‘Ooo, that sounds lovely.’
‘Lunch is eaten in silence, to respect our guests and their healing process.’Huh?This was getting very weird. ‘Dinner is shared tables: three courses, cooked to order, and alcohol-free.’
That got my attention. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘This is all on our website,’ Tore said, looking puzzled. ‘And in the welcome information I sent with your confirmation.’
I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered the wordsalcohol-free. What the hell kind of hotel was this? Oh well, I’d just have to buy it from the supermarket and drink behind closed doors.
‘Here we are. Hygge Three.’ We walked down a winding path and Tore held a branch back and waited, so I didn’t get slapped in the face. ‘This will be your home while you stay with us.’
We were stood in front of a cute wooden cabin, with smoke piping out of the chimney and a bright light shining above the door. There was a pyramid of logs on either side of the entrance and a small metal table with two chairs out front. I couldn’t see much else – the rain was now coming down in sheets – but I’d seen enough to know it wasn’t quite the five-star celeb haunt I’d imagined. I’d have to double-check the details once I was in thebath. It was freezing cold, and I was too knackered for any more back and forth.
Tore opened the door and ushered me in out of the rain. It was the sort of place I imagined a sentient squirrel would live. Everything seemed miniature. A tiny kitchen to the left, a tiny sofa in front of a wood burner straight ahead, and a tiny door that presumably led to the bedroom on the right. The hearth was pale grey stone, decorated with a vase of pine-cone-laden branches next to a pair of old wine bottles wedged with yellow candle nubs.
‘Looks like someone forgot to replace the candles,’ I said, handing one of them to Tore.
He chuckled. ‘Not at all. These are beeswax and have plenty of life left in them. We don’t throw candles away until they are finished.’ he said, putting it back down. ‘This is your living space. Fully equipped kitchen, lounge, dining area, and your bedroom is through here.’
The cabin was covered in pictures of the Northern Lights. Huge swathes of electric green on a canvas in the lounge, a Polaroid of swirly pinks pinned up in the kitchen, and a framed print of purples skies as I walked into the bedroom.
To the right was Mrs Tiggy-Winkle’s bed – advertising it as a double was a stretch – with a thick duvet, garish, multicoloured blankets and a pile of square pillows. Bloody Scandinavians and their made-up sizes. IKEA had a lot to answer for. Our student house had been full of odd-shaped mattresses and lamps that only worked with Swedish lightbulbs. I’d have to sleep on my back, like a vampire, and stay still to avoid rolling onto the floor.
‘And the bathroom is in the corner,’ Tore said. I walked past a wooden chest, lifting the lid to find more crocheted blankets and a hot water bottle wearing a knitted Christmas jumper. The ensuite was more of a wet room: a tiled box in shiny black, with a shower head in the centre and a toilet next to the sink.
‘Is the, er… bath in another room?’ I asked, already knowing the answer.
‘We only have showers in the cabins, but there are plenty of lakes for you to bathe in.’
‘Are the other guests bathing in this?’ The rain was now torrential.
‘They can if they choose to. Otherwise, it’s the shower.’
Someone had obviously made a mistake somewhere, but there wasn’t much I could do about it tonight. It was nearly nine, so I’d nip out and get some wine and crisps and have an early night. There was no TV, but I could watch Netflix on my laptop.
‘Lovely. Well, this isn’t quite what I’d imagined, but I’ll see how I get on. Can I have the Wi-Fi code please? And how far is the shop? I’ll pop out and get some supplies.’
Tore was looking increasingly awkward. ‘Most of our guests want a tech-free environment for their wellness break, so we don’t have Wi-Fi in the cabins. The signal isn’t good I’m afraid – by design.’ I was starting to get palpitations. ‘But there is a small lounge with Wi-Fi next to the restaurant – for emergencies.’
‘And I can use my laptop in there?’
‘Yes.’ Tore was running his coat zip up and down, a worried look on his face. ‘If there is something urgent, of course.’ There were plenty of urgent things I needed to do. Watch the final episode ofSeverancefor a start. ‘And I’m sorry, but there is no shop on site,’ he said, bending to straighten the tiny cushions on the tiny sofa.
‘What?’ I was incensed. ‘How can it be self-catering, with no option to buy food? Or drinks?’ More importantly.
‘Well, as I said, the kitchen is for cooking breakfast if you want to, and we deliver the food to your door each morning. To drink, there is coffee, juice, hot chocolate…’ He opened the cupboards and fridge to show me. ‘And it’s no problem to request extrasfor your breakfast basket. We can add anything you need to our shopping order from the mainland each week.’
‘Then can I request some Crunchy Nut Cornflakes and a box of wine?’
Tore nodded slowly. ‘I’ll see what we can do,’ he said, clearly not wanting to say no a third time before I’d even been here an hour.
‘In fact, I’ll put a shopping list together and give it to you tomorrow.’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘For tonight, there is vegetable stew in the fridge and homemade sourdough in the tin.’ I cheered up at that. ‘Andbrunostmarshmallows by the fire for something sweet. Big and chunky, with caramel layers. They are very nice.’
Now we were talking.
‘Enjoy yourhyttekos, Sara. Your “cabin cosiness” in Hygge Three. Goodnight.’
