I discovered this hostel purely by chance. It was April 1964 and I was attempting to thumb a lift on a lonely stretch of road in that northern finger of Finland that runs across the top of Sweden and juts into Norway. I was on my way to Hammerfest with hopes of finding myself a job on a fishing boat for the summer, when, quite suddenly, I found myself caught up in a snowstorm.
Since I did not have a tent at the time, or even a decent sleeping bag, I had no choice but to duck my head into the swirling blizzard and keep myself moving. After some time, to my utter amazement and relief, I suddenly discovered not only a human habitat, but a habitat that was a youth hostel as well.
Frantically, I knocked on its door, which opened after a moment, or two, to reveal a somewhat tall but rather ordinary looking woman. She stared at me, like I had just stepped out of a flying saucer, then she told me that the youth hostel was closed and that I could not stay there.
As I walked back towards the main road I turned around in time to see a small group of individuals gathering at one of the hostel's windows for the obvious and intended purpose of watching the blizzard swallow me up.