Russian heaven

In one giant, chatty, amoeba-shaped crowd, we made our way down to the Longyearbyen pier. It was Friday afternoon, and the last lecture of the week was behind us. The sun still shone brightly, even though it tilted toward the horizon, and large red jellyfish littered the surface of the fjord. One by one, we boarded a small tourist ship and set sail for Barentsburg.

Seen on the way to Barentsburg.

Barentsburg is a small Russian mining town near the mouth of Isfjorden. There's not much traffic between it and Longyearbyen; in fact, I know very few people who have ever been there before. There's really no reason for a scientist to go to Barentsburg, since the town is entirely industry-based and doesn't have a research station. It's actually unique in that way, as far as modern Svalbard settlements go. Still, I've always been curious about Barentsburg, so as soon as another UNIS student suggested we go explore it, I was game. There were about 100 of us from UNIS on the cruise, and if I had to make a guess, I'd say we doubled Barentsburg's population when we arrived.

The drive out was absolutely spectacular. We had mountain views the whole way, and our boat was bathed in the slanted light of the sinking sun. It's late enough in the year that the sun does set each day, but it only stays down for about 30 minutes.

Barentsburg

When we arrived at the Barentsburg dock, the first thing I remember thinking was "Why would you put a town here?" I mean, the location of Longyearbyen makes sense to me, since it's in a protected valley, but Barentsburg just sits on the side of a hill. The buildings are arranged in horizontal rows along the slope, and to be honest, they all looked very exposed. Most roads run parallel to the water, giving the town a distinct striped appearance. To get from the dock up to the town, we had to climb a long wooden staircase.

The town seemed a bit haphazard to me. There were numerous dilapidated wooden structures with peeling paint and boarded-up windows, but there were also several brand-new, colorful buildings that were so modern they almost looked fake. It seemed like when a building got old, instead being renovated, it was just replaced by a brand-new structure, and the old house was left to rot. The end result was a non-integrated salad of condemned structures and space-age buildings that overall seemed very strange to me. As soon as we arrived in the center of Barentsburg, we were greeted by a guide with hoop earrings and a thick accent. "Welcome to Barentsburg," he told us, "the Russian heaven."

Makeshift wooden tubes like this were ubiquitous in Barentsburg.

The guide showed us the local brewery, the restaurant, the hotel. He took us past the administrative headquarters of the mine, a modern red office building that, at least according to our guide, had the entrance to the mine inside of it. Everything in Barentsburg revolves around the mine. It's open 24 hours a day, and the workers rotate in 6-hour shifts. Everywhere we looked in town, there were makeshift wooden tubes, which, for all I can figure, are used to transport mined coal. Of course, I never got the chance to ask what they were, but they ran all the way along the hill above town, and I cannot imagine any other purpose for them. Our guide informed us that coal mined in Barentsburg contained a particular mineral that lowered its quality, so it had to be mixed with higher-quality coal before being burned. Most of the coal mined in Barentsburg is sold to various European countries.

I wandered for about an hour with two classmates, absorbing the strange and ramshackle town. In the center of Barentsburg, we found a grassy area flanked by a run-down, boarded-up government-looking building and a fresh-out-of-the-plastic bright orange one. Surrounded by a pedestrian path in the middle of the grass was a statue of Lenin, which our guide informed us was the second-northernmost Lenin statue in the world. The first is at Pyramiden, another Russian mining town in Isfjorden that has now been abandoned.

Barentsburg chapel

My two companions and I also explored the closest thing Barentsburg has to a church, a circular wooden chapel towards one end of town. The form of the cross on top indicates the chapel is Russian Orthodox. We found the door unlocked and the lights on, so we respectfully stepped inside. I assume the door must be left open regularly for parishioners wanting to pray. I can't imagine holding a church service inside, considering the chapel was barely large enough for the three of us, much less a congregation. There were no seats, just a small altar in the middle of the room and a couple of side tables around the edge. The walls were covered in images of Mary and Jesus, depicted in the Russian Orthodox style. Over the door was a framed picture of a man in ornate robes, whom I can only assume is the Orthodox equivalent of the Pope.

Slowly, the sun sank down to the horizon, tilting its face toward Barentsburg and bathing the town in slanted light. As I stood on at the top of the giant staircase, on what I can only call Barentsburg's Main Street, I looked out to the mountains and tried to imagine what life in this place would be like. A large part of me wanted to sit down with a local, ask them about their life, about their family, about their town. Instead, I spotted a lone woman standing on the cliff edge and looking out to the mountains like me. She looked so small against the majestic backdrop, and it occurred to me then what was the best part about Barentsburg. This place, so small, so lonely, so exposed - and yet doing just fine - makes you think about your place in the world, and it makes you realize how little is actually in your control. Having a warm house in a beautiful location and approaching your life with serenity? Sounds like heaven to me.

Barentsburg