Longyearbyen

Photos of houses and buildings that aren’t falling into the ground are not my specialty, but it seems incomplete to give the impression that there are no people or infrastructure in Svalbard. This is a company town transitioning into a tourist destination. The coal industry is being consciously closed as the government introduces its green sustainability agenda and levies the draw of the north for those who recognize its rapid decline.

The town is nestled in a valley (read never gets sun even when the sun never sets). The north end of town touches the fjord. To the east and west are high plateaus that climb straight from town, level out, and hold the town between their arms. Uphill, to the south, is a glacier. This confuses me almost daily. I expect glaciers to the north, and going south always feels like downhill, according to Ents, so this is a double cross of my wiring.

Housing is mostly company-owned, apartments and row houses in bright colors are nestled below the avalanche fences on the east side of town and the now-derelict coal shuttle structures. Across town and the river, the church takes the high ground. Although it, too, is in a high-risk avalanche zone, no fence has been built above the church yet. Walking into town from the south, you walk toward the fjord, toward another mountain through the ubiquitous street lights – my arch nemesis the world ’round.

The tradition in town is to take off your shoes and hang up your coat when entering many public places, including the library, where I often work. Like kids everywhere, the after-school crowd rarely remembers the “hang up your coat” part. It makes me laugh every day.