Blogging at 21:00 on Wednesday 7th August from N 78.21866°, E 15.63346° / http://maps.google.com/maps?q=loc:78.21866%2C15.63346
As anticipated, it's been another flat-out day. We were up early to catch today's excursion boat to the only other significant inhabited settlement in Svalbard: Barentsburg, en route taking in the Esmark glacier.
There was again plenty of birdlife leading out to the glacier and, by the time we got there, the Svalbard-species list had increased quite a bit. Of the more notable species seen since I last reported, the inventory now includes: snow bunting, purple sandpiper, Arctic skua and little auk (a first for me). Such species as fulmar, puffin, guillemot, black guillemot, eider, Iceland gull, glaucous gull, Arctic tern and barnacle geese superabound.
On the mammal front, step forward Svalbard reindeer. These animals are extremely common and wander at will, even though human settlements. They're interesting in as much as they're pretty unique in terms of the many evolutionary adaptations they've made over 'regular' reindeer in order to survive the inhospitable Svalbard winters. Adaptations include being much smaller, having shorter legs, being much fatter and having larger eyes. I advisedly resist making any churlish comparisons to Emma here.
At the Esmark glacier, and right where the glacier met the sea, I spotted the briefest glimpse of a seal's neck and head before it submerged into the icy, turbid waters. I had no idea of the species but the guide aboard the boat said it would almost certainly have been a ringed seal - a staple for polar bears.
And so, to Barentsburg. What a place! Just when Longyearbyen was starting to seem sort of comprehensible, we totally frazzled our minds with this place
(Very) basically, the town is a highly insular community and is accessible only by sea or air. It continues to exist only because of its ancient coal mining plant. It's utterly anachronistic in as much as it's a (very) Russian enclave, complete with a high-security-fenced consulate. We're told the town's current population is around 300, most of whom are employed by the mining concern. Coal is the only source of power and heating for the entire settlement, it's exported in vast quantities, too.
The town is just mind-blowing. It really is a caricature of a decrepit Gulag-esque settlement from the era of the most intensively industrialised USSR. Broken infrastructure, scrap metal, broken concrete and tired machinery lies about all over the place, whilst makeshift repairs and improvised solutions to just about all aspects of civic life are omnipresent. The grey drizzly afternoon weather didn't help, but initial impressions were definitely leaning towards a desperate, wretched place.
That said, the local guide (a young female resident) was incredibly upbeat about the community and - as the rain fell in her face - expressed genuine joy in being a part of it. In public, anyway.
The enclave is totally self-contained and has, for example, a nursery, a school, a post office, bars, a hotel, a leisure centre and a hospital. And a huge bust of Lenin front-and-centre of the huge and forbidding concrete halls of residence, presumably to keep the proletariat on their toes. There are seemingly no occupied 'normal' houses here.
The settlement's concrete walkways and few hundred metres of 'road' are mainly huge concrete slabs but these, like everything else, have seen far better days and are broken and crumbling. Coal dust and/or coal sludge is everywhere, and the unmistakable smell of the stuff dominates. It instantly took Emma and me back to our semi-feral childhoods in the pit villages of Yorkshire; but was absolutely the only thing in this utterly enigmatic world that did.
The degradation of the settlement was palpable but, in spite of it, residents seemed happy and were friendly enough towards the few dozen milling lollygagging gringos (us included). It struck me that the locals probably think that all westerners ever do is bumble about pointlessly whilst wearing both pretentious waterproof clothing and confused and haunted looks.
After two hours of becoming increasingly disturbed it was time to get back on the boat and head back to the comparatively familiar territory of the Capitalist West. As much as Longyearbyen itself permits that notion, anyway.
Bonus! We'd only just rounded the coast from Barrentsburg when the skipper of our ship throttled back the engines and announced they'd spotted walrus from the bridge. Sure enough, there were two of the mighty animals swimming in open water and heading towards the shore. Both - clearly a bit wary of the boat -repeatedly lifted their heads well clear of the water in order to keep an eye on us as they swam. It was, of course, regrettable to know we'd stressed them, but it did make for a very good sighting.
Thereafter the route back, though spectacular, was essentially uneventful and we re-made land at around 7.00pm: utterly whacked.
Back at the hotel the car I arranged to hire had been delivered as agreed so we're now set up for a final morning of self-contained exploration on the 30 kilometres or so of roads / tracks around the Longyearbyen area.
An early non-night, then, with hardly anything to process before sleep creeps in...
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