The next in my “Non-Fictional Short Stories” series is a piece about my first step in the search for the Northern Lights. I actually wrote it last year for the World Nomads competition. Among all the amazing entries, I, unfortunately, didn’t win, but I am quite happy with this one. You can check out the winning entries here.
Touchdown.
For a thousand times I have watched the last sun rays put aside their golden crowns without a bother in the world. And for the thousand-first time, my eyes trace the hues of a perfect pink casting shadows on the horizon. Somehow, I cannot shake a feeling of finality growing deep inside me. The diffuse clouds don’t seem to share my worry, unaware of the impending darkness ahead.
We’re flying right into the land of always winter, where not even the Sun dares to shine. And by “always,” I really mean three months. Here, a sleepy coziness like a quiet Christmas evening greets me… it doesn’t matter that it’s only noon. Tucked away well beyond the Arctic Circle, the island of Svalbard seems to be frozen in time. The dusty-looking alleys flicker under the street lamps, the blanket of snow pristine and untouched. Not a soul, not a sigh.
A fair trade?
“It’s all a fair trade,” the mantra in my head keeps playing over and over. Bidding farewell to life as you and I know it (where the Sun orders you around) and stepping into the unknown for a promise, a wish, a hope of something far brighter. The next time I would look up, the emerald curtains of the Northern Lights would be draped over the skies, dancing and twisting. I would witness the magic.
And so we venture deeper into the wilderness under the guidance of a trusty pack of Huskies. The darkness has stripped away any trace of time. With the crisp arctic air beating against my face and anticipation running high, I have never been more awake.
On and on we drift across the valleys, feeling like slipping into the nothingness of a Black Hole. What must have been a picturesque scenery was pitch-black, dominated by a heavy silence broken by the dogs’ panting and the snow crackling under the weight of the sled. Eerie, but not unpleasant.
For what felt like seven days and seven nights we sought and hoped. But some things are just never meant to be. The Northern Lights kept to themselves, somewhere far above the sturdy barrier of clouds frowning down at us.
An unexpected encounter.
Making our way back to the little northern town, we find it in the same spell-bound daze. It is exactly like stepping right into the pages of a certain fairytale. And I am sure that if I count, every little speck of snow would be in the same exact spot as before. Longing to disrupt this flawless stillness, we rudely plow through to the nearest pub, in an attempt to warm our spirits (and limbs) up.
And so we walk through the door, unaware of what lies beyond. The contrast to the silence outside is, quite literally, deafening. The pub is the town’s meeting spot as locals and travellers alike gather here at the end of a long day. Everyone is welcome, and we witness this first hand as we order the first round of drinks. Here is where the locals created a social hub in an isolated place.
It is just like a volcano, bubbling away just below the calm surface. It is what keeps the town alive, its own beating heart. A deafening plethora of laughter, accents, and languages is as sweet as music. There are tales of the old days to be heard, stories of adventures to be told, laughs to be had and friendships to be made. The community here is an amalgam of backstories and cultures, all living in harmony and making do.
It is abundantly clear that the people of Svalbard have understood that happiness comes when you stop pursuing shadows. If you strip the grind of daily life down to the bare simplicity, it can only bring out the best in people.
A fair trade.
Sometimes you just don’t find what you want to, but rather what you need to. My life has not been changed by witnessing colourful lights in the sky because life is not about ticking items off bucket-lists, but rather memories you look fondly back on.
And as we leave the icy tarmac, I am reassured it has been a fair trade. For the thousand-second time, I gaze over the horizon, where the faintest glint of green blinks coyly…