ICEHOTEL by Hanna Allen Read Free Book Online Page B

the one with
your room number, as it is reserved for you. At the back of the washroom,
there’s a door which takes you outside, then to the Icehotel’s side door.’
    A murmur passed through the group. Jane Galloway gave me a
look that said, ‘This can’t be right.’
    ‘You mean we go outside?’ said Jim.
    ‘That is correct.’
    ‘What happens if we get cold at night? I mean so cold we
can’t sleep?’ He tried not to look at his wife.
    Marita smiled indulgently. ‘It’s a
psychological thing. You might think you’ll be cold but you’ll be surprised how
quickly you will warm up. There is hot lingonberry juice in the Locker Room,
and in the morning Karin and I will bring some to your
room.’
    I felt sorry for Jim; the holiday must have been his wife’s
idea. But others seemed to be having their doubts. Liz was speaking earnestly
with Mike and Harry, and Jane was frowning, listening to a group of men, the
Danes I’d seen taking over the restaurant at lunch. Well, we were here now. It
was too late to worry about the cold.
    Marita stopped outside the Icehotel’s entrance, an
arch-shaped opening carved into the ice. The double doors, also of ice, were
hung with reindeer skins, the interweaving of brown and cream in the coarse
hair making them look dark from a distance. Ice columns, so smooth they might
have been carved from a single block, stood on either side.
    Marita was in full flow again. ‘The Icehotel is not only a
hotel, but also an art gallery. The rooms house ice sculptures of the highest
quality. Between the hours of 10.00am and 5.00pm, it is open to visitors but,
for the rest of the time, it is a hotel.’ She smiled dreamily. ‘But an unusual,
in fact a unique, hotel.’
    She gripped the antler handles, and pulled. The doors opened
smoothly and silently. We followed her inside, pushing and treading on each
other in our hurry.
    ‘This is the foyer,’ she said, pride in her voice.
    There were gasps of amazement from those in the front. I
looked past them, unbelieving.
    Two rows of fluted ice columns, like giant sentinels, stood
on either side of the foyer, frowning down at our intrusion while challenging
us to enter. An ice chandelier hung suspended from the vaulted ceiling by an
impossibly thin cord, the cream candles, still unlit, protruding at all angles
like crooked teeth. Through the far wall, where the ice was thinner, shafts of
blue light streamed in, stamping their colour on the room. An emptiness, reminiscent of an ancient cathedral, lay on the
place. Yet, despite the stillness, the air shimmered, like fabric about to be
drawn back by an unseen hand.
    ‘Would you look at this place?’ Mike said, breaking the
silence. ‘So, are the candles ever lit?’
    ‘They are, at night,’ said Marita.
    ‘Won’t they melt the ice?’
    ‘They are special candles which give out little heat. Look
closely. They are arranged so their flames point away from the ice.’
    Liz was crouching, examining the ground. ‘Gosh, I don’t
believe this. There’s snow on the floor.’ She glanced up. ‘It’ll turn to slush,
won’t it?’
    Marita removed a glove and scooped up a handful of snow.
‘The atmosphere in the Icehotel is too dry for condensation to form. The snow
therefore doesn’t get wet. It is more like sand.’ She let it fall, and turned
her hand to show us her dry palm. ‘It’s like this everywhere in the Icehotel.
The exception is the bar where the heat and perspiration from many bodies can
raise the humidity level.’
    ‘And what happens then?’ said Harry.
    She kept her expression blank. ‘The ice on the ceiling melts
and drips into your drink.’
    I smirked. Harry seemed less than amused.
    Marita indicated we should look around, so we wandered
amongst the columns. Jim poked a suspicious finger into the snow. Robyn, who’d
been watching, yapped so loudly that heads turned. She stomped away. He
straightened and followed her like an obedient puppy.
    Liz was turning in a slow circle, a