School in the Arctic readies students for the wild
LONGYEARBYEN, Norway (AFP) — Nestled snugly between an Arctic fjord and snowy mountains, the world's northernmost school teaches students avalanche survival, how to fend off a hungry polar bear and how to skin a reindeer.
The 230 students at the Longyearbyen primary and secondary school, located in Norway's Svalbard archipelago just 1,000 kilometers (620 miles) from the North Pole, follow a regular school curriculum, albeit adapted to the local way of life.
"Whether there's an Arctic deepfreeze or just a chill in the air, even in the event of a blizzard the school stays open," says Priitta Poeyhtaeri Troen, a biology teacher at the school.
Skis lean against the facade of the building and reindeer graze freely in the schoolyard, while inside, snowmobile helmets are lined up on top of the cupboard.
Here in this modern establishment, where students remove their shoes and boots at the entrance, pupils don't have to skip school to experience the great outdoors.
In the cafeteria, a stuffed polar bear and her cub stand guard while boisterous students bustle past. In a large display case, clay miniatures of bears and seals are on show, a class project conducted by first graders.
Unlike most other schools, this one has its own hunting quota. Every September, teachers and senior students track reindeer for a day.
Several animals are killed and studied together with the students.
Siren Lindeth, a bubbly 18-year-old girl, was one of those who skinned and dismembered a reindeer in the wild last year.
"You have to puncture its throat, skin the animal and eviscerate it. Preferably barehanded. It's so nice to plunge your freezing hands into the still warm intestines," says Lindeth, a hunting fan who at the age of three was already taking part in hunts with her father, bundled up on a sled.
In a town of just 1,800 people -- where residents stay on average for only three and a half years due to the harsh living conditions -- the school sees a large rotation of students walking through its doors.
"Each year a quarter of the students change," says Poeyhtaeri Troen.
Odin Kirkemoen, a 17-year-old who is one of the few to have lived almost his whole life in Svalbard, would be the envy of plenty of teenagers around the world: he hops on his snowmobile to get to school in the morning.
"Out of pure laziness since I live less than a kilometer (half-mile) away. But this way I only have to get up five minutes before class," he says.
"The snowmobiles, that's what keeps the boys here," he adds.
In their free time, the local teenagers zip up and down the nearby hills and climb near-vertical slopes, perched precariously on their rides.
Each year at the end of January, as the archipelago prepares to emerge from the total darkness of polar winter, the school organises an awareness day about the dangers of living in the Arctic.
With the help of local authorities, students are taught avalanche survival techniques, how to act when confronted with a polar bear, and are provided information on glacier crevasses and how to repair a broken-down snowmobile.
Despite its remote location, the school is surprisingly international, with close to 20 nationalities represented, including Thais, Bosnians and Russians.
Among the Russians is Alexander Ilzhasov, a 19-year-old with rasta dreadlocks who paces the classroom while swiftly twisting his fingers around a Rubik's cube.
His parents came to Svalbard five years ago from the coal mine in the neighbouring village of Barentsburg, where some 500 Russians and Ukrainians live in a Russian enclave.
Alexander's hobby? To beat as many Guinness records as possible, from banana swallowing to solving 3D puzzles and hopping on jumping stilts.
"That's the only way to get kicks," the aspiring oil engineer said.
