Writing for Fun
July 2016
The Long Journey - Maureen Rampersaud
I surveyed the snow-capped mountains and desolate landscape, wondering why I had chosen to visit this place. It was summer but there was a distinct chill to the air. Pyramiden, a former Russian coal mining town, is located at the foot of Billefjord on the island of Spitsbergen. It had been a long journey north, crossing the Arctic Circle, where the sun remains continuously above the horizon at this time of year. I shivered as I remembered stories of the asylum, built specifically for the poor souls who couldn’t cope with the long, dark winters.
I was relieved when my Russian guide appeared. He introduced himself as Constantine. He was tall and fair with startling blue eyes. I was wondering how he got the scarring around his chin when I noticed that he was carrying a rifle. He explained that although polar bears were rare here, they did appear from time to time if they were particularly hungry. I must have looked alarmed because he regaled me with a tale of a bear that had broken a window and had drunk several bottles of beer. I wasn’t sure whether or not to take this seriously and I wasn’t sure it had made me feel better.
However, Constantine was very pleasant and sweetly addressed me as ‘my dear friend’ as we started to explore the settlement. He indicated two four storied buildings, one for men, nicknamed ‘London’ and the other for women, called ‘Paris’. We walked on to another block which was for families. In winter, the children played up and down the corridors, so had the nickname of ‘The Madhouse’. He showed me inside a substantial building which used to be the school. There were classrooms with children’s work and curling photos on the walls. Everything was covered with dust and it had a ‘Marie Celeste’ feel about the place.
Apparently, Sweden had sold Pyramiden to the Soviet Union in 1927 and once had over a thousand inhabitants. There were many children, we had passed rusty swings moving in the breeze, which added to the eeriness of whole place. In March 1998, the last coal was extracted and by October, the last resident had gone. Pyramiden became a ghost town where, within the buildings, things remained largely as they were when the residents were ordered, for whatever reason, to make a hasty exit.
Talking of which, Constantine suggested that he should take me back to the tender, as the weather can be incredibly unpredictable, even in summer. Conditions can change quickly, affecting sea state and visibility and temperatures can fall below zero. I readily agreed, feeling strangely unnerved by this unique place.
As the ship sailed away, I marveled at the pyramid shaped mountain that gave Pyramiden its name and wondered what had happened to all the children who had left their beautiful pictures of flowers on their classroom walls.