For the first time since October the sun rose on Saturday in the small town of Longyearbyen, Norway.
I stole this bit of article from StarTribune
Elke Morgner and Allison Bailey, two graduate students at the research institute here, were hacking though ice six miles outside of Longyearbyen this week to take measurements from the underlying tundra when they saw a sliver of sunlight peek around a mountain. Despite temperatures of 4 below (-40 with windchill), they put down their tools and stared.
Then, as they worked, the shaft of light grew to fill a large swath of the valley. On their way home, they made a beeline with their snowmobiles for the light. And there it was, between two mountains: the sun.
"Look at it!" they shouted in unison. "Look at it!" The scientists hugged, did little jigs in the snow, and then stood motionless, awe-struck. Back on campus in town, advance reports about the solar spotting filtered in, and other students headed off on snowmobiles to check it out.
"How did it look?" a student asked, as others clustered around a returnee peeling off his outer clothes in the lobby of the institute, University Studies in Svalbard, named for the island. "Beautiful," he said. Then he thought for a moment and added, "Bright!"
Then, as they worked, the shaft of light grew to fill a large swath of the valley. On their way home, they made a beeline with their snowmobiles for the light. And there it was, between two mountains: the sun.
"Look at it!" they shouted in unison. "Look at it!" The scientists hugged, did little jigs in the snow, and then stood motionless, awe-struck. Back on campus in town, advance reports about the solar spotting filtered in, and other students headed off on snowmobiles to check it out.
"How did it look?" a student asked, as others clustered around a returnee peeling off his outer clothes in the lobby of the institute, University Studies in Svalbard, named for the island. "Beautiful," he said. Then he thought for a moment and added, "Bright!"
I can just imagine how much of a big deal that is. I would die out there, as I think I am one of those people with S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder), where the dreary London weather can fuck up my day. But all the same, ever since I sadly sat through 30 Days of Night, I have gained a sort of obsession with going out there, either Alaska or Norway, or any of the other Arctic towns that have to dish out alcohol ration cards to their pale inhabitants in the dead of constant night. I think as a writer, that would be a fucking awesome thing to sit through and moan about in a notebook. I can totally picture my diary entries.
Monday 6th January
Still no sun. I have already finished the one bottle of Jim Beam given to me for the week. I should go to Jack around the corner who makes really authentic fake liquor ration cards but he's probably out skiing. I'm screwed. I guess I'll go back to bed. Was that a vampire at my window?
I am so there...one of these days. I should start saving up for the expensive ass winter gear I am going to have to buy. The coats I buy in London hardly do shit because I choose them for fashion and price over function. So it really boils down to the coat I wear out there. Because if I'm freezing, and I haven't got any liquor, I'm going to give that town hell.
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