Winter wonderlands: The world’s most magical frozen family holidays

In northern Sweden, 100 miles beyond the Arctic Circle, winter arrives with all the drama of a trumpet fanfare. It swaggers in as early as October and by November the whole place is in lockdown, buried beneath colossal banks of snow.

Winter here is not grey and pallid. Neither is it insipid, drizzly, and merely chilly. In northern Sweden, winter sparkles. It is sharp, bracing and carries a thrilling hint of danger. It seizes you by the throat and takes your breath away, literally, in dramatic steaming plumes. All the country’s fussy details have vanished – rivers, lakes, forests, low-lying houses, elderly people lingering too long on street corners – all gone, and in their place that fathomless whiteness, the world buried beneath wind-sculpted shapes. It is ravishingly and stunningly beautiful.

So at least I was telling my daughter, Sophia. She listened patiently to my rhapsodies, with an expression of polite scepticism.

In Britain, winter seems to be a time for hibernation, a withdrawal into cosy domesticity, the fireside and the warming Aga. But in places where winter is a serious affair, places such as northern Sweden, it is all go. I grew up in Canada, where the first snowfall was greeted with whoops of joy.

For a child, winter was a season full of great stuff to do – ice skating and ice hockey, skiing and toboganning –  and unlimited mugs of steaming hot chocolate.

We live in Dorset, which is a little short on 10ft snow drifts. And so I had the idea that it was time for Sophia to experience a real winter. And all the raving about fun activities had done the trick. She had come around to the idea, though admitted to being a trifle concerned about the weather conditions.

“Is it going to be very cold, papa?” she asked. Sophia is half Italian and views cold the way Eskimos in a snug igloo view a sudden thaw.  

“A little cold, darling,” I lied. “We will just need to wrap up warm.” I felt it wasn’t the moment to mention that we were heading 100 miles inside the Arctic Circle, to Kiruna, a place where lakes freeze like icebergs. Even for Swedes, this is a long way north. Gothenburg is closer to Venice than it is to Kiruna.

At tiny Kiruna airport, it was so cold they were spraying the aircraft wings with a special formula so they wouldn’t freeze and fall off like icicles. As the door of our plane opened, Sophia and I stepped out into buttock-clenching, eyelid freezing, toe-curling cold. 

“Papa,” Sophia gasped. “My cheeks are fire.” For a moment I thought she was going to turn and bolt back inside the aircraft and its 24C sanctuary. In the rented Volvo – its industrial heating system had soon turned the car into a sauna – I glanced at Sophia in the rear-view mirror. She was gazing out at the icebound world with an expression that was probably best described as catatonic shock. Whirlwinds of snow were battering the windows. The dashboard reported an outside temperature of -20C. 

We were heading east on an icy road that ran between snow drifts as tall as hedgerows. From time to time the forests broke and houses appeared, even tiny hamlets. Curiously, we saw few people, as if the inhabitants had fled or died.  

After a couple of hours we arrived at Lapland Guesthouse, where we were greeted by Johan, a cheery bear of a man. An equally cheery fire was roaring in the grate. Sophia, silent since our arrival at Kiruna, sat so close to it, I worried her hair was going to catch fire. Lunch was laid – smoked fish, meatballs with lingonberry sauce, braised turnip, bread as firm as Johan’s handshake and several surprisingly yummy things that involved cabbage.

Lapland Guesthouse on the banks of the Lainio river is a collection of traditional claret-coloured wooden houses with rooms as cosy as a hot rum toddy.

There are wooden dressers and wall cupboards, grandfather clocks and wide wooden floorboards, fat pot-bellied stoves and painted chairs and, according to Johan, several ghosts who have come along for the ride. With snow banked up to the windowsills, and frost patterns etched across the panes, it looked like something out of Doctor Zhivago. Throw in Julie Christie, and it would be paradise.

At meal’s end coffee arrived, served in a kasa, a drinking vessel resembling a wooden ladle. Then, suddenly, we were heading out. First up was snowmobiling. But before we could take off across the snowy wastes, there was the small matter of wrapping up warm.

In the Arctic, wrapping up warm is such a complex procedure that it requires a special room. We scooted along a path between 10ft drifts into the Great Dressing Room, where we found ranks of boots with felt liners, reindeer skin waistcoats, woollen balaclavas, fur-lined caps, several barrels of gloves and, finally, the all-enveloping padded onesies, with ventilation zips, snow cuffs, inner membranes, outer membranes, sealed seams, and absolutely no possibility of going to the loo once you were locked inside. Astronauts have less complicated gear. Kitted up, we waddled out to the snowmobiles like Neil Armstrong setting off to the moon.

In a moment we were hurtling across a frozen lake aboard the big beasts. In the silent magical world that are winter landscapes, with their wind-smoothed drifts and the virgin expanses of snow, snowmobiles are a menace. They are loud and intrusive. But for sheer adrenalin-fuelled fun, they are up there with bungee jumping at Victoria Falls.

Sophia and I roared away into a wintry vastness, laughing and shouting. With cold tears in our eyes, icicles in our nostrils and 1000cc’s beneath our bottoms, we were turning into Vikings. Had there been a native village among the trees, we would have roared up and demanded ransom.

A couple of cross-country skiers brought us to our senses. Grinning like the Joker, we stopped to say hello. The skiers – a couple of wholesome outdoorsy types – looked at us disapprovingly. We turned off the engines and were enveloped in the towering winter silence they had been enjoying before we turned up.

It was at this moment that a snowy owl appeared. Without speaking, one of the skiers raised an arm to point it out, ghosting over the flat expanse ahead of us. Its wing span must have been five feet. Suddenly, it banked and plunged, feet first, into the snow. An instant later, it re-emerged, wings flapping, with something in its claws. The skiers looked meaningfully at us. “They hunt by sound,” they whispered. “In the silence, they are able to hear mice moving beneath three feet of snow.” 

The following day we had an appointment with dogs. At Pinetree Lodge, a smart rustic resort overlooking a frozen lake, we met another Johan. Though he runs the lodge, he confessed that the whole thing was really just an excuse to be with the dogs. He adored them. In this he had much in common with Sophia. Surrounded by eight eager tail-wagging sled dogs, she was in heaven.

Sled dogs are astonishingly keen. Once the team were hitched, and Sophia was settled on to the sled, wrapped in furs, I released the snow anchor gingerly. Immediately, dogs, sled, Sophia and I lurched forward with the kind of g-force that would have impressed Lewis Hamilton. For a moment I seemed to be horizontal, flapping at the back of the sled like a tattered banner.

Mercifully, the dogs were doing the driving. Had I known sled dog for “right” or “left”, we would have ended up in a snow drift. My role was confined to braking.

As the dogs settled into a gentle run, we had time to admire the scenery. A soft mist of falling snow had descended, covering everything in white icing. Our trail led through woods, then broke free into open expanses as we crossed frozen lakes before curving again through trees knee deep in drifts. Sophia pointed to branches that were mantled and bowed with spectacular burdens of snow. In this white world, all was stillness, and silence. The only sounds were the soft padding of the dogs, the murmur of the sled runners.

Somewhere, on the edge of a snow-covered lake, we stopped for lunch. Johan hollowed a shelter in a deep drift, started a small fire, and laid down furs to sit on. Then we heated a wonderful stew . The dogs lay down in the snow as if they were in front of a log fire. Sophia’s cheeks, framed by her fur hood, were flushed pink.

“Are you cold, darling?” I asked.

She ladled more stew into her wooden bowl before settling back down among the furs.

“This is the Arctic, papa,” she said patiently, now suddenly a veteran. “It is just a matter of wrapping up warm.”

Getting there 

SAS (flysas.com) flies daily from London to Kiruna via Stockholm from £155 return.

Staying there 

A four-night package at the Lapland Guesthouse, including flights, transfers, full board, and excursions, costs from £2,120 per person. Ask for the Lapland Guesthouse package with Regent Holidays (01174 534 955; regent-holidays.co.uk). 

Pinetree Lodge full board and excursion packages (explorethenorth.se) start from £76 per night. The price of a half day husky tour is £76.50 per person.

More information 

Swedish Lapland Tourist Board (swedishlapland.com).

Six more frozen family holidays

By Sophie Butler

Tempted to treat your family, and yourself to a taste of deep midwinter? Here are half a dozen ideas that suit children as well as adults. Prices are for this winter, but are subject to change. February half-term departures are generally available unless stated otherwise.

1. Winter landscapes in Iceland

Give the children an unforgettable geography lesson in frozen lakes, glaciers, hot springs and lava fields on a new, four-night family itinerary, “Northern Lights, Glaciers and Waterfalls”. The Husafell Hotel in Borgafjordur (90 minutes’ drive north-east of capital Reykjavik), with swimming pool and children’s menu, makes a good vantage point for viewing the Northern Lights and visiting Europe’s second-largest glacier for a 300m walk though Langjokull ice cave. A night in the Frost & Fire hotel in Hveragerdi is well located for the Gullfoss waterfall and geysers of Geysir and Strokkur. From £527 per person, based on two adults and two children (under 11), including five days’ car rental.

Discover the World (01737 214291; discover-the-world.co.uk).

2. Remote chalet in the Alps

Climb up a steep track through snow-laden trees to reach Chalet Twenty26, a tranquil and romantic wooden chalet set atop a hill near Morzine, in Haute-Savoie, France. With four luxurious bedrooms, this fully catered lodge comes with a team of staff and basement spa with hydrotherapy shower, steam room and treatment room with freestanding bath and separate relaxation zone with nail bar, all serviced by Bamford therapists. The outside spa area on the same level boasts a swimming pool with training jet, hot tub and barrel-shaped cedar wood sauna. It’s best for families with children aged from around three to 13 years (older teenagers may find the location too remote) for snowshoeing, tobogganing and outdoor fun. A seven-night snowshoe and spa break costs from £968 per person, including drinks, afternoon teas, dinner and chauffeur. Flights and transfers not included.

Chalet Twenty26 (theboutiquechalet.com).

3. Arctic wilderness in Norway

Combine a city break in Tromso with excursions into remote Norwegian regions, miles from city lights on a three-night “Family Winter Adventure” itinerary geared to families. Included in the tour is an evening excursion to catch sight of the lights in a husky camp, alongside a reindeer sledding experience with a Sami guide and a northern lights cruise on an electric catamaran with an experienced guide. Families can also opt to add on an extra night in Tromso and a tour of the city, as well as a snowshoeing excursion. From £730 per person excluding flights.

Fjord Travel (+47 (0) 5513 1310; fjordtravel.no).

4. Wilderness base in Finland

Head to a remote base in a spectacularly wintry setting at the edge of Oulanka National Park in Finnish Lapland for an eight-day “Finnish Winter Adventure”. Stay in a cluster of wooden buildings. Family rooms have a mezzanine floor sleeping up to two children, while larger families are allocated two rooms. Activities include dogsledding, snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, an optional snowmobile safari and visit to a reindeer farm and sleigh ride. Throughout the week there’s a chance to take part in snow-based games, whether sledging, making snowmen or building snow forts. The menu includes elk and vendace (a freshwater fish), plus freshly picked lingonberries or cloud berries. From £1,899 (adult), £1,424 (child aged five to 14 years), including flights.

Exodus (020 3811 5924; exodus.co.uk).

5. Off the beaten track in Canada

Discover the vast, snowy wilderness and native wildlife of Quebec on an nine-day “Eastern Cities and Winter Activities” tour. From Montreal, this winter itinerary takes in Saint-Alexis-des-Monts, home to red deer, wolf, bison and raccoons, for a three-night stay in remote chalets. Activities include snowshoeing, dog-sledding, ice skating and snow-sliding on inflatable rubber tubes. Join a cross-country dog sledding expedition to explore hushed, snow-blanketed forests. Ice fishing on the silent lakes before heading back to a remote cabin to warm up is an itinerary highlight. The tour finishes with a tour of old Quebec. From £3,225 (adult), child rates calculated on a case-by-case basis, including flights.

Audley Travel (01993 662012; audleytravel.com)

6. Icehotel in Sweden 

Book a seven-night break to remember at Sweden’s coolest accommodation, the Icehotel Jukkasjarvi, built from ice from the River Thorne. Newly built every year, it melts in the spring sunshine and is redesigned the following year. Although primarily geared to older guests, families with young children can book the warm accommodation alongside and visit the icy structure during the day. On-site activities, including husky sledding, reindeer or moose safaris and snowmobiling, are suitable for children aged eight years and over. Snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and ice driving also available. From £1,300 per person, including flights and transfers. 

Scott Dunn (020 3733 1664; scottdunn.com).