Tourism is thriving in Finland’s Sápmi region—better known as ‘Lapland’. But to what extent has it respected the culture of the local Sámi people? Tim Bird visits Inari, above the Arctic Circle, to see whether increased awareness of culturally sustainable tourism is making a difference.
Crystals form in my nostrils as I step from the bus in the village of Inari in Finland’s Arctic north. It’s a crisp minus 14°C (7°F), mid-afternoon in early February, when the sun barely bothers to climb much higher than the horizon. The shapes formed by the snow on the bare moors resemble fantasy animals, illuminated in eerie pastel shades of pink and blue.
Later that evening, the Northern Lights will perform their magic tricks across the vast, frozen expanse of Inarijärvi, Finland’s second biggest lake. It’s hard to imagine, but just a few months from now, these icebound landscapes will be flooded with continuous midsummer light and frantic growth.
Inari, some 300 kilometers above the Arctic Circle and about 1,000 kilometers north of the Finnish capital Helsinki, is the name of both the village of some 600 people and its sprawling 17,334-square-kilometer municipality. It is also the heart of that part of Sápmi or Sámiland—the area historically and still claimed by Indigenous Sámi people—that rests within Finland’s Sápmi (Lapland) province. Sámiland also extends across the Arctic territories of Norway, Sweden, and Russia.
The seasonal extremes of Arctic nature, a unique and sparsely-populated beauty, and a variety of year-round outdoor pursuits—from winter sports and aurora hunts to hiking, fishing and canoeing—draw visitors to northern Sápmi, from abroad and from the rest of Finland. While tourism and its related industries provide business for the Sámi community, the Sámi have often been presented as stereotyped actors in an extended Sápmi theme park. But things are changing. In 2022, the publication of the Responsible Visitors’ Guidance to Sámi Culture and the Sámi Homeland in Finland, drawing on previously prepared industry guidelines, is a tangible example of efforts being made to encourage a more enlightened sensitivity to Sámi culture.
The Sámi, who number about 10,000 in Finland and more than 70,000 across the whole of Sámiland, are the only people recognized as Indigenous within the European Union area. Nine separate Sámi languages are spoken, three of which—Inari Sámi, Northern Sámi, and Skolt Sámi—remain in use in the area designated as the Sámi Homeland in Finland. Sámi culture retains a resilient foothold in the far north, with younger people also expressing an interest in preserving language, identity and land rights.
However, these issues often conflict with Finland’s national government policy, not least its eagerness to exploit Sápmi’s significant mineral and forestry resources. So the release of the visitors’ guidelines, and their serious reception among tourism service providers, are welcome developments from the Sámi perspective.
“I don’t tell them fairytales or Rudolf-reindeer stories. People from abroad tend to know more about Sámi than Finnish people. I like that they ask so many questions. It’s always a discussion when people come here.”
- Anne Karhu-Angeli
I’ve come to Inari to find out more about tourism in the Homeland, arriving in time to make the short 200-meter trudge through knee-deep snow from my riverside hotel to the elegant timber facade of Sajos, the Sámi Cultural Center and home to the Sámi Parliament in Finland.
On the opposite side of the Juutua river is Siida, the Sámi Museum and Nature Center. My arrival also coincides with the last day of the Indigenous Peoples’ Film Festival. The Sajos auditorium is packed with a mixed-age audience, many dressed entirely or partly in colorful Sámi attire. I watch a touching documentary describing how a young Finnish woman reconnects with her Sámi roots.
The next morning, I take a 12-kilometer taxi ride from Inari through cotton-candy snow-wrapped forest to a wooden house in a clearing by a small frozen lake surrounded by an icy morning mist. “It’s minus 19°C (-2°F) out here,” says my hostess Anne Karhu-Angeli, greeting me as I step from the car into the disorienting chill.
Several dozen reindeer patrol around and within the wooden pens opposite the house. Reindeer hides are draped across the fence. This is the Angeli Reindeer Farm, run by Anne, her husband, and extended family. I’m the only visitor today, but Anne hosts occasional visits from tourists, welcoming the opportunity to inform them—and often set them straight—about Sámi culture.
Anne is recognized as Skolt Sámi by marriage, not by birth, and identifies with Sámi culture ‘in her heart’. Her cozy modern home helps to dispose of one myth; that Sámi people live huddled in teepees. In fact, reindeer herding, although significant, was never the sole aspect of Sámi economy or culture.
I bite my lip when tempted to ask her how many reindeer the farm includes, knowing this question is right at the bottom of the local how-to-be-polite list. From my many visits to the region, I now know it’s the equivalent of asking how much money they have in the bank.
She tells me about the concept of siida, a Sámi word which refers to a spiritual sense of Sámi community as well as a physical gathering place. She describes the challenges of teaching Sámi language to her children, aged 8, 11 and 14, and the dismissive attitude non-Sámi politicians have towards Sámi culture.
“Communication of Sámi culture and identity needs to be conveyed by the Sámi community itself.”
- Kaisu Nikula, researcher
“I always tell these things to my guests,” she says. “I don’t tell them fairytales or Rudolf-reindeer stories. People from abroad tend to know more about Sámi than Finnish people. I like that they ask so many questions. It’s always a discussion when people come here.”
I ask Anne what she finds to be the most annoying tourist behavior towards Sámi culture? She tells me: “I remember seeing a non-Sámi Finnish woman coming from a souvenir shop wearing a man’s Four Winds Hat—a čiehgahpir—made in China, from polyester, not wool. It’s funny, but also sad.”
She shows me her own handicrafts, including exquisitely woven traditional-design belts and jewelry; one handbag made from reindeer leather, and another from fish skin.
On a previous trip, I had spoken to Satu Luiro, managing director of House of Lapland, the regional marketing and communications company. “As part of our regional tourism strategy, we want to provide genuine tourism experiences including Sámi culture,” she told me, adding that awareness of the issues has increased.
“In the past, some tour companies might have been using Sámi garments, for example, even though they were not part of the Sámi community. Tourists were coming into private yards, taking photos of people in traditional garments without permission.”
Before leaving Inari, I meet Kaisu Nikula, who hails from an Inari Sámi family. She’s doing background research for tourism certifications in Indigenous communities, a project of the University of Lapland based in Rovaniemi, the provincial capital. “On the basis of this research, we can make a draft for Sámi tourism certification criteria,” she says. “We will get the Sámi-owned companies together, get feedback from the community and finish the draft to put before the Sámi Parliament.”
Sustainable tourism and digital communications in Northern Sápmi are at the heart of another EU-funded municipal project which focuses on small enterprises in the region, village communities and tourism developers. Communication of Sámi culture and identity needs to be conveyed by the Sámi community itself, says Kaisu.
“We have to communicate that our traditions are part of a living culture,” she concludes. “It’s not something in a museum frozen in time that stays the same forever.”
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Read the Responsible Visitors’ Guide to World of Sámi Culture and Sámi Homeland in Finland.
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Tim Bird hails from Kent, England, but has lived in Helsinki, Finland since 1982 and is a contributor to numerous magazines, newspapers and websites in the US, UK and further. Finland and the Nordic and Baltic regions are his specialist regions, and he also writes about culture, food and drink, sport, business, and sustainable development issues. His features are often accompanied by his own photography, for which he has won several awards.
