri Le Roux," this is what she...

SHE: The spread! You have to get the spread!

HE: It’s a spread? Are you sure?

SHE: I’m positive. It's called Salted Butter Caramel Spread. Le Caramelier. It comes in a little glass jar. David Lebovitz said it was amazing, and Catherine Nash adores it.

HE: But these caramels are perfectly…

SHE: You have to go back.

HE: Fine. I’ll go back.

SHE: I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you have to go back. I mean, if it's too much trouble...

HE: I'll go back. In fact, I'll call Denise right now and ask her to set a jar aside for me in case another pack of Japanese girls drops in.

SHE: I love you.

The Road to Iona, Part II

After a gorgeous breakfast in the sun room at the dun na mara guest house in Benderloch, we loaded our bags back into the car.  Our goal was to make it to the tiny island of Iona by late afternoon. To get there, we had to drive to Oban, catch the ferry to the Isle of Mull, drive across Mull and catch another ferry on the far side of the island to take us to Iona. It had sounded simple when I was creating the itinerary at home. Now it sounded like a great many stops and starts.

We decided to take our time traveling the short distance to Oban. We had stopped there the previous night and had been less than charmed by the tacky rows of shops and dingy storefronts that dotted its streets, and so we spent the morning touring an old castle oddly set behind a marine research center.  It turned out to be less of a castle than a wall of stone set on a sloping lawn. We wandered aimlessly for a while before deciding to get back on the road.

At the entrance to the highway, I flicked my right turn signal on and glanced to the left before pulling out into the road. A second too late, I glanced to the right to see an enormous vehicle heading directly towards us. My sister gasped and clutched her seat belt. I shifted into reverse and hit the gas.

Crunch. Thunk.

“Please tell me that was the curb.”

“Um. No. It was a car.”