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Biggest fish tale ever: This week’s Icepeople is a record 28 pages and very personal; incredible people and incredible happenings capture everything awesome about Svalbard

Read Time:1 Minute, 9 Second

It’s a bit late, but that’s because we just kept adding pages while muttering “I can’t believe this is happening.” What started as an ordinary 12-page fishwrapper is a record-size 28 pages due to five remarkable people making remarkable headlines during the fifth month of the year (hence the “five on five” theme), two virtual polar bear encounters whose videos merit “G” and “X” ratings, more madness about the local housing crisis, and various other moments of wonder including winning tales from the winners of a record-size Spitsbergern Marathon and Longyearbyen reaching its 90th month of above-average temperatures. Plus lots of random weirdness and other “ordinary” happenings in the world’s most extraordinary community. (Note: we did print a 28-page issue following the avalanche in February of 2017 that destroyed a couple of apartment buildings, but that included a four-page guest article. This time it’s all us and includes a preview of major project – see the article about Freia – about to debut). Sorry to make a pitch, but the cost of printing this issue is massive – as in 35 kroner a copy. Please, oh please, if so inclined make a donation in one of our jars where copies are available, donate in the link on the right side of the page or via Vipps at 41514638.

PDF of June 5, 2018 print issue of 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.
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