In Central Europe, the winters of my childhood have become ghosts – muddy, grey, and increasingly brief. You can still book a holiday in the mountains to find guaranteed white views, but the limitless snow that once lived for weeks on your doorstep is long gone. That’s why I ventured to the north of Finland. Not to touristy Rovaniemi with its cute elves and Santa, but slightly further south, to the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia and the vibrant city of Oulu.
Wrapped in dense pine forests, caressed by the Bothnian Bay, and refreshed by the delta of the Oulujoki river, nature is a core part of the local lifestyle. Still, as the largest city in Northern Finland and the European Capital of Culture 2026, it remains remarkably lively.
I went looking for the winter I remembered, but I found something much better: a community that doesn’t just endure sub-zero temperatures, but plays with them in a deeply creative way.
Dancing on (not so) Thin Ice
Wherever I look, there is only an endless expanse of white. The sun, finally emerging from a veil of grey, intensifies the feeling of a strangely inviting void. Yet, out here on the frozen Baltic off the edge of Nallikari beach, the void is an illusion.
Clusters of people trek across the crusted snow, weaving between colourful pinwheels and temporary art installations. Groups grill sausages over open fires, their woodsmoke mingling with the crisp air; children roll in the snow while cross-country skiers glide past, slowing their pace out of sheer curiosity. Beneath my boots, a low electronic pulse vibrates through the ice – a rhythmic promise of the party that will swell under the cold sky once darkness falls.
The seed for Frozen People Festival, a one-day celebration of the sub-zero, was planted years ago by Heikki Myllylahti, director of the Oulu Urban Culture association. “Most festivals happen in the summer, but we’re Finns – we live outdoors in the winter, too,” Heikki explains. “We wanted to do something beyond ice fishing. The frozen sea reminded us of the desert at Burning Man.”
The festival’s 2022 debut was a trial by fire – or rather, frost – testing if speakers and decks could survive minus 30C. They did. And so did the ice, which by late February thickens to over 80 cm, a sturdy stage for Oulu’s “coolest” experiment. By the following sunset, every trace had vanished, leaving the sea once again a blank white canvas – as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a vivid dream – until next year.
The Art of Becoming a Polar Bear
Once a cornerstone of the Nokia era, this Baltic port has evolved into a forward-thinking hub pioneering 6G technology. Yet, Oulu refuses to take its prestige too seriously, maintaining a deadpan sense of humour that I witness firsthand the following morning.
“May the sisu be with you.”
I am standing at the edge of an ice hole in the Oulujoki River, where a grand red carpet leads straight into the freezing dark. The contestants will need every drop of sisu – that untranslatable Finnish grit required to persevere against impossible odds. Soon, the first entrepreneur sheds his robe and, clad in nothing but swimwear, steps into the black water to pitch to a panel of international investors.
In this Polar Bear Pitching arena, a few minutes of shivering can launch a career or secure a €10,000 investment. As a contestant from Japan holds his ground, the audience pulls their scarves tighter; the clock shows he’s been submerged in the sub-zero water for over seven minutes. This year’s victory eventually goes to the Swiss startup Ionic Wind, ironically awarded for their ultra-silent cooling technology.
It is a perfect fit for Oulu, a city where the local mindset dictates: “If it works in the ice, it works anywhere.”
“It started in 2013, during the Nokia layoffs,” recalls Polar Bear Pitching co-founder Mia Kemppaala. “Oulu was written off; critics said you’d soon be able to buy houses here for a pittance. But in the North, nothing is over until you stop acting.”
Instead of hiding from the brutal winters, they chose to embrace them. “Winter is who we are,” Mia says. I am amazed to realise how, by carving a hole in the frozen river and inviting the world to watch, they turned a crisis into a global showcase of resilience.
Ice, Ice, Sauna
As I leave the riverbank with the rhythmic “crunch-crunch” of snow under my boots, I find myself admiring the steady stream of cyclists. They glide across the bridge toward the picturesque island of Pikisaari – a cluster of colourful wooden houses – pedalling through snow as if it were a midsummer breeze.
To counter the bite of the air, there is the omnipresent world of the sauna. In Oulu, the options read like a crème de la crème menu of heat: saunas with river dips, snow baths, or floating rafts that drift along the current. At the pinnacle of this menu lies a temporary ice sauna built from massive blocks of ice. I watch as the blocks melt and refreeze as the temperature climbs inside, the walls shifting from total transparency to a frosted veil.
The glowing turquoise structure is a community project of the AaltoSiilo initiative, centred on a 1931 woodchip silo designed by Alvar and Aino Aalto. This landmark is being transformed into a research centre and cultural hub for the Meri-Toppila neighbourhood. It is a deliberate choice; this area is home to 100 nationalities – many of them transient students or refugees for whom the Silo offers an anchor. And although the ice sauna is a temporary feat, the new community space is here to stay.
Arctic Dinner at Arctic Temperatures
Even though winter reigns in Oulu from November to April, the local joy is never hibernating. For Oululaiset, being outdoors is not a challenge to be met, but a way of life. You can see it in the small details – the popular Hupisaaret City Park, nestled on the islands of the Oulujoki River delta, is lit up around the clock so people can enjoy it even during the polar nights.
By the time the owner of a greenhouse café suggested we eat dinner outside in -15C, I knew I could simply trust the process. The middle of our wooden table was soon glowing with a central fire. Within minutes, we were grilling reindeer sausages and leipäjuusto – a squeaky cheese topped with golden cloudberry jam.
These are arctic delicacies protected by the Arctic Food Lab, a label celebrating the unique flavours of the North. When the air grew sharper, we simply moved the birch wood closer to the flames and took long sips of glögi, a spiced, steaming tea.
And Just Like That …
On my last night, sleep wouldn’t come. I pulled on my “onion layers” of tech-wear once more and walked toward Hupisaaret Park. At that late hour, the only other souls out were bike couriers, their tyres humming across the white roads and bridges.
In the centre of the park, a fully lit hill beckoned. At the summit, I found a pile of plastic sledges and shovels – unlocked, unattended, with only a small note asking riders to bring them back up when finished. It was an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
And just like that, I was flying down the slope and trudging back up, again and again, reclaimed by the same energy I felt as a child waiting to be picked up from kindergarten. I eventually returned to my room, heart racing against the cold, wearing a wide “banana smile” that no sub-zero wind could bite through.
As I sit now waiting for my plane, watching the last of the Oulu horizon through the terminal glass, I am struck by the unexpected lightness of the past days – followed by ice-floating in Teletubby suits in Kemi and reindeer sleigh rides.
By watching the locals walk their dogs across a frozen bay or turn the sea into a dance floor, I realised that climate change hasn’t just stolen our snow – it has stolen a specific type of seasonal joy.
Oulu has awoken the child in me again – not just through the presence of the snow, but by the locals’ relentless, glowing attitude toward the cold.
