A white and furry Christmas

Christmas time in Finland: it was cold, freezing actually, and very, very white. Far from the familiar Australian summer, my travelling companions and I were experiencing a white Christmas for the first time, and it was beautiful.

Eager to sample the Finnish culture, complemented by a dash of adventure, we commenced our Nordic sojourn in the city of Porvoo, 50km east of Helsinki in Southern Finland. Enjoying the delights of the cobbled, meandering old town, we curiously explored the lines of welcoming little stores whose sweet aromas of chocolate, hot wine and salted liquorice easily enticed the euros from our pockets.

As the temperature plunged well into the negatives, every surface was covered in a thick layer of perfect, powdery snow; its flawlessness disturbed only by the soft light of flickering candles, carefully placed in shop windows and doorways to let passers-by know they were welcome to enter.

Christmas Eve arrived and it was time to leave behind the quaint delights of Porvoo, all too briefly visited, and head north in search of the wilder side of the country: Lapland. We were embarking on a road trip through the heart of Finland to Kuusamo, a remote area teetering on the southern edge of Lapland and flanked by the Russian border, some 800km north of Porvoo. According to the locals, Kuusamo was blessed with ample forests, abundant lakes and rivers, and spectacular National Park.

Heading off in the early morning darkness, the road trip was long and painstakingly slow. Our hopes of enjoying the scenery were quickly extinguished, as the already scarce hours of daylight were besieged by an incessant blizzard, disguising the landscape and cloaking us in an impenetrable, icy cocoon.

Patches of hazardous ice and frequent bouts of snow-blindness forced us to regularly pull over, the road and countryside merging into one indistinguishable blanket of white.

No shops or service stations were open during the journey, making obvious the fact that Finland is a sparsely populated nation. Wisely, the Finns were safely tucked away in their houses, sheltering from the bitter cold and preparing to exchange gifts. The only other cars we passed along the way betrayed glimpses of jolly old men donning red suits and fake white beards, likely destined for Christmas party gigs and perhaps even a sooty chimney or two.

The previous Christmas, we were told, there had been a five car pile-up on the highway along which we were now plodding. Bemused police had arrived on site to find five Santa Clauses, chilly but unharmed.

The dearth of places to stop for sustenance saw the packs of dried reindeer meat (consumed with ever so slight pangs of guilt) and deliriously good Fazer chocolate, originally destined for a place beneath the Christmas tree, sacrificed to stave off our hunger. Improvised toilet stops were made by the roadside by swiftly digging holes into the thigh-deep snow. Hurried attempts to bare as little skin as possible as quickly as possible followed, the fear of ill-placed frostbite or a passing Santa all too prevalent.

The fuel tank was topped up at conspicuously deserted self-serve petrol stations and arguments were had over who got to sit in the front of the car, thus enjoying the added comfort of a heated seat. Finally, a treacherous 800km and 13 hours later, we arrived in Kuusamo, tired and more than happy to fall into our cosy log cabin beds.

The midmorning dawn welcomed a spectacularly clear and mild Christmas Day, as we woke to the permeating and delicious scent of the pine walls that surrounded us. Munching on rye bread and beetroot salad, we donned our thermals and reluctantly abandoned the comforting warmth of our cosy cottage.

We were heading to Oulanka National Park, where a yuletide adventure awaited us: we were going on a Husky Safari. This, we were hoping, would soften the memory of our less-than-ideal road trip and would most certainly offer a stark, but eagerly sought, contrast to the heat, sand and barbecues of which our southern hemisphere Christmases ordinarily comprised.

Arriving at the Husky camp, a fractured chorus of piercing howls greeted us. Tied to their snow-peaked houses, the Huskies sensed our approach and thrust their noses skywards to perform their boisterous song. Overcome with excitement, the dogs began pulling desperately against their long chains, frenetically anticipating imminent action.

"This is what they live for," explained Laura, one of our guides, bounding over to greet us. "Sleighing is in their blood. They just want to run."

After carefully absorbing the sleighing instructions from our guides and heeding the warning that, due to their diet of raw meat, we may occasionally be bombarded with bouts of doggy flatulence, we were ready for our overland adventure.

The dogs were organised into teams of six, the humans into teams of two. Then, sturdily strung together, we set off in convoy across an immense frozen lake, the dogs setting a surprisingly blistering pace as we approached a sea of snow-covered pines on the horizon.

The sleighs were traditional, fashioned from treated timber and leather. The passenger sat inside the sleigh, huddled in animal skins and intimately feeling every bump over which the sleigh hurtled. The driver stood on the back of the sleigh, buoyed by the wind in their face and charged with controlling speed and direction. This required the driver to lean heavily into corners and, when needing to stop, throw all their weight onto the clawed metallic foot-brake, straining against the adrenalin-fuelled strength of the dogs.

Intermittently swapping drivers, we weaved our way through kilometres of pristine and silent wilderness, our ears filled only with the soft sound of panting Huskies and the crunch of ice and snow under paw and blade.

The energy of the dogs seemed boundless, though during the more strenuous uphill runs, they cheekily glanced over their shoulders, ensuring that the driver had jumped off the sleigh and was helping to push. "They're temperamental," chuckled Laura. "They don't like to think they have to do all the hard work."

Leading the sleigh must have been hot work and the Huskies sporadically plunged their muzzles into the powdery snow, seeking cool relief. The human contingent, plunging frozen hands into woolly mittens and tugging thick scarves over frozen noses, desperately wished that they were as well insulated as their furry chauffeurs.

Mid afternoon arrived and the gentle twilight succumbed to darkness as our convoy arrived back at camp. The passengers, stiff from the invasive cold on their idle limbs, gingerly uncurled themselves, while the drivers enjoyed the final lingering chill of the evening air on their sweaty brows. Exhilaration and exhaustion made for a satisfying combination. Much to our delight, a raging campfire awaited us, hot tea and foil-clad sausages placed among the crackling flames.

Perched upon tepid logs and warmed by the fire's intensity, we reflected on our day. Nobody spoke as we slurped our tea and devoured our well-earned fare, with more than a morsel or two being flung towards our canine companions. Our tired faces, glowing in flicker of the fire, said it all: what an incredible way to spend Christmas. Just magic.

If you go: http://www.kuusamon-era-safari.fi/eng/huskysafaris.html