Explore Sweden's winter wonderland

I always give the same advice to aspiring photographers: where is home, you should start.

It is not always easy to follow this advice. After all, our curiosity and fascination with foreign countries is understandable. It is these things that are different from our daily habits that bring countless people abroad every year. I have lived and worked outside Sweden for most of my life, and I am not good at following this advice myself.

For me, Sweden has always been a place to rest, relax and spend time with my family. It rarely becomes a destination worth exploring, as I did in Madagascar, Malawi or Zambia-until now.

Since all my overseas missions and business trips have been cancelled this year, I decided to fully explore the closed border and go north from my home near Stockholm. Originally a two-week trip, it soon became a series of trips that lasted for several months and ran through the whole year, starting in the middle of winter and ending in the middle of winter.

To spend the winter in northern Sweden, the first thing to know is not to worry about sunburn. The second is to prepare a lighting lamp and a lot of warm clothes. Sweden and Alaska have roughly the same latitude. Although climate change brings warmer winters, it has no effect on the length of days.

However, when I walk through the ice and snow in a dog sled, snowboard or snowmobile, or lie on my back and stare at the magical Northern Lights show, I don't mind the scarcity of sunshine at all. On the contrary, what attracted my attention was the snow-white and frozen scenery and the charming charm of endless blue shadows. Away from houses and roads, snow illuminates even the darkest night.

I spend almost all my time outdoors, whether in the sauna or diving in nearby rivers (digging holes in the ice)-which makes exploring the northernmost part of Sweden, the so-called Swedish Lapland, the safest trip during the epidemic.

I spent most of my time in and around the small village of Kangos. John Steinwald, my receptionist at Lapland Hotel, showed me a world I had only seen in photos before: frozen swamps, lakes and rivers; Slender elk and curious reindeer; Snow-covered trees; Endless shoveling snow; When the sky is clear and the Northern Lights appear, people's excitement will never fade.

But John also showed me another thing. One day, on a snowy road with tall trees on both sides, he turned off the engine and asked me what I saw.

"Trees," I replied. "A forest."

He shook his head.

"Not a forest. This is a farm, and soon all that's left here, "he said, explaining that rows of straight trees were planted. They are the same species, age and size.

John is right. For half a century, the northern wilderness-once seemingly endless ancient northern forests-has been ruthlessly cut down to obtain biofuels and replaced by a spruce or pine farm. Only a small part of the northern coniferous forest remains, and this small part is decreasing every year.

In addition, wind turbines as high as 65,438+0,000 feet are being built in northern Sweden, and their flashing lights can illuminate dozens of miles away. In the past, dark nights lit up like airport runways. Many such projects are being strongly opposed by local communities and protection agencies.

"This will be the end of tourism and our community," John added.

At the same time, the Sami, an indigenous people mainly living in Sweden, Norway, Finland and northern Russia, are facing a crisis of survival. Their life and culture are inextricably linked with ancient virgin forests and reindeer.

There are no slow-growing lichens and mushrooms on pine or spruce farms, so the death of one species means the death of another, and the future of the whole nation is uncertain.

"We are not natural tourists," said Brita Stina Sjaggo, who works in Luokta-Mávas reindeer grazing area. "We are part of the forest, and the forest is also part of us."

Her views echoed in my mind. Many of us have forgotten this point, which I believe is very important for our own survival and the survival of nature.

Ironically, perhaps in the urgent cause of saving the earth's biodiversity, our desire to travel out of curiosity-although its impact on the climate is undeniable-may prove to be one of our most powerful weapons. We care about what we know and we are willing to fight for what we care about. Not to mention, for agricultural communities, tourism is usually one of the most powerful economic development options for logging, mining or other commercialization of our last wilderness.

We are always curious about the world around us. Moreover, because curiosity often leads to understanding, I think this is a great positive factor. But "the world around us" is not necessarily thousands of miles away. There are always more people calling a place "foreign" than "hometown". Maybe we can learn to treat our surroundings with the same devotion and willingness to listen, just like traveling far away.

As the year draws to a close, I find myself very grateful for this opportunity to explore the northernmost part of my country, Sweden. This is really a fairyland, especially in winter. But I am also grateful that seeing through the truth allows me to talk to countless people who hope that it will continue to be a miracle of the European wilderness.