Notwithstanding the dog sled debacle we were delivered to what can only be described as an igloo, in the middle of what appears to have been a river but is now an ice field. The manager came out to greet us and with a clap of his hands a team of Scandinavian porters came to handle the luggage.
We were escorted inside and given a warming drink. This was just as well as everything seemed to be fahioned from ice. (Branded, no doubt, Ice-KEA). What had Carl Gustaf been thinking!
The Memsahib was evidently quite taken with the magical quality of the edifice - either that or it was the huge, blond porters. We headed for our room and took a brochure to help us decide what we should do during the next few days. (My reaction was to find an Aga and sit as close as we Khan).
We slept under a pile of furs that would have made a Canadian trapper his fortune - and the gentle cracking of the ice did little to ease me to the arms of Morpheus.
This morning it's crisp and cold and we should have four hours of daylight at some point. We have decided that a snowmobile safari is a suitable activity for the day.