Norway 4: Svalbard

The final stop on our Norwegian odyssey was to an archipelago in the Arctic Circle called Svalbard. This place is technically part of Norway, though it is closer to the North Pole than to Oslo. Longyearbyen, the town where we stayed, has a latitude of 78 degrees. It's farther north than the northernmost part of Alaska. There are more polar bears than people living there. I could hardly wait.

Downtown Longyearbyen

I fell in love before we'd even landed. Between patchy cloud cover, Ed and I craned our necks to gaze out the plane window at snowy peaks and huge glaciers as we neared Longyearbyen, a 90-minute flight from Tromso in northern, mainland Norway. On the bus ride to our hotel, we got our first taste of the town. It is on the water, and there's not much to it. Even I, who can't navigate my way out of a paper bag, couldn't really get lost. There are 2,000 permanent residents of Longyearbyen, but the town doesn't seem large enough to house them all. The main street is for pedestrians only and plays host to a few bars and restaurants, the grocery store, several sporting good stores, and shops that sell souvenirs. It takes about five minutes to walk from one end to the other if you walk slowly. Fanning out to either side are a few rows of colorful houses, with other habitations thinning rapidly the farther from town you go. I took a few moments on the bus to read the list of ten Svalbard rules on a map I'd picked up, among them the stipulation that anyone leaving the settlements must be properly armed and know how to use his/her weapon. (More on that later.) Whoa.

Our room

Like many establishments in Longyearbyen, our hotel stipulated that we take off our shoes just inside the door and store them alongside numerous pairs of muddy, dusty hiking boots on shelves. We were hungry, so we settled in for just a few minutes and then headed off in search of dinner, which we ate at another hotel nearby. Like all of our restaurant experiences in Longyearbyen would be, the menu had few things to choose from, but the food was pretty good. And like other restaurants in Norway, items like burgers and lasagna were listed under "Light Dishes." Salads and vegetables were not heavily represented. We visited the town's museum afterward, which was actually quite wonderful. We saw lots of stuffed specimens of local wildlife and learned about Svalbard's discovery and about the whaling, walrus- and seal-hunting, and coal mining operations it has played host to over the years. It was tough to sleep that night. The sun, it turns out, never sets on Svalbard in July, and cracks of daylight peeked around the edges of the blinds, making it difficult to drift off.

The next morning, after a complimentary breakfast featuring an egg casserole, bread, cheese, a few orange slices, and some mysterious fishy substances in bowls, we were met by a van and driven to the waterfront for a kayaking trip. Our guides were Swedish (Alfred) and Russian (Vladmir), and our group contained Norwegians, an Irishman, an Englishman, another Swede, and a couple of other characters who kept pretty quiet. Everyone communicated in English that was not only fluent but also witty and articulate. We dressed in thick, watertight wetsuits and booties, strapped on life jackets, and paddled for the opposite shore. Other than a few birds, there wasn't much wildlife to speak of. The water looked thick and muddy, but Alfred told us that before the thaw brings mud into the fjord it is clear and blue. After about 20 minutes of paddling, during which my hands and feet turned cold and clumsy, we beached our kayaks and wandered around the shore. I excitedly pointed out a few reindeer to Ed, but they're about as common as rocks in Svalbard and no one else paid them much attention. They are short and fat and were shedding like crazy and I picked up a clump of fur, noting that the strands felt thick and almost rubbery. Vladmir warned us about small white birds that are surprisingly aggressive and think nothing of attacking, and sure enough, one swooped down on the group a bit later and had to be fended off with sticks. They are quite territorial, apparently. The landscape was littered with parts of a wrecked ship and the remains of the mining that used to take place on Svalbard. Anything older than 1946 is "not trash, it's heritage" and so is protected by law. Part of me enjoyed seeing the rusting engine parts and weathered wood, but part of me wanted to see unspoiled wilderness. Apart from the thumping of a helicopter on a high ridge behind us, all was peaceful. It was a lovely trip, though I was glad to thaw out in a hot shower afterward. We ate dinner in a restaurant made to look like the inside of a trappers' lodge. The ceiling and the lights were low, and it was cozy and festooned with seal skins hanging on the walls, draped over benches and stools, and even adorning the tables.

Rudolph?

Don't pick them!

We set out on a hike the following day, led by British (Yann) and Norwegian (Erick) guides. Yann was an enthusiastic outdoorsman and conservationist, and we learned a lot about Svalbard's natural side, as well as life in Longyearbyen. It was strange to see this skinny, peaceful guy hauling a rifle around, but that's the law. Rifles had accompanied us on our kayaking trip as well, and by now Ed and I had learned that they're to fend off polar bears. The law was enacted after a Norwegian girl was eaten on a nearby ridge a few years ago. Though the bears don't often venture into town, they're very dangerous. It is illegal to seek one out, and if you see one you're supposed to immediately start heading in the opposite direction if it doesn't see you. If it does, you're to be very still, huddle together if you're with others to try to look like one big animal, and make lots of noise. The next step is firing a flare gun to attempt to scare it away. Finally, you can shoot it if you have no other choice, though you must file a report if you kill a polar bear and could be penalized if you did something to bring on the attack. We learned about other Longyearbyen rules, such as not allowing dogs off leashes to protect wildlife, not allowing cats outdoors at all (they're liable to be shot by residents if they are seen), and not picking or even stepping on the Svalbard poppy, the official flower of the archipelago. Traveling outside certain zones means you'll have to pay for your own helicopter if you need rescue, assuming you have the means to call one of course. Residents can purchase 24 beers and 1 liter of hard alcohol per person, per month at the supermarket, though there is no limit on wine consumption and they can drink as much as they like in bars.

Rules aside, Svalbard is a safe, live-and-let-live kind of place. Anyone can work there without a passport or visa, and an Iranian citizen actually sought asylum there for 15 years when he feared for his life back home and couldn't get anyone else to take him in. There are over 40 nationalities represented by the 2,000 residents, which is really quite amazing. People play sports, go to parties and barbecues, and enjoy the outdoors together, though this is easier to do in winter. Counter-intuitively, Longyearbyen residents can't get too far from town in summer. There are very few roads, and the only ways to travel are by foot or boat. In winter, however, they can snowmobile to the far reaches of the island and onto the ice to other islands, or snowshoe or ski from place to place. There is no crime to speak of. I was completely charmed by the friendliness of the residents. Everyone seemed to have an interesting story and a long list of unusual interests and accomplishments. Even the animals are laid back. The reindeer and ptarmigan, for example, have no natural enemies, and Yann said you can practically walk up to them and pet them. With a hunting license, each resident is allowed to shoot 20 ptarmigan per day during the season. Apparently you can shoot one and the others hardly react; they have not learned to associate guns or people with danger.

Fossilized leaf

We hiked as we talked, walking past one glacier, cresting a high ridge with a great view, and then walking along a second glacier to end up back where we started. I was fascinated by the variety of rocks and the way the melting ice formed channels through and under the ice. In one spot, we stopped and looked for fossils of the tropical trees that used to grow on this spot. There are no trees on Svalbard, tropical or otherwise now, but the fossils were plentiful, and I found a pretty one to take as a souvenir. Although Svalbard is hardly balmy these days, it is known as the tropics of the Arctic Circle because currents around it keep it warmer than most places nearby.

Meltwater channel in the glacier

We learned a lot about how climate change is affecting Svalbard, as well. The glaciers are receding and summers are lasting longer. Longer summers mean more food for reindeer, which leads to more calves. It rains sometimes in January now, though, and the water falls through the snow and forms puddles under the drifts, where it freezes. This means that the larger-than-usual reindeer populations can't dig through the snow to get at the plants underneath it, and many will starve. The ecosystem on Svalbard is simple: there are few types of plants and animals. Small changes can really disrupt things.

Dragging Harald to his place with our team

Ed and I made friends with the locals at a bar that night, then dragged ourselves out of bed the next morning for our final activity: dog sledding! Or, rather, dog carting, as there was no snow on the ground. Our guide drove us to the dog yard about 15 minutes out of town, which was elevated and afforded us a splendid view of Advent Valley (the name coming from the word "adventure"). All was quiet when we arrived. There were 80 dogs in the yard, each chained to a post in front of an elevated box with a hole. These were their houses. We were warned not to let them knock us over when they jumped, then turned loose to pet them. Each dog's name was painted on his/her house, and they were certainly friendly. We were covered in dust and hair in no time. A few puppies howled to be petted from a pen and nipped affectionately at us when we obliged. The peace was shattered when our guide began to show us how to harness the first dog, however. Every animal on the place exploded with desperate howls immediately - they were frantic to go running. We were handed harnesses and told to go off in search of particular dogs which we harnessed and dragged toward to carts, clipping them both to the lead line and to their partner. Each cart got 6 dogs. We learned a bit about the breaks and steering, then Ed sat in the seat in our cart and I took the drivers' seat and we were off! The dogs shot forward so quickly that it was a bit alarming at first, but within a few minutes they settled into a steady, somewhat slower, run. The view was lovely, and it was pretty fun to look down at the wagging tails and lolling tongues in front of us. As we went, several of our dogs had to, er, obey the call of nature, and did so without stopping, though some squatted awkwardly and waddled for a few paces before joining the rest of the team. When we came upon a stream, they flung themselves into it, gulping down water and ignoring the scolding of our guide; we had to drag them out of the water and make them wait for us to fill metal bowls that sat waiting beside the stream. At about 48 degrees, it was very, very hot for them and their stamina took a huge hit. Although in winter they can run all day, we didn't keep them out that long. We returned them, docile and panting happily, to their places in the yard, and after their jealous neighbors expressed their resentment for a few more minutes, it quieted down until you couldn't hear a yap from anyone. I enjoyed the hike most, but Ed was gaga over the dogs and wants one even more than he did before the trip (which was already a lot).

I was sad as I watched Svalbard fall away beneath our plane. We had one more night in Oslo and were to head out the next morning. It had been a fantastic trip, and I was reluctant to end it. I don't know if I'll ever go back to Norway, though I'm eager to see the Northern Lights someday, and Svalbard would be a wonderful place to do it. I'd like to ski out to the parts of the island where the polar bears and seals live and to see what Longyearbyen looks like in the dark. Even if that never works out, I'm grateful to have had the chance to sample some of the splendor of Norway.