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Posts tagged as “Mary-Ann Dahle”

“FULL OF LAUGHTER, STRONG WILL AND FULL OF FANTASTIC CRAZINESS”: What Mary-Ann Dahle’s neighbors in Longyearbyen and guests worldwide are saying about her

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Read Time:3 Minute, 57 Second

There’s exactly two Tweets mentioning Mary-Anne Dahle and one links to the local newspaper’s story about her death Saturday. So that’s pretty much all there is to say about the longtime innkeeper…

…which is to say, it speaks volumes about perhaps one of Svalbard’s old-school pioneers who spared nobody and never was spared herself of the sharp-tongue, non-nonsense wit and words she was well-known for.

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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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‘WHAT AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY’: Mary-Ann Dahle, legendary owner of Longyearbyen’s most eclectic lodge (and coat) dies

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Read Time:6 Minute, 39 Second

Mary-Ann Dahle was a dear. And a fox. And a bear. And she kept the penis bones of the aforementioned Svalbard animals and more in a glass case at her bar to place as swizzle sticks in customers’ drinks.

Dahle, 72, died Saturday after a long battle with cancer. She was as well-known for her range of always-intriguing personas as her rustic lodge that attracted famous and adventuresome threadbare alike – and of course her long polar bear coat with the head still attached (“the national coat of Svalbard…it’s very heavy”).

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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Briefs from Svalbardposten for the week of March 12, 2019

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Read Time:2 Minute, 35 Second

Mary-Ann Dahle strongly considering selling Mary-Ann’s Polarrigg because she is seriously ill with cancer, Svalbard’s walruses making a strong comeback after being nearly hunted to extinction and two intoxicated men found crawling/walking barefoot in the snow are saved by observers.

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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Liveblog: ‘Svalbard: Life on the Edge,’ Episode Two (‘Life is Fragile’) from Mary-Ann’s Polarrigg

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Read Time:12 Minute, 15 Second

9:20 p.m.: Since there’s lots of talk about death early in this episode, welcome to the overkill liveblog of Episode Two, since I’ve already published a spoiler-free one during a cast-only preview nine days ago and one with spoilers at a locals-only preview a day later.

This one, from the bar of one of show’s most colorful characters, will hopefully follow a pattern for the rest of the ten-episode series where I blog from various places in Longyearbyen offering public screenings, which will allow comments from other residents (either overheard or voluntarily offered) to be included. The emphasis, rather than a comprehensive plot summary (look to my episode recaps for that), will be on memories I and others have of scenes being filmed, and how “real” the portrayal of Svalbard and the creatures living here is. And, of course, doing this in real-time means the text will be a bit rough until I clean it up the next morning.

Standard disclaimer: The show, titled “Ice Town: Life on the Edge” in most countries, airs in Norway at 10 p.m. on BBC Earth and this liveblog contains spoilers.

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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Highlands hype: The first TV promos for the BBC docu-soap ‘Svalbard’ are out – here’s what they tell us to expect

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Read Time:2 Minute, 36 Second

The 30-second ad features a polar bear pelt as the main character, while the humans tend to flash by in one-second snippets. The main impressions are we’re quirky (a word used in the TV listing), cold and carry guns.

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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