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Posts tagged as “Ronny Brunvoll”

Random weirdness for the week of Dec. 4, 2018

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Read Time:4 Minute, 0 Second

Talk about a “wow” headline: “Dead dinosaurs to power cruise ships.” Oh, wait, that’s yesteryear’s news since those rotting Jurassic carcasses are exacting revenge for our grave robbing by ensuring the fumes from their residue (which we refer to as “heavy oil”) wipe us out from climate chaos as well. Since that oil is now banned in our local waters is banned, some authority types that don’t rely on their “big gut” to make Earth-altering decisions are chasing a different form of carcass cruise ship control as Hurtigruten is hoping at least six of its 17 ships will be powered by dead fish by 2021.

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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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Random weirdness for the week of July 26, 2016

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Read Time:2 Minute, 33 Second

It seems the Big Wet One has been left high and dry in Svalbard and, using a brain only a cartoon character could possess, has decided climbing up a frozen mountain is his only hope for survival. This isn’t what’s in the local safety training book but since this week’s fishwrapper reveals our editor is Svalbard’s stupidest stumbler in terms of safeguards, we won’t be judgemental.

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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‘Not a people zoo’ – locals peeved at tourists peering and peeing at cabins near town

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Read Time:3 Minute, 21 Second

OK, let’s try this again: Just because locals are living the wild life doesn’t make them wildlife.

Numerous complaints about tourists – and maybe even a rogue tour guide or two – intruding on private cabins (occupied and not) have been voiced in recent weeks, with visitors doing everything from barging in uninvited to using them as wind screens while answering the call of nature. While cabin owners say the problem isn’t new, or necessarily increasing, there is concern efforts by the tourism industry to educate visitors about proper behavior don’t always seem to be taking hold.

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 1, 2016

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Read Time:4 Minute, 22 Second

We’ve long stated Longyearbyen residents are a bit dim in a way since, while the first sunrise after the three-and-a-half-month polar winter was Feb. 16, we don’t actually celebrate the first appearance of the sun until March 8. But here’s a real mental fuse-blower as everyone gears up for this year’s nine-day Solfestuka festival:

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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Glowing tourism: Overnight visits increase 60 percent since 2009, including 11 percent in ’15, led by foreigners up most

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Read Time:1 Minute, 3 Second

About 60,000 tourists spent a record 131,154 nights in Svalbard in 2015, a 60 percent increase since a recession-fueled slump in 2009, due in part to some being lured by extraordinary events.

But while many in the industry are celebrating an 11 percent increase in lodging and camping stays during the luck-filled past year, there is a formidable mountain to scale as a doubling of local tourism is sought during the next several years to help replace lost coal mining jobs.

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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Dark day turns jeers and tears into cheers

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Read Time:1 Minute, 39 Second

Those 147 seconds of clear sky during the total solar eclipse were like night and day in more than the literal sense.

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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