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Posts tagged as “Elin Amundsen”

A cool childhood: Popsicles on a freezing boat perfectly normal, fresh milk and mangled mushrooms are bizarre as a typical small-town youth in Barentsburg

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Read Time:4 Minute, 36 Second

Diana Kurtyak, 8, has been living in Barentsburg since about the time her hometown in the Ukraine was overrun by rebels three years ago. But while she says she enjoys being with friends at her tiny school and misses relatives back home, the strangest part about her new life has to do with birds.

“It’s very strange I’ve seen some sparrows flying here because it’s very cold and it’s strange they’re flying here,” she said via an interpreter.

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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Random weirdness for the week of March 17, 2015

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Read Time:2 Minute, 42 Second

The corner outside Karls-Berger Pub isn’t exactly the hottest red-light district in the world, but at least the price for exchanging bodily DNA is right.

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.
Happy
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