I am alarmed at the size of the skidoos and more so when we're warned that crashing one will incur a 5,000k fine, but I quickly discover that it's much like riding my scooter only more stable. The snowmobile doesn't corner very well, but we have an enormous flat surface to play with and I bounce along the ruts left by previous drivers, daring to twist the throttle open on the very smoothest bits and singing at the top of my voice because no one can hear me. Michael has another overturning incident and can't blame it on the dogs this time.
This is the coldest I get on the whole holiday; my £2.99 kids' gloves are in shreds by now and my hands burn.
Lotte tuts at our desertion of dogs in favour of snowmobiles - she keeps one only from necessity - and we all assure her we liked the huskies best.
Before the flight back to Stockholm there's time for a visit to the speciality meat shop (smoked and garlic-flavoured chips of dried reindeer: chewy) and a nose around the shopping centre at Kiruna. There's not a lot on offer here if you're not in the market for skiwear, but it's a chance to purchase sweeties with silly names.
Tied up outside a shop is a large and lovely husky whose luxuriant, well-groomed coat marks him out as a pet rather than a working dog. I offer him my glove and he sniffs the scent of his many cousins as if he can't believe his nose.
Tourist tat is, for me, an important part of any foreign holiday, but it's been sadly lacking on this trip due to being in the middle of nowhere. I have kronor burning a hole in my wallet, and at Kiruna airport I gleefully buy a baseball cap with huskies embroidered on the front and 'LAPLAND' on the back.
I'm wearing it right now.
It would have broken my heart to leave, if I wasn't sure I'll be going back.
Again, looking out of his kennel
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