The drinks arrive on trays and are arranged on the table before us. The effect is that of a living tablecloth - especially in the after-dinner-drink category, where all the cocktails have a moody, evening-gown feel to them. Immediately overwhelmed, I rummage through my papers, pick up a pen, and wonder where to begin. My fellow professional judges have commenced to sniffing, quaffing, and gazing at the drinks at arm's length. So I dive in - one straw at a time.

In this mad muddle of tempting potations, all is chaos. It's not long before I find myself drink-dazed, giddy as a goose. The cocktails seem to come alive, growing little faces that talk to me. "Drink me, drink me!" they seem to be saying. I concentrate on one compelling libation at a time. All the while, the deranged, slave-driving head judge cracks his whip, saying "Focus, judges; hurry, judges; just 10 minutes more." A drink with floating strawberries begins to overlap with a garishly garnished (think a chunky bananas-and-cherries configuration) milkshake-like beverage. I gather courage and forge ahead, sipping, swallowing, sniffing, and stargazing. At last, I get nearly 20 drinks down the hatch - thankfully not in their entirety. I push them aside and complete my paperwork. I have sipped like a fiend and lived to tell the story. I swagger up the stairs and immerse myself in the ice bar.

The next day we spend in celebration of the snow: We ice fish, snowmobile, and ride on sleighs. That night, ­relaxed from our frolicking in the cold, we attend the awards banquet, which includes a feast of reindeer meat, salmon, and - what else - lots of Finlandia vodka. The Finnish contender, Jan Lindgren, is announced as the winner, while the basketball player from Belgrade, Aleksander Stipcic, places second. In celebration, shots are downed, arms are slung over shoulders, and lips are smacked. Suddenly, the world seems like a very small place.