It shouldn’t be here.
That’s the first thought when you see it — a silver disk hovering between the trunks, caught mid-landing in a sea of pine. No beams, no scaffolding, just suspension and silence. The UFO, Treehotel’s most curious creation, doesn’t try to blend in. It startles, then charms.

After building the Bird’s Nest, a study in camouflage, Treehotel’s founders wondered: what if they went the opposite way? No bark-coloured shingles, no rustic nostalgia — just a clean break from gravity. The result is this hovering pod: 30 square metres of engineered imagination. Lightweight composite shell, minimal footprint, more spaceship than cabin.

The approach is half the fun. A narrow path through forest, a hum of wind in the branches, then a button-click and the ladder descends from the belly of the craft. You climb in, and suddenly you’re inside something that feels both familiar and impossible.

Inside, the space is calm — almost monastic in its simplicity. Pale wood, soft lighting, quiet air. The walls curve without corners, so the room seems larger than it is. A double bed anchors one side, with three small bunks tucked neatly for children — a clever nod to the families who come here chasing that childhood “what-if.” A tiny living nook holds two chairs, a fold-out table, and a view through circular windows that make everything outside look slightly cinematic.

There’s a bathroom, compact and practical, with warm water that somehow feels like a luxury this high up. No alien controls, just good Scandinavian design — clear lines, zero clutter. It’s comfort, disguised as curiosity.

From the terrace platform you can glimpse the Lule River cutting through the forest. In winter, snow muffles every sound but your own breath; in summer, the air smells of pine sap and something electrical — maybe imagination itself. The UFO sits four to six metres off the ground, same as its Treehotel siblings, yet it feels further from Earth.

Children run around it in awe. Adults pretend not to be impressed, then pull out their phones. Everyone looks up.

The creators talk about sustainability as much as spectacle. The structure barely touches its supporting trees, spreading the load through hidden anchors and composite ribs. It’s futuristic, yes, but built with local restraint — a spaceship that treads lightly.

At night, when the interior lights dim and the forest goes blue-black, the UFO glows faintly between branches. It doesn’t hum, it doesn’t move, it just waits — a gentle reminder that wonder still fits into 30 square metres if you build it right.