Northern Lights
On beauty and complacency
I've seen the Northern Lights a bunch of times in my life.
I lived in Finland for six years, but never saw them there. After I moved away, there were times when the lights were seen in the very South of the country, even in Helsinki, so I guess things have changed, but back then I knew many Finns who had never seen them.
It was as if there was a complacency, a sense that at any time one could drive four hours North and tick that item off the bucket list, but they never did.
In Iceland, however, it was different.
It’s often said that to see the Northern Lights the recommendation is to go somewhere away from cities, where there’s little light pollution, but in Iceland, even in Reykjavík, you could sit on the sofa inside your house with the lights on and watch the dancing lights from there.
I remember one night we were having dinner when I stepped out for some fresh air and saw them right above me. I peeked inside through the glass door of the house where I was and no one seemed to be noticing what was happening.
By that time, I had already seen the Aurora a few times, but never as intensely as that, so I went inside to call the Icelanders. In contrast to my excitement, they came outside in no rush, looked up calmly, and finally someone said, "You called us out for this?"
But then there was also the time when, during another dinner, everyone did come out to see it, and stayed outside marvelling at the phenomenon. That day I was properly satisfied — now I had truly seen the thing.
Yet the best story I have with the Northern Lights was the first time I encountered them.
We traveled by car with my family from Helsinki to Nordkapp, in Norway, the Northernmost point of continental Europe.
We slept in a fisherman's cottage in a small village, and one night when returning home, we saw clouds that seemed to be moving quite fast. They were gray, but occasionally seemed a bit green. We watched for a long time until we realized that it was indeed the Northern Lights.
Then the lights began to dance — they cut the sky from left to right rapidly and then brushed up and down as if some higher entity was painting. They were bright green occasionally some red snuck in. The lights would come closer and move away, the sky would brighten, darken again, they would flash, cut to one side, zig-zag across, sway, roll.
It was a marvellous dance.
I believe none of the Norwegians who lived there cared much about it, but for us, it was a beautiful show.
When the show ended, we started to make our way to the cabin, and at the same time a Frenchman who was staying at the same guesthouse came out. We asked if he had seen the lights and he said he hadn't. He told us he saw us outside looking at the sky but decided not to come out because an app he had downloaded said the lights would peak in about an hour. Talking to us outside, he didn't even glance at the sky.
He told us he had driven all the way from Paris just to see the Northern Lights, and it was his last night, so he was excited to see them — in an hour, like the app said. When we told him what we saw, he kind of mocked us, saying what we’d seen was nothing, despite having never seen the Aurora himself.
Convinced by the conviction of this expert, we decided to go out after an hour and drive a bit outside the village to have an even better chance of witnessing the phenomenon.
And so, after spending half an hour or so inside to warm up, we drove out about twenty minutes and stopped at the darkest point we could find. It was around midnight and we were wearing all of our clothes.
We waited, and waited, and nothing. The lights never came.
I wonder: if weather forecasts are often wrong, imagine Northern Lights forecasts. I just hope the French guy’s app also had videos.