Karma

Sympathetic or not about Greenpeace's protest at Svea a couple weeks ago, this is pretty amusing.

First, this excerpt from an article last week:

"Fundraisers say they lost 20,000 kroner to help impoverished women when Svalbard's governor was forced to cancel a day washing cars so he could deal with the Greenpeace protest at Svea...Anne Lise Klungseth Sandvik, chairwoman for the local CARE campaign, sent an e-mail to Greenpeace asking for the 20,000 kroner...Truls Gulowsen, chairman of Greenpeace Norway, told the newspaper he's sympathetic for the lost fundraising and will provide the number of the telethon to those involved in the protest, 'but to force someone to pay is to go too far.' He said the governor, if committed to the event, can reschedule it for another day."

And this, courtesy of Svalbardposten, is at the top left of the Icepeople page today:

"Greenpeace has been fined 20,000 kroner after customs agents in Tromsø found 1,250 cans of beer aboard the Arctic Sunrise a few days after the group staged a daylong blockade at the Svea coal mine. 'We had a routine inspection when the ship arrived in Tromsø and found there was 627 liters of beer too much on board in relation to what was declared,' said Atle Joakimsen, regional customs director for northern Norway. The matter was reported to police who issued the fine, which was paid on the spot. The Arctic Sunrise was about to depart for Amsterdam last Thursday when the customs inspection occurred. 'It was embarrassing and very annoying after a four-month-long expedition to Greenland and Svalbard,' said Truls Gulowsen, head of Greenpeace Norway."

OK, protesting is fun, but...

Why do people think doing things that make them look stupid is going to win coverts on serious policy issues?

I can't count the number of times I've seen this. They'll bring traffic in the busiest part of a major city to halt by demonstrating on the road for hours. What do you think those hundreds of thousands of proles stuck in gridlock (not to mention the millions seeing it on the news) are talking about that night? The cause of these folks, or how angry they are at these idiots?

They throw pies at world leaders. I admit it's a great photo, but I haven't got the slightest idea what their cause is.

Greenpeace is at it again a week after blockading the coal mine at Svea for a day, this time scaling the roof of Parliament and getting arrested in droves. OK, I and probably most other at least get their issue in this case: Climate change is bad. But among the leaders and citizens who aren't convinced, are demonstrations like this and stripping naked by the hundred in vineyards more likely to advance serious debate or generate "hey, Martha, look at what those whacky Greenies did today" comments?

Sure, it's a great way to get media coverage. But how many serious wonks at the Copenhagen climate summit are going to be want to be seen meeting with these folks?

On the other hand, with a lot of people already making noise about whatever coming out of the summit likely falling well short of usefulness, maybe having fun and firing up your base of contributors isn't a bad thing.

What's so hard about making a decent polar movie?

"Whiteout," a big-budget and highly hyped movie about Antarctica, is arriving in theaters to some of the worst reviews ever. It has an 8 percent rating at Rotten Tomatoes as I write this. That makes "Star Wars Episode I" look like "Gone With The Wind."

I was going to go on a tirade about how this is all too common, but instead I'll just make a few rental recommendations : "The Fast Runner," "Krasnaya Palatka" ("The Red Tent") and - sorry a sentimental favorite - "Never Cry Wolf." Or any account about Shackleton that isn't docudrama (one of those aired a few years ago and it was excruciating, sort of like "Titanic" forgetting the real drama had to do with the boat).

Why Google Translate needs to be taken with a korn of salt

"Fire f**ked by boys"

That's the banner headline at the top of Svalbardposten's Web site if you use Google Translate (with real letters replacing the asterisks, of course). It's also why one of the first changes made to the Icepeople site was disabling the Google Translate link to Svalbardposten's articles. Editor Birger Amundsen was concerned - rightly so - about it making his paper look silly or worse.

Running lists of mistranslations can be fun, in sort of a Chinese-menu-into-English way, and I'll do so from time to time. But errors like this are also why I'll post warnings about what you read when links to other foreign sites are posted. I do it so people can decipher general meanings from articles - and sometimes they're so garbled I don't bother - but to expect more is lunacy.

Interestingly, the title bar for that particular page says the fire was "banged" by the boys. The original Norwegian word is "påsatt," which according to my dictionary means "incendiary" or "intentional." I've looked up various crude forms of "copulate" and nothing comes close to "påsatt."

But, hey, it puts me one step closer to being able to swear effectively in the language of my new homeland. So it wasn't a total loss.

It's not Obama visits Ben's Chili Bowl, but...

Small-town charm and lack of pretense are, of course, among the many great things about Longyearbyen. I just wrapped up an hour-long "exit interview" with Svalbard Gov. Per Sefland, who is departing Sept. 15, and headed over to my usual writing spot at Fruene. Turns out we both made a beeline for the coffee shop, since he arrived seconds afterward (he's a fan of the fried egg and bacon sandwiches, which are probably the most popular food item there).

Ever the annoying journalist, I obviously had to wedge in another informal question, following up on his earlier remark about more international delegations coming here by asking who's the most interesting dignitary he's met. But, like asking an athlete about his toughest opponent, the governor's well-schooled in wry diplomacy ("I think I'd better not say.").

It also seems the machine was having some kind of trouble reading his credit card. I can just see that scene with Obama: FOX News and the wingnuts claiming he' s a Kenyan Muslim leading a Nazi-like indoctrination of kids by urging them to stay in school would have made it a scandal for months.

He got the sandwich to go. I'm pretty sure that was his plan all along.

The biggest surprise of Ban Ki-moon's visit

Working on a couple of articles about U.N. Secretary General Ban Ki-moon's trip to Svalbard that should be posted shortly, but a few quick impressions that may or may not make it into the "real" stories:

- The biggest surprise wasn't anything Ban said or did, but rather what he didn't get to say. There was time for three questions from the public at the end of a public forum Wednesday at The University Centre In Svalbard. In a room packed mostly with students and scientists that Ban had just called the future leaders of the world due to a unique situation where science is driving much of the important issues on the global agenda, only one question was asked. It was literally a Ferris Bueller moment with the moderator saying "Anyone...don't be shy." Silence. Unbelievable.

- The best question that did come from that meeting was at the end from one of the four panelists (including Ban). Sheila Watt-Cloutier, a prominent Canadian Inuit activist who delivered a wallop of a five-minute speech about the hardships of her people and unacceptable compromises being reached, used her closing statement to basically get herself invited to the U.N. General Assembly meeting next month in New York. "Not to put you on the spot Mr. Secretary-General, but it would be a wonder for the Arctic people to have a voice as well." Afterward, she said, "he just said 'I'm on it,'" meaning he's doing what he can to get her an invite. Safe to say that if she makes it to New York that, even in that distinguished crowd, her voice is going to be heard.

- The progression of first-hand observations of Ban from the entrance of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault to the -16C storage facility 140 meters inside the mountain: "It's cold" (just inside the door to the outer world); "This is all frost? Oy! Hold your breath." (touching the frost-covered door at the entrance to the storage room); "It's very cold" (waiting to get out of the room after perhaps a five-minute look at his country's deposit of seeds); "If you have any questions, I have to go out" (to the press pack as everybody finally escaped the room).

- The second-biggest surprise? Turns out this is only Svalbard Gov. Per Sefland's first trip into the seed vault since it opened.

Yes, the film fest stuff is coming

Those of you patient enough to keep looking here for the Northern Traveling Film Festival diaries, be patient just a bit longer.

I had to switch Web editing programs and the new one is a bit of adjustment. Working with all the photos in particular took some doing, but they got done last night and now it's just a matter of pairing them with the articles.

They're mostly done. Honest.

Even the weather is insulting him

You know how some vacations are doomed from the start? U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon is probably going to be feeling that way shortly.

Ban arrives in Norway today for a three-day tour of Svalbard, where any remnant of summer vanished as a storm brought howling winds and snow (it's now snowed every month this year). So after getting insulted by Norway's deputy U.N. ambassador and having to deal with the awkwardness and apologies that no doubt will be in abundance, Mother Nature is giving him the cold shoulder.

He's up here as part of his campaign to fight climate change, which means he probably can't even complain about it being cold. The global warming skeptics are already going to love this, arguing that if warming actually is happening it's gotta be a good thing in places like this. And it's not hard to imagine their glee if some camera picks up snark from Ban about the weather.

Working without a Net in Barentsburg

I'm here and things are underway at the Northern Traveling Film Festival in Barentsburg. Divas demanding red carpets and vegan backstage catering need not apply.

Getting the word out is trickier than hoped since the only internet access I've found is the office computer at the Barentsburg Hotel, which takes some arranging to use since the office is locked most of the time. This is a rush greeting, to be followed by in-depth postings as access is available.

(And it turns out the hotel's system doesn't work either, so this is being sent during a fleeting moment of connect time I have at the science center here.)

The group is smaller than I expected, maybe a dozen core people involved in organizing, making the films being shown and various culture/history/science presentations. There were perhaps 40 people at the opening reception and screening Saturday night, a lot of them local dignitaries, again a surprise since I figured a fair number of the town's residents would show up for the novelty.

Since then it's been the core group at various screenings, tours and a day trip to Pyramiden on Monday where they didn't watch films so much as trample them. All this and more will be detailed when Icepeople returns to Longyearbyen on Friday.

Six microwaves in seven months

If Svalbard ever goes up in a mushroom cloud, it's a good bet I'll be at Ground Zero.

Something I've done is obviously displeasing the Radiation Gods, because I've been here seven months and now bought six new microwave ovens. Most of them have melted down in a variety of entertaining and/or terrifying ways due to what I can only describe as my anti-Midas touch.

It's not like I'm nuking cans of Spam, live pets or other things that respond poorly to atomic stimulation. I've owned microwaves in other parts of the world for years and can't recall a single one burning out. Nor is it a case of hitting some button at the wrong time, as this chronology shows:

- The first I bought when I spent a few weeks here during the 2008 Polarjazz festival, deciding the cost of cooking in my apartment at the Radisson would be cheaper than eating all my meals out. I left it behind, telling the hotel staff one of them could have it or they could just leave it for future guests. Had I known what was coming several months from then, maybe I'd have stuck it in storage somewhere.

- The second was purchased to replace one at the Galleri Svalbard shortly after I moved here in November of 2008. I touched the door of the microwave in the kitchen of the downstairs studio area and everything went dark. Groping my way around in an attempt to find a circuit box, I thought it was merely a strange coincidence. But when I finally got the lights back on and went back to the kitchen, the microwave was dead as a doornail. While Elise, the owner, was incredibly nice and insistent I not buy a replacement, my guilt (and desire to get a new one quickly) dictated otherwise.

- Microwave three was purchased just before moving into my permanent flat. It did OK for a few weeks, despite a weird tendency to slowly destroy any plastic container put in it. On at least two or three occasions I tried to remove a container of boiling water only to have the bottom of the container fall out. Despite my certainty the microwave would short circuit from the resulting flood, it kept going. Instead, its fate was sealed by a couple of eggs (another item I seem to be cursed with up here) I was trying to poach. One of the yolks exploded and – while I'm new to the concept of egg shrapnel – it turns out to be potent stuff. Bits of yellow and white were impossibly lodged in every tiny ventilation hole possible. After cleaning things as best as possible I fired the oven up again, at which point it gagged on whatever bits had made it well into the circuitry, kicked out a few sparks and died.

- I lived off stovetop cooking for a few days after that because Svalbardbutikken's formerly full shelves of microwaves were empty for some reason (I kept thinking they must be a popular Christmas gift, although I couldn't understand why). But I was headed to Tromsø immediately afterward, where I purchased Fluke Nuke No. 4. It actually fared the best, lasting until two days ago when a dazzling display of sparks suddenly started emitting from the top, followed by that burned-out electrical smell you get when you're trying to make spaghetti in a popcorn machine.

- It was off to Svalbardbutikken yesterday for Oven No. 5, which turned out to have a useful lifespan of about 30 seconds. Almost immediately after firing it up an ear-deafening grinding sounded, causing me to lunge for the "stop" button before the thing turned into an H-bomb. I took a final dare this morning just to make sure it wasn't a fluke and, after about three more seconds of grinding, it quieted down and seemed to function normally – only it wasn't doing anything to generate any heat.

– So I exchanged it for Model No. 6 today, which is now in the trunk of my car unless it's somehow come to life and gone on a joyride.

I suppose smarter people would at some point simply give up and learn how to saute. But I've now got a morbid fascination, plus possibly material for a thesis proving the existence of paranormal activity.

And, yes, I know where my fire extinguisher is.

Who wants to strip-search me?

Back in the U.S., I'd be a walking drug dealer right now.

I stopped by the apotek for some ibuprofen, which I occasionally seem to need in unhealthy quantities, and it turns out 400mg tablets are available right over the counter. That probably means little to the vast majority of people who don't read more than the name on the bottle, but it's twice the dosage of what's permissible without a prescription in the U.S.

For a 13-year-old girl there, this was not a small thing.

The girl, now 19, went before the U.S. Supreme Court recently in a case where a male school official ordered her strip-search when another student – who was busted for having those 400mg pills – claimed the girl was carrying drugs as well. The rat turned out to be false, but not before the girl shredded every stitch proving it.

The conservative majority on the court appears to be leaning toward a ruling backing the school's zero-tolerance policy on such matters, rejecting lower court decisions that the girl's rights were violated. The irony is the student caught with the drugs who made the false accusations escaped punishment.

So my question of the day: What happens when I go over to Longyearbyen School to interview a teacher or student, or to take the Norwegian classes they offer, and I've got these pills on me? I know Svalbard has an expel-if-caught-with-drugs policy, but my guess is it's more sensible than what's happening across the puddle.

Eggs for a nuclear village?

The strangest thing I've seen so far in Svalbard isn't the polar bear crossing the road in front of the school, ignoring the pedestrian a hundred meters away walking toward him.

It isn't the whale stir-fry at Mary-Ann's Polarrigg (hint: bypass the tourist instinct; the traditional Thai dishes are far superior).

It's the carton of eggs I bought at the supermarket.

Twelve eggs, 22 yolks.

I should have known something was up when the eggs themselves were genetic monstrosities, closer to goose-size than chicken-size. I cracked the first one and no big deal – I've seen double yolks on rare occasions before.

But when I cracked another and the same thing happened, I sort of freaked out.

There's a scene in Jack London's "A Thousand Dozen" (part of this collection of short stories) where the main character, having gone through the nine circles of Hell to get a bunch of eggs to the Canadian Arctic during the gold rush, goes into an insane egg-breaking furry after a customer complains the eggs are rotten. My derangement was considerably shorter and less messy, but probably not far off in spectator entertainment value. I cracked all of them open in a bowl and, aside from one "normal" specimen, all contained double shots.

I couldn't bring myself to eat them, as if I could absorb that much cholesterol. For some reason the word "radiation" wouldn't leave my mind. Not that I've been much affected by tales of Chernobyl and the fallout over Scandinavia during Russia's nuke tests during the Cold War.

But, like the person unable to stop staring at a car accident, I went back to the store the next day for a couple more cartons. Nothing. And nothing like it since. Which makes me wonder if anybody else encountered that particular henhouse. And if they now have a third ear – or maybe just an extra-vibrant "mood" – to show for it.

It's the thought that counts (or not)

It may look like I haven't written anything for this blog in a while, but nothing could be farther from the truth. There's plenty of material that you're failing to notice...

Oh, hell. It's not you - it's me.

I've written a number of half- and mostly-finished posts these past several weeks, but unless you're fluent in the ways of spyware I doubt anything on my laptop is offering much insight. These actual posts probably aren't offering much either, but at least you don't have to worry about being convicted of identity theft as well as wasting useful minutes of your life.

So I'm spending a couple of days finishing and cleaning up posts on various topics, beginning with this one updating the state of operations here at headquarters, such as they are.

The print version of Icepeople is still a measly four pages and is coming out every other week. Much of this is due to the challenge of finding someplace willing to run off several hundred copies every week, possibly with a machine that might be able to staple or otherwise bind a few more pages (right now they're being folded by yours truly, who's beginning to wonder if there's such a thing as paper-cut insurance). The alternative is having the work done in Tromsø at a prohibitively high cost, since my intention is to keep this publication free of charge.

The good news is I may be close to getting something worked out on a weekly basis, but increasing the number of pages may still be a bit off.

If anyone reading this is wondering where to find a printed copy, I'm distributing a total of about 200 a week at the Radisson, Spitsbergen Hotel, Spitsbergen Lodge, Svalbardbutikken, Busen, Fruene and the university. I'll continue expanding this list as I'm able to print more copies and places express a willingness to carry them. Fruene seems to be the best place to find a copy after the first few days, since people tend to read and leave them.

Finally, most of the Web page is now functional, but I'm still behind on the extras like music and other multimedia content. The content is there - and those knowledgeable in the ways of Google can find it - but I haven't had time to get the Web pages for it built. It'll get there...hopefully soon, like some of these posts.

Working with the 'competition'

It's a message I keep repeating: I am NOT trying to compete with Svalbardposten.

They do too good a job and I can't possibly pretend to be a "paper of record," since my Norwegian and knowledge of Svalbard are both in their infancy stages. Indeed, I'm trying to cooperate with them as much as possible, something that would no doubt make many "real" alternative newspaper editors cringe. For that reason, I've made a change that limits the amount of English-translated content from their site you can access here.

The "Headlines From Svalbardposten" section originally contained links in each headline that would direct you to the full article at their site, using Google Translate to display it in English. While the wording and grammar were hardly perfect, it was generally enough to understand the gist of the story. But the quirky and/or incorrect wording could result in inadvertently embarrassing phrases that were less than flattering to the newspaper. Google's translation of Solfestuka, for example, is "hellfest." This obviously was not something Svalbardposten wanted, especially given the serious nature of many stories such as fatal snowmobile accidents.

I am continuing to provide the headlines and short summaries - translated by actual humans- with their permission, but with all translation links removed. Anybody can post such links without permission (witness the huge number of blogs, including many prominent ones like Drudge, that are little or nothing but posts from other newspapers), but doing it in a way they approve of is one of the ways I'm trying to avoid stepping on their toes.

You can still link to the paper's main site in Norwegian and those wishing to translate can always use Google Translate on their own, but hopefully with the full knowledge of how imprecise it can be.

By the way, if anyone thinks my "don't make waves" approach to operational stuff is how I generally function as a journalist, no such luck. Some of the things I write will bother people because that's what happens with every newspaper on the planet. If it happens with an article that's fair and accurate, I'll defend it and accept any bad feelings. If there's a mistake, I'll correct it and offer my profuse apologies.

The (in)famous first post

In keeping with the spirit of most blogs, these iconic first words are nothing but meaningless drivel.

My internal newsman wants to rip that sentence apart for a variety of writing sins but, as with everything here, it's meant to do a quick-and-dirty job of conveying whatever behind-the-scenes workings and random thoughts I might have that aren't worthy of the "real" publication.

Obviously everything is in a partially constructed state and still will be for a couple more weeks until I get an idea of how much demand there might be for this newspaper (stretch as it is right now to call it that) and how much quality copy I can produce. I don't intend to do everything by myself forever, but until I have something credible in place it's tough to ask others to devote time to it.

The March 17 issue came out two days late partially due to a cold that kept the entire staff (cough) grounded, although that's an improvement over the three-day delay of our premier issue. The next issue on March 31 will be another "mini" four-pager, but at least getting it out on time can be called another step forward.

The plan is to grow slowly, hopefully as soon as I can find a printer who will do an affordable job. These mini editions are costing me 8 kr. ($1.25) each, hence the limited size and distribution. I can keep doing this for a while, but it'd be nice to find some advertisers – I'm hoping to get some online unless some locals actually want to pay me – to help make a better product feasible.

Doing that means getting the Web site fully functional, since there's a great deal of content there not featured in print. Many of the links are still dead, but more are being activated daily so be patient and keep trying.

Right now I'm distributing the print editions at The University Centre In Svalbard (they're by the entrance), at the Radisson SAS Polar Hotel, Fruene and Busen. If you can't find any and want a copy (or, bless you, want to put some out for others) drop me an e-mail.