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Photos: Happy New Year from Svalbard!

By Mark Sabbatini on January 1, 2016
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A family watches fireworks near the Skjæringa memorial in Longyearbyen just after midnight Jan. 1, 2016.

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Residents watch fireworks from the memorial at the street that is still closed due to the Dec. 19 avalanche that killed two people. Photo by Mark Sabbatini / Icepeople.
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Fireworks light up apartments on the east side of town. Photo by Mark Sabbatini / Icepeople.
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Families play with sparklers near the center of town. Photo by Mark Sabbatini / Icepeople.

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

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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