Houses in Longyearbyen, the capital of Svalbard
(from Wikipedia)
CZ loves all things arctic. One of the symptoms at the moment is the Svalbard webcam widget on the dashboard of our Mac computer. She's had it there since about March and checks it more often than I want to know.
Haven't heard much about Svalbard lately? That's because it's halfway between Norway and the North Pole. It's so remote that it's not even on weather satellite maps. It's so remote that it's the home of the Global Seed Vault, which I gather is the Noah's ark of agriculture. But it has its own history, government, ethnic structure and tourism. And most interestingly from CZ's point of view, it's a frozen land of midnight sun.
CZ updates me daily on the Svalbardian weather forecast: Lately it's hovering around freezing and I think there's even been a bit of snow this week. I've found myself trying to catch glimpses of the webcam when it's 3 a.m. there, trying to see the subtle differences in the sun's angle, and imagining what it's like to try to sleep when it's never dark. We've been watching the ice melt in the fjord, and watching huge floes appear in the camera's view as they drift in from the ocean. Occasionally we see some spectacular sun and cloud halo effects during the arctic spring equivalent of morning.
But most days it's cloudy, gray, and the grass is brown. The webcam is pointed towards three buildings, all painted red, and we never see a human. Yesterday as I was putting on my contact lenses, CZ pounded on the bathroom door, barely suppressing a fit of slightly self-mocking glee: "News flash! Some people in Svalbard moved their cars!"
The expected high today in New York is 88. Two days ago I walked outside to find a cab on the sidewalk, a smashed bus shelter, glass and emergency vehicles everywhere. (And that's only the tip of the iceberg, so to speak.) It's June and we're still busier with studies than we'd like to be. Svalbard's looking pretty good, and apparently we're not the only New Yorkers who see it that way.
4 comments:
You could come to North Carolina and sip lemonade on my back porch. No icebergs or midnight sun, but also no smashed bus shelters or emergency vehicles. Just quiet and bird song and barred owls catterwalling at night.
That sounds delightful! (With 34 years spent in the South, I can just feel the porch floor under my bare feet.) I am the only family member in our little threesome that sees the value of it being hot enough for crickets and the thick smell of jasmine. Temperamental difference, I guess. I can appreciate their side, too, though ;-).
I hope I didn't come across as complaining about the cab. I've been through that "had it with this place" stage, but now I'm mostly just bemused. I thought the contrast between CZ's "aspirations" and her reality was funny. Perhaps I should be more concerned about the cab driver instead, but the truth is, I'll never know what happened, and so many things happen here in a day that there's no way a person can react strongly to them all. My prayers for victims are therefore frequently and culpably general.
I like your "newish" picture with Clara! I was reading about the wedding yesterday while ironing Bob's shirt, and also had a look at the boys' website. Hilarious!
I remember how on a summer trip to Scotland, it never got dark at night. At eleven o'clock at night it was like dusk here. That was strange to me. I don't think I'd want to live in a place where it doesn't get dark at night.
I've never heard of the place you're talking about. I always learn something on your blog!
Our apartment has a bright streetlight outside, so it never gets very dark at night, plus it gets light very early in the morning (more so than in GA). As I age, this is starting to contribute to difficulty with sleeping, so I'm thinking I should get some blackout shades. I would imagine that the people in Svalbard have some heavy duty blackout shades! (But the prettiest sun effects seem to be at 3 a.m.!)
And this is CZ's discovery, not mine. She's slowly winning me over to her interest in all things arctic! (This love of the poles has been going on, in one form or another, since she was about four.)
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