There are places where speed shouts. And then there are places where speed whispers, politely but firmly, asking for respect before permission. Muonio, tucked deep inside Finnish Lapland, belongs to the second category. White like a blank document waiting for bad ideas to be deleted, silent like a paused playlist, this is where Audi doesn’t teach you how fast you can go. It teaches you how clearly you can think.
Our frozen headquarters was Hotel Olos, a warm, wooden pause button surrounded by endless white. Mornings began with pale Nordic light sneaking in through frost-lined windows. Evenings ended with drifting conversations that mirrored what we did all day on ice. Every room comes with a private sauna, which in these temperatures isn’t a luxury, it’s survival wrapped in indulgence.
The Audi Ice Drive programme comfortably sits in that rare club of experiences that can be called one of the world’s most expensive sports. Not because of the invoice, but because the currency here is control, restraint, and humility. This is a bucket-list experience every driving enthusiast needs to tick off once. The catch is, once you do it, it refuses to stay ticked. Ice driving is not about domination. It’s about negotiation. Every corner is a conversation with physics, and physics always has the final word.
To fully understand how hostile this environment really is, Audi throws in a snowmobile experience. Layered up like a human sleeping bag, heated handles under your palms, visor down, engine buzzing beneath you, and yet the cold finds a way in. It crawls through gloves, sneaks into boots, and settles into bones. It’s only then you realise how brutal Lapland can be. And how utterly spoilt you’ve been inside the Audi S5, vacuumed into heated seats, insulated from minus 20-degree reality like a rolling thermal sanctuary.
Adding an unexpected layer to the experience was Neeraj Chopra. Olympic champion. Precision merchant. First time on ice. Watching him approach driving was fascinating. No bravado. No heroics. Just listening carefully to the German instructors, absorbing technique, respecting the surface. Different sport, same truth. By the end of two and a half days, he wasn’t learning anymore. He was dancing with the car, sliding it, holding drifts, smiling like someone who had discovered a new addiction. That’s the beauty of ice driving. Any good driver will get it. And once you do, it hooks you.
The car? The all-new Audi S5 Avant, mild-hybrid, combustion-led, refreshingly honest. No electric shock-and-awe here. Just a 3.0-litre V6 TFSI producing 362 horsepower and 550 Nm, channelled through quattro all-wheel drive. On paper, it sounds simple. On ice, it turns philosophical very quickly. Power is not the hero. Balance is. Traction control stays off, the car stays running at all times, and temperatures hover casually between minus 18 and minus 24 degrees
The S5’s quattro system works quietly in the background, shuffling torque like a chess grandmaster thinking three moves ahead. Add the rear sport differential and suddenly oversteer isn’t a mistake, it’s an invitation. You don’t attack the car. You suggest. Throttle inputs are measured. Steering corrections are calm. The car responds not with drama, but with trust.
Drifting on ice rewires instinct. Brake earlier than your ego wants to. Turn in gently. Then a deliberate squeeze of throttle to unstick the rear, followed by smooth counter-steer. Panic is punished instantly. Smoothness is rewarded generously. The S5 slides, but never feels lost. It feels guided, like having a very clever instructor permanently wired into the drivetrain.What really stands out is communication. Through the steering wheel, the seat, even the sound of studded tyres slicing ice, the car talks. Not noise. Information. Once you stop chasing grip and start sensing it, confidence arrives quietly, without arrogance.
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Standing on a frozen lake, where ice thickness is measured in centimetres and bravery in heartbeats, the realisation lands hard. Ice driving earns its place among elite sports because it demands everything at once. Skill. Patience. Awareness. Respect for consequence. Yes, there’s a tractor on standby in case you bury the car in a snowbank. And yes, no matter how hard you push, you’re safe. But the lesson still sticks.
As the S5 cooled under a pastel Lapland sky, exhaust ticking softly, one thought stayed behind. Mastery is never loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It arrives quietly, like a drift held a second longer than planned. And Muonio, with its silence, makes sure you hear it. Now the obvious question. How do you do this? Audi runs the Ice Drive as part of its official driving programmes, and spots disappear faster than grip on polished ice. Depending on the format and duration, prices typically sit in the region of €3,500 to €5,000, excluding flights. It sounds indulgent until you’re there. Then it feels inevitable. Worth every dime, every frozen breath, every perfectly held slide.
