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barneomovie

Video: Definitely not the summer’s hottest movie…

By Mark Sabbatini on July 1, 2015
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…But it’s still got babes in bikinis, big guns, death-defying stunts and an ironic twist as soldiers, scientists, royalty and humble citizens (with lots of money) converge at the Barneo ice camp at 89 degrees latitude north this spring in “Arctic United,” a documentary by the Russian TV network RT that is free to view or download. The 26-minute film (mostly in Russian with English subtitles and narration) captures the camp’s setup, daily routines and activities ranging from polar dips to skydiving at the North Pole. And, no, “United” makes no mention of Russian Deputy Prime Minister Dmity Rogozin’s excellent adventure where he tells his troops the Russians deserve the area all to themselves.

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.
marksabbatini@yahoo.com
http://icepeople.net
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Published in Svalbard and Video

Mark Sabbatini
Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.

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