Chasing Light in the Land of Darkness

For over three months, we lived through the raw and harsh winter in the far north. From the deep, snow-draped forests of Swedish Lapland, through to the frozen stillness of Finland, and on to the milder – though not less unpredictable – Norwegian coast. 

As soon as the last detail of our van was finished, the urge to leave was instant. With most of our belongings packed into this small home on wheels, we turned the key and drove up north, toward the unknown. 

We had dreamed of this day for so long. After more than half a year of building, planning, and imagining, it suddenly became real. And as we left, excitement rushed in – but so did the questions. Could we truly live in this confined space for months on end? Would the darkness crush us eventually? Or would the cold force us to turn back? We didn’t know. But we were ready to find out.

The road north began with endless kilometers on the German highway - hardly our favorite part, but necessary to reach Sweden. After crossing Denmark and finally passing over the bridge into Sweden, we arrived at our first stop at 4 a.m. – exhausted but thrilled we had made it this far. 

Autumn was in full swing in the southern part of Sweden – golden light pouring over moss-covered forests – but something deep within kept pulling us northward. The farther we drove, the wilder it became. The trees grew bare, reindeer began to appear on the road, and snow slowly covered the ground. With each passing day, the sun dipped lower behind the trees and the nights stretched longer. 

Then, one night, we looked up – and the sky was alive. A green radiance erupted above us in a mesmerizing dance. It was the first time we saw the northern lights. No lens could ever capture what we felt. The way that ethereal glow moves – soft, surreal, almost within reach – is indescribable. You have to witness it yourself. It’s a moment you carry for life.

Of course, not everything was magic. Our van broke down, forcing us to spend several unexpected days in car repair shops – a frustrating pause on our journey. But we didn’t let ourselves be dragged down. We pressed on into Finnish Lapland, where we found peace near a river in Oulanka National Park. As we headed further south, the temperatures dropped and the lakes froze a little more each night – layer by layer – until the ice was thick enough to try something new: fishing through it. Rainbow trout, pulled from beneath the surface and grilled over open flames in the snow-covered forest. 

As peaceful as Finland was, our journey led us back toward Sweden’s highest mountains, where a snowstorm nearly buried us during one night. Out here, alone, the winter wilderness can be brutal. You have to stay alert. Electricity and warmth became precious resources. Off-grid life in winter is far from simple. Every now and then, we had to interrupt our adventure to recharge the van’s batteries, drawing us back to villages and towns before we could venture deeper into the wild once more.

Winter Vanlife in the far north is easily romanticized. But the truth? It’s tough. Everything demands so much more effort. Darkness swallows the days and the cold slows every task, making each step feel heavier. You miss the sun – miss the warmth on your face. Yet even in the heart of that darkness, there’s beauty: long, pink sunrises, silent snowfalls, and the glowing dance of the auroras. We captured these moments as best we could. But filming in these conditions? Brutal. Short days. Frozen fingers. Carrying heavy gear through deep snow, just for a few precious minutes of usable light, tested us daily. 

We also spent long hours in our van, stuck in the smallest of it all. At some point, it wore us down. We craved more daylight. A touch of softness. So we drove south, toward Trondheim. There, we spent Christmas in a tiny wooden cabin at the Norwegian coast – just the two of us. Throughout our journey, we had been chasing solitude and the freedom to be away from it all. But on Christmas, a time usually filled with family, warmth, and celebrations, that solitude suddenly felt strange and unfamiliar. We celebrated differently – no big gatherings or festive traditions, just quiet and stillness. Yet, within that unfamiliar quiet, we discovered a subtle beauty – an intimate moment to reflect and appreciate the freedom and privilege of living this life, on our own terms. We fished in the icy sea and were surprised by how plentiful the catch was. Each fish felt like a small miracle, a humble reminder to cherish the simple gifts nature offers.

But the weather shifted quickly – snow one day, rain the next – and the pristine beauty began to fade. We were exhausted. Both body and mind begged for rest. So we made the tough call to head home earlier than planned. We found ourselves daydreaming about the comforts of home – a warm and spacious place, a bathroom with hot water and a real shower. We kept thinking about lush green fields and endless summer nights, where daylight stretches on forever. 

Writing this now, in hindsight, I realize this adventure has left deep marks on us. As I write these words, I’m witnessing the midnight sun in Swedish Lapland – the polar opposite of the winter darkness we once endured. The endless days bring their own challenges. The sun never sets. As idyllic as the endless northern summer may seem online, without the natural rhythm of sunrise and sunset, maintaining a routine becomes a difficult task. There is no clear end to the day – just a constant, surreal brightness. Routine becomes elusive. Rest feels unnatural. Humans are not made to be awake all day.

In both winter and summer, the intensity of nature up here is as breathtaking as it is demanding. Yet, it is these extremes – of light and dark – that make the north so captivating. The moods, the atmospheres, the stillness, the struggle. You live closer to everything: to nature, to yourself, to the limits of your patience and joy. Living in this environment forces you to constantly shift between isolation and wonder, struggle and inspiration. Visiting for holiday is one thing – but living here, working here, trying to create something meaningful – is quite another.

We have deep respect for those who call this extreme region home – those who endure the harsh winter chill and the relentless summer light, year after year. It’s not easy. It may sound strange, but simply living up here is an accomplishment. It’s a challenge – and it changes you. Creating something extraordinary demands stepping outside the ordinary: it requires doing what few would dare to do. Though we also struggle, question ourselves and overthink each thing repeatedly, we live for these experiences. Every hardship and every fleeting glimmer of light and beauty reminds us that this journey has never been without meaning. 

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