Jokkmokk

Spot the deliberate mistake

In 1606 Guy Fawkes was convicted and executed for his part in the English parliament gunpowder plot; Rembrandt, the renowned Dutch painter was born; the American southeast began its worst drought in 770 years and Great Britain adopted the Union Jack as its flag. In Sweden, King Charles IX was on the throne. The country was prospering despite years of continued moves from Denmark, intent on the re-conquering and annexation of its northern neighbour, whilst across the rest of Europe, various causes and effects were beginning to assemble that would ultimately lead to the thirty years war.

On one cold day in the winter of that year, some 800 kms north of Stockholm, a small number of indigenous Sámi folk were converging on the settlement of Jokkmokk to trade meat, furs and handcrafts. The politics and dynastic meanderings in the capital all those miles to the south and across the rest of Europe couldn’t have been further from their minds. Life for them was all about the sijdda, a social system that involved closely-tied families, grouped together to form a community that controlled a specific reindeer herding territory.

They lived in goahtes, large tents, made from fir branches and covered with turfs. It was a lifestyle that allowed the people to exist in very close partnership with the land and nature in general. Apart from reindeer herding, members of the sijdda would survive by catching fish from the abundant lakes, or hunting for giron (ptarmigan) on the mountainsides. Life was hard, but fair.

The winter market at Jokkmokk was very successful and was repeated every first Thursday, Friday and Saturday of each February for every year thereafter. It was a wonderful way for people to meet, make acquaintances, spread news – spread gossip even; and this broadening of horizons most probably transformed life not only for those who were able to attend, but for those who were passed on any useful news or other noteworthy products of the market.

Jokkmokk Church through the trees.

In modern times the market has grown to such a large size that hotels are fully booked for months in advance. Streets are closed and hundreds of stalls erected, selling everything from clothes to CDs; furs to chainsaws; souvenirs to shoes. Meat, handcrafts, sweets, fast food, rugs, knives, fishing rods, boats… It’s all there. In fact, it’s only the sub-zero temperatures, the abundance of fur and the occasional national costume that lend any sense of traditionalism to the event.

Not once was the Jokkmokk Winter Market ever cancelled or postponed and in February this year it celebrated its 400th anniversary. An already huge event (by Swedish standards) was doubled in size. A full week was scheduled, allowing the organisers to put aside the first half of the week for an authentic re-enactment of the traditional market days of 400 years ago.

The Historical Market was set away from the town centre, down among the pine trees by the shores of Lake Talvatis. It featured a large number of goahtes and a few stalls, selling mainly reindeer meat, furs, crafts and knives. Almost everyone associated with the event was wearing national Sámi dress or furs, and at one end a blacksmith was working a traditional forge and producing some excellent quality ironwork. A scene of “days of yore” was very effectively recreated.

On one stall we found a young Sámi man, dressed in furs, selling a most unusual food product – the contents of a reindeer’s hoof! My curiosity piqued, I took a small piece in my mouth and chewed. Not exactly my idea of fine fare, it had the consistency of snot and an unpleasant taste that repeated on me for many hours after. I imagined the fellow was silently laughing at me as I struggled to hold my composure. More? No thanks!

Elsewhere among the trees people were sitting around fires, chatting, singing, and eating. One woman had a traditional Sámi drum, which she was tapping on, producing a low background sound to the general hubub. I stepped inside a goahte to find a group of people dressed in furs, sitting in a circle around a small cooking fire. The ground was covered in fir branches and reindeer skins. The smoke from the fire rose through a hole in the very top of the tent and I felt a strong sense of stepping back in time. Goahte etiquette dictates that a visitor should enter the tent and sit close to the entrance until invited further in. I chose not to stay and said my farewells.

Very nice!

Sunset was at 3:10pm and as the afternoon darkened the temperature dropped to around minus 10. We made our way along the lakeshore to a small stage and arena that had been constructed for King Carl XVI Gustaf’s inaugural speech that evening, the powerful television spotlights illuminating millions of tiny ice crystals hanging in the air. Out on the lake a team of sled dogs were busy hauling excited children back and forth on a large sled, whilst in the press enclosure reporters and camera crew were patiently standing around waiting. We waited too, until the expectant crowd swelled to a point that just made us shrug our shoulders and leave. This was not what Jokkmokk was supposed to be about, after all.In modern times the market has grown to such a large size that hotels are fully booked for months in advance. Streets are closed and hundreds of stalls erected, selling everything from clothes to CDs; furs to chainsaws; souvenirs to shoes. Meat, handcrafts, sweets, fast food, rugs, knives, fishing rods, boats… It’s all there. In fact, it’s only the sub-zero temperatures, the abundance of fur and the occasional national costume that lend any sense of traditionalism to the event.

The following day the main market was in full swing and this quiet village just north of the Arctic Circle was bursting at the seams with tourists. A sea of people milled along the main stretch, perusing the stalls. At midday Per Kuhmunen, a middle aged Sámi in national costume led a reindeer through the town, towing a line of sleds behind. The “reindeer caravan”, as it’s come to be known, is a regular feature of Jokkmokk and has been for many years now. For something so simple, however, it appears to be the main attraction of the whole event.

Though the winter market lasted, on this occasion, from Saturday 29th January through till Sunday 6th February, I was not compelled to stay for more than three days. The huge number of tourists subdued the ambience a little; though it has to be said, I heard only one American accent in those three days; not a sign of a Japanese visitor, and only one other English couple – Bryan and Cherry Alexander, a highly respected pair of accomplished Arctic photographers/writers. If I could be so bold as to quote Cherry; she said “this really isn’t our kind of thing.” I think I know what she means.

Author – Lee Ridley.

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