Read Time:6 Minute, 22 Second
To an ordinary tourist it’s a rusting mine cart with an odd driver’s “seat” at the rear. But for Terje Nūbdal, 59, it marks the spot where a colleague was killed in an accident 34 years ago.
“The driver was standing and he fell out and was killed,” Nūbdal said while exploring his former workplace inside Mine 3 on Saturday with about 40 other former and current Longyearbyen residents participating in a weekend reunion. “He was on the switching track and thought it was going to go one way, but it went the other way.”
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.