Fifth Journey Day 36: The Faith of Unseen Hands

Date: June 13, 2025
Location: Barentsburg, Svalbard

The boat ride from Longyearbyen was slow and almost completely quiet, except for the sound of the motor and the occasional creak from moving ice along the shoreline. Barentsburg appeared out of the mist, like a memory—rusted cranes, boxy buildings in reds and blues, and Cyrillic letters painted like faded declarations across concrete.

I spent the afternoon in the greenhouse. It's located behind the main street, inside a building with a lot of fluorescent lights. Inside, the air felt surprisingly warm and moist. Lettuce, herbs, and a few flowering plants were illuminated with artificial light. A man in a wool sweater nodded at me but didn't say anything. I didn't say anything; I didn't need to. I just watched water drip from the plastic walls and the leaves tremble slightly from the fans.

It's strange to find something so carefully cultivated in a place that feels so unwelcoming. The ground outside is still hard and covered in soot. But here, chlorophyll insists. I kept thinking about the people who water these beds, doing the same thing every day without anyone noticing. It's a kind of faith, I guess.

Later, I stood at the edge of the harbor. The sky was gray and hazy, without any clear direction. The buildings here feel empty and well-maintained, like a place that has been left alone. I'm still processing it.

I didn't draw today. Not directly. But I'm still thinking about the textures I saw—the shiny greenhouse walls, the oily metal stairs, and the quiet echo of boots on gravel. I'm not ready to respond yet. I just need to stay here a little longer.

I'll see what happens tomorrow.