Svalbard is more than just an endless white wasteland. I look out the plane window. Floating shards of ice are slowly beginning to appear in the Barents Sea. The previously calm expanse of water is turning into a bubbling soup with ice dumplings pressing against each other. And that can only mean one thing: we’re at the doorstep of Svalbard’s shores. From this moment on, white will be our daily companion. We’re flying over the island of Spitsbergen. The landscape outside the window is so incredible and unique that I completely forget my fear of flying. At this moment, I just want to gaze at the white, frosty land. The entire north is covered in a fluffy blanket of snow. Wavy clouds push through the valleys, revealing only the low peaks of the archipelago. Here, time flows at its own rhythm, a rhythm dictated by nature.

The North is so wild and mysterious, still untamed.