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Tours begin with a humorous quip about the only thing it’s OK to steal.
Standing under Pyramiden’s iconic entrance sign next to a cart containing supposedly the last ton of coal mined in the settlement, the famous guide known as Sasha delivers his usual spiel in a voice and clothing directly from central casting of the stereotypical Soviet era.
“Sometimes tourists like to take coal from there so we have to refill it,” he said. “It’s OK though. If you want some coal, that’s OK.”
About Post Author
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.