I spent the majority of February and March in Longyearbyen, and I figured I would post my thoughts here to perhaps help others who've come looking for info. Here's take of an outsider as to what did/didn't strike me about the place.
1. It's basically a normal town . . . but colder.
A lot of the kinda quirky enjoyment I found from walking around was the "Oh, there's a <normal thing>...but covered in ice and snow". Just the fact that there's mostly a lot of the same things you'd find in any small town, but somehow it's all more interesting because it's -25.
Oh, huh, there's a hair salon. Oh, huh, there's a high school. Oh, huh, there's a kids playground with playground equipment. Oh, huh, there's a yarn store. Oh, huh, there's a church. Oh, huh, there's an Asian grocery store (honestly that's the oddest thing that still sticks with me, that or the food truck selling baked potatoes in the middle of the night).
2. The grocery store was kinda expensive, but not THAT expensive.
I was expecting it to be like Barrow or Inuvick, where you're paying $25 for a box of cereal and everything else is a bajillion dollars. And while things at Coop sure weren't cheap, it wasn't TOTALLY out of line with what I'd expect; it was basically equivalent to the non-sale prices at Whole Foods. The raspberries didn't look exactly brilliant, but WHAT THE HECK the fact that they even exist up here is a testament to modern supply chains? And the more durable fruits (apples and such) were perfectly acceptable. I cooked the majority of my own meals, and was able to stick to a very reasonable budget.
3. Restaurants are exactly as expensive as you'd expect.
Just hand over the credit card, that's a problem for future-you.
4. Bring slippers.
A lot of places are outside-shoes-off at the door. Many provide indoor slippers of some kind, but not all. I was glad I'd brought my own, I habitually carried them with me in my backpack when I was out and about.
5. You can kinda tell the tense existence that exists between both being a tourist destination, but also just being a town where people live.
The "No photography" signs outside the kindergarten and grocery store are the most prominent example of this. I can only imagine how many awkward encounters it took with tourists before they realized those needed to be put up (...in Chinese).
That being said, although I never took any pictures of it . . . THE TODDLERS PLAYING OUTSIDE AT SCHOOL IN THEIR TINY POOFY COATS AND HIGH-VIZ VESTS WERE SERIOUSLY FREAKIN' CUTE. No wonder they needed all those "No Pictures" signs.
6. ROYAL ICE CREAM SLAPS SO HARD
Especially the "Skogsbaer" variant. Every single damn time I opened a tub I promised myself "I will only eat a small and reasonable amount" AND THEN PROMPTLY DEMOLISHED THE ENTIRE THING IN A SINGLE SITTING.
Not even slightly ashamed.
7. The Norwegian word for what we'd call a Snowmobile/Snowmachine is "Beltemotorsykkel".
That delights me to no end and I will always refer to them as that for the rest of my life. Or "Snoskuter" but "Belt Motorcycle" is better.
Speaking of belt motorcycles . . . I really want one.
8. I also really want to go on a cabin holiday.
Does this mean I'm turning into a Norwegian?
On the various beltemotorcycle trips I went on, you'd see these tiny huts/cabins scattered through the back country and . . . I can see the appeal. I know I don't have the skills needed to be left alone there yet, but maybe in a couple seasons when I've gotten slightly less incompetent? Head out there with a bunch of wood or fuel, a small power station, a starlink dish and my laptop, and really push the limits of just how "remote" I can be with this remote job.
9. That Tourist Info place was a godsend
It helped me out with so so much, and hopefully prevented me from being a story told by the locals about "Hey did you hear what this fucking idiot did yesterday..."
10. I guess I need to learn about guns.
When I inquired at the tourist info office about how I could learn the needed skills to safely handle a firearm, and renting a weapon so I could leave town, the lady looked at me with abject confusion. "But . . . aren't you American?"
Then I had to do my usual lying and insist that I'm Canadian, and I'm from a part of Canada called "California" and no, not EVERY American is handed a gun the instant they're old enough to walk.
11. ...I really liked Longyearbyen...
The most disturbing experience of my time there was actually the last week, when I had just barely started to come out of my socially awkward introvert shell and gathered up the courage to try talking to strangers (Which my Scandinavian friends back home had all insisted I should not do. "Stop trying to chat with strangers all the time, you american weirdo!"). After a couple of nights at Karlsberger, after I'd managed to put a tiny crack in the Tourist/Worker barrier and swapped some work stories with a few locals, I started realizing that like . . . I knew these people.
Not them specifically, but I knew these types of people. I've worked with them before; from Antarctica to Kwajalein, from Singapore to the Sandbox, these are the people that The Men that Don't Fit In was written about. These are the people for whom a life of backyard barbecues and kids t-ball games was never really an option. They have discussions of moving to a new country as casually as a discussion of the weather, they talk with a quiet casualness of having normalized being abnormal. They live their life out of two 50lb duffle bags, ready to move on for a new contract job that they heard about from someone at their current job. These are the people for whom "home" is a mailing address of some distant family member, because their actual location is nebulous and a stable domicile just never seemed in their future.
I lived that life for a decade myself. I know that language. Talking of PQing and PCSing, contracts and housing stipulations, passport renewals and appointments at consulates, work visas and citizenship renouncement.
I lived that life, and I miss it. I miss these people. The people for whom a sentence of their life's story contains more depth and complexity than most people's entire book. I thought I'd moved on from it, I have this grown up job and career and could have had a stable life and family if I wanted to. I just never really did.
And it started to scare me just how easily I could see myself settling into Svalbard for the next chapter of my life.
