North to where the darkness stops

On Thursday, 18 June, we arrived at the Helsinki train station with plenty of time to worry about which train to catch. We were scheduled to take the 19:25 (7:25PM in 'merkin time) overnight train to Rovaniemi, some 700 km to the north.
The electronic display showed trains to Rovaniemi scheduled for an hour earlier and an hour later. With that wonderful concoction of panic and confusion that courses through the veins of most travelers, I inquired at the information desk and learned that the 19:25 train, "The Santa Claus Express," bound for Kemijärvi, would indeed stop in Rovaniemi.
While I was collecting this bit of reassurance, Sandra had been talking with a man and woman who were also taking the same train. The man had been, among other things, a tour guide for travel writers and spoke English well and often. His wife was quieter and also less confident of her command of our language. We sat with them in the dining car. They were a bit surprised that I ordered something so ordinary, lihapullat ja perunasose (meatballs with mashed potatoes), but this was comfort food from way back.
After dinner, we went back to our rooms and settled in for a long and pretty much sleepless night through the non-darkness.

We'd heard so much about trains in Europe, mostly good stuff. My father, who'd hopped onto freight trains and rode inside and on top of box cars across the U.S. during the Depression, would have thought our travel was regal. Our cabin had two bunks, a Buck-Rogers, Transformer-type bathroom that converted, with a gentle tug of the wall, into a shower stall, and even straps for skis. The Finns idea of an express train is that you only stop every 30 minutes. Oh, and the other part of the regal travel were the royal drunkards in the corridor and the cabins nearby.
We arrived in Rovaniemi only slightly more rested than we'd been on the flight from across the pond. A nice taxi driver brought us the short distance to our hotel, the Santa Claus Hotel.
If you really want to disappoint a child, bring them to the Santa Claus Hotel. Aside from the name and the proximity to the Arctic Circl, there's absolutely nothing in the hotel about Santa Claus - not a picture or a figurine or even a hat. They have a fine restaurant that serves a great breakfast buffet and plays American jazz standards, but no Santa.
After a bit of breakfast and a brief nap, it was time for our safari. Remember that safari is a Swahili word for journey and doesn't require jungles, tigers, or pith helmets. Instead, we boarded a long, open boat and headed up river for adventure.
There were a 11 of us in the boat - A husband and wife from Brazil, a husband and wife from Dehli, India, a 30-something daughter and her mother from New Delhi, a newlywed (we think) couple from New Zealand, Sandra and me, and the taciturn Finnish driver.

Our safari took us to a craft shop where a Lapp artist and her husband created delightfully designed items from wood, leather, and reindeer antlers. What was even more remarkable is that she didn't try to sell us anything. Several people likely would have bought several pieces, but she was too enthusiastic in her talk about her work that we didn't have time for shopping.
Another boat ride took us further up river where a Lapp gnome in a four-cornered hat talked excitedly about life in the north, reindeer, and lots more. We dined on what our friendly gnome told us was the neighbor's reindeer.
Back into the boat, back to town, onto a bus, and to Santa's office. Again, this is probably not a good place to take a kid whom you like. It's strange and has a lot of over-the-top drek in the gift shop. (Motto: if you can't find it here, you probably have good taste.")
On the bus, we received certificates that proved that we'd crossed the Arctic Circle. We arrived back in Rovaniemi at 5:30.
We'd been told that, in celebration of Midsummer, people would be lighting bonfires at 6PM. Across the river, a crowd gathered near a small community center.  At the river's edge, people had built a tall (4m) cone-shaped pyre. The scene felt like an Arctic Burning Man Festival.We could hear speeches and accordion music, leading up to the raising of the Finnish flag. Everyone cheered. Then, everyone left.
We stood on our side of the river for 20 minutes or so, but they were really gone. (We later learned that the fires wouldn't be lit until midnight.)
The travel brochures will tell you that Juhannus, St. John's Day, is a major holiday for Finland. They don't tell you, or if they do, you don't believe them, how much the country shuts down. Only one restaurant out of five was open. All shops in town were closed as they had been since Friday afternoon; many would stay shut until Tuesday.
(Not only does the country shut down for Midsummer holiday, the major newspaper in the country, Hesinkin Sanomat, decides that July is such a slow news time that it stops publishing its international edition for the month.)
After a good bit of wandering, we did find a nice place for supper and then a walk back to the hotel.
There were low clouds the whole time, so we didn't see the midnight sun. We also didn't see it because we couldn't stay up that late. We fell asleep at 11PM, got up the next morning, had breakfast, packed, and made our way to the train station for our trip south to Oulu.
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Editor's note: Finns, at least the ones who raised me, are generally not happy unless they're complaining. As with the language and other characteristics of the Finland, it's difficult for me not to lapse back into that grumbling pattern.
We had a wonderful time. The people were warm, eager to share their country and customs with us, eager to learn about us, our lives and our travels. Our hotel accommodations were comfortable and pleasing.
It was also important for us to have some enforced quiet time to think about the many blessings and several challenges that we have at home. We enjoyed that quiet. We enjoyed walking a lot, seeing different things, learning about history that is still vivid to so many. The German army burned all but five houses in Rovaniemi during the war. We saw those old houses, but didn't understand, until we heard the history, how precious they were.
Precious, too, are the traditions of Midsummer and sauna and sisu and their strange, strange language. It was wonderful to among a people who cared about life and about history.

But when Santa Claus looks like this, you have to yourself, "Mitkä olivat ne ajattelua?"