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--> zur deutschen Version Spitsbergen Report No. 7February 22nd 2002Silent time and moonshineEven so far in the north the christmas time was suddenly approaching. The number of inhabitants decreased from 120 downto 8 and the koeducative principles were all abandoned. It became silent in the hearts. 
Quite the other way round: the weather. Minus thirty and a storm that one could become anxious about one's life. This candle was placed in the inside of the cabin where we passed the christmas time. The wind was so strong that it pressed snow through the shut window into the cabin. The candle faced this strange motion of air by astonished curling-up. It's possibly also due to the low-frequent oscillation (so-called humming) of the hole cabin that made it behaving like that. 
From the back-left side to the right: Malte (D), Konstantin (RUS), Bar, pompous table, Thomas (DK), christmas tree. Despite the noisy humming of the cabin's foundation we succeeded in establishing contemplative cabin glamour. The howling wind couldn't stop us collecting intense christmas eating experience. The celebration culminated in singing norwegian christmas carols while standing around the tree. An interesting situation considering the fact that there were no norwegians at all. 
The sanitary equipment doesn't exceed rubbish bags mounted in square-shaped toilet boxes. Filled bags are given to the recycling flows of the local paracivilization. Luckiliy, it's very cold, you know, and the content of the each bag is quickly transformed to friendly-solid state and the vapour pressure drops to an agreable level. Due to the need of transportation the yellow river is supposed to flow outside. A tough business in -30 and storm. 
High above the town Santa Claus lives, everybody except for the Finnish says here. Gruve 2 is his home. In the christmas time he puts a christmas tree on his balcony. Matteo and me where seeking this myth. Maybe it was too late in January. But closely seen the christmas is far beyond any possible acceptance. 
Checking out Santa's entrance hall didn't really help to see clearer. This old lout had just sneaked away after the working hours. He hadn't just neglected the lightbulb candles but also skipped removing the snow from his stairs. What does this guy think actually? He seems to take Taekwondo lessons on Hokkaido, because of his wife of breathing beauty, named Snigoridcka. A withered piece of paper gives the only hint: "just out to pick cigarettes". 
As my dear Regine sometimes tends to slight capriciousness (I eventually call her "pile of rubbish"), I'm once in a while kept to ecological sociability. Comfort can decrease then. On this danish-russian-german expedition the proudness of the "Frost on the moustache" (respectively on and under the facemask) was stronger. 
The polarnight in town is sodium-yellow. Faintly depicted the power station that constantly blows trails of smoke into the atmosphere. Without this smoke the island would be evacuated. 
It's noon and the fullmoon is beating down. The snow is boiling. Persistent dry winds turned the snow into concrete-like polystyrene. We are not quite sure if we are standing on land fjord ice or land. 
Long shutting times reveal surprises. I thought there weren't any clouds at all. 
The moon light acts as an unreal-filter. The line on the left was a snowmobile. 
Grimnir didn't recover from his thawbite (icedragonish for frostbite). Moreover it's definitely impossible to take pictures of northern lights with ASA100 films, not even with PC-efforts. 
What so ever: the day isn't far away. When the sky becomes lighter than the mountains, the darkest period is over. The road of life again rises to meet you. But that's already the next report's business. For the interested reader to the topic of sleep. (can unfortunately only be viewed with evil Microsoft browsers, I'd be indebted to the one having an idea about the reason) Back to overview
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Updated on September 8th 2002 |
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