Football isn’t for the faint-hearted when Svalbard Turn and Barentsburg go head-to-head near the North Pole
Emilien Hofman
When you’re within 800 miles of the North Pole, and it’s dark for three months of the year, there’s only one thing for it – a game of football.
The miniscule 2,500-person town of Longyearbyen is the capital of the Svalbard archipelago and the world’s northernmost settlement posting a population over 1,000. Despite being at 78 degrees north, it has all the makings of a modern economic hub.
Even here, people go running, get pizza delivered and take a stroll around the shopping centre. Even here, people play football. Sure, outdoor matches are somewhat tricky, what with all the snow and ice – winter temperatures average close to minus 15, so not even under-soil heating could get the job done, even if a pitch is ready and waiting for an unexpected heat wave.
Yet, in the Svalbardhallen – an indoor hall just off the high street – Svalbard Turn FC’s second weekly training session takes place one wintry Friday at 4pm with 15 players. Frode, a tall bald man resembling a kindly Jaap Stam, hands out the bibs. Fortunately, the three teams formed are equal in number, and they take turns every five minutes for small warm-up games. On the pitch, they only speak Norwegian, even though some players are Dutch, Ukrainian, Croatian and even Filipino.
That diversity has its origins in the Spitsbergen Treaty. Concluded in 1920, it recognises Norwegian sovereignty over the archipelago, despite it being 500 miles north of the nearest point on the mainland. The treaty also allows the various signatory countries – whose nationals can live and work here with no visa – to do business on Svalbard, predominantly coal mining. Norway and Russia still have mines here.
Last year, Longyearbyen residents came from 52 different countries. They are attracted by the lack of taxes, the cold, the mountains and even the polar bears. Around 300 beasts roam the land nearby – locals are urged to keep firearms on them, just in case.
Facundo, a Uruguayan, arrived aged 17 because of his love for a Norwegian woman. Since the law requires citizens to support themselves or risk being expelled, he got a job cleaning boats, then became a waiter. “We’ve since split up, but I’ve stayed,” he explains. “I feel very comfortable here. I speak Norwegian and I have a great group of mates.” A football team, too. He’s Svalbard Turn’s goalkeeper.
Four times a year, they face a side from Barentsburg, a small mining town of 400 people two hours away by boat, or three by
