How an Arctic influencer embraces months of darkness
Cecilia Blomdahl still remembers the first time she looked at the Arctic Ocean on a winter night. The darkness was so thick that she could not tell where the land began and ended.
It was 2015, and Ms. Blomdahl had arrived in Spitsbergen, a Norwegian archipelago near the North Pole, to work at a restaurant with friends. The polar night had just begun and the sun would not rise again until February. But what really struck her and has stayed with her ever since was the silence.
“I don’t think I understood at the time how this would become my home,” she said in a recent interview. “I was only planning to stay for three months.”
They come for what Ms. Blomdahl describes as a “cozy corner” of the Internet: gazing at the northern lights, coffee by the fjord, near encounters with polar bears, headlamp-led dog walks, snowmobile expeditions deeper into the Arctic. Viewers often post comments asking how she copes with the extremes of the polar night, how she gets supplies and whether she is tempted to hibernate.
Yes, she’s just as cheerful about winter on Zoom as she is in her videos. Yes, she really likes winter. Yes, she has a dozen pairs of pajamas.
Ms. Blomdahl grew up in Gothenburg, Sweden, a coastal city where winters were dark and the sun set around 3 p.m. She attributes her love of winter to her parents, who encouraged Ms. Blomdahl and her two sisters to spend time outdoors.
“I just remember being outside all winter as much as I was outside in the summer,” she said. “Every time winter came, nothing bad was ever said about us; it was just another season. That’s what I’m going to continue with now.”
Too cheerful for you? It’s not all pleasant.
Although Ms. Blomdahl mainly makes videos about Svalbard’s natural beauty, she also points out its dangers, including whiteout conditions and wild animals. In fact, she often has nightmares in the days leading up to the polar night, part of the year without daylight at the northernmost and southernmost points of the planet.
“I think it means I respect the environment,” she said. “Yes, it’s scary, but I think it’s good to have fear. When you stop being a little afraid, you can become reckless.”
There are a few tactics she uses to prevent winter blues: exercise, vitamin D supplements, body oils, and regular visits to a nail artist. Planning her day is the key to staying positive, she said. When she ever feels like the darkness is starting to become suffocating, she goes for a walk and walks under a sky full of stars.
Longyearbyen, the main city on Spitsbergen, is a melting pot of more than 50 nationalities, she said. Svalbard itself has gotten a little boost from Ms. Blomdahl, who is promoting the island “in such a responsible way,” says Anja Nordvålen, the marketing coordinator for Svalbard’s tourism board. There has been a particular increase in visitors from the United States, she said.
“Everything here is quite extraordinary, even if it is ultimately our ordinary life,” said Ms. Nordvålen. “I think it’s intriguing when people see everyday life and say to them, ‘Oh, you need protection from polar bears when you leave your cabin.’”
Spitsbergen is about as far north as humans can live. Longyearbyen, the largest settlement, is named after an American mine owner, John Munro Longyear, who founded the Arctic Coal Company after visiting the islands. It is home to a university campus, a satellite research station, a global seed bank, and a small but vibrant tourism industry that capitalizes on outdoor adventures.
It was also once a prolific coal producer for Russia. According to Longyearbyen legend, Santa Claus lives in an abandoned mine in the mountainside. Every year on the first day of Advent lights appear in the mine, including in the shape of a Christmas tree.
Spitsbergen is now the city switching from coal production to diesel as it prepares to close the region’s last remaining coal-fired power plant. But don’t expect Ms. Blomdahl to address this or other geopolitical issues.
“There are a lot of dark views, so I like it to be a cozy corner,” she said of her page. “I think that’s what people get out of it too.”
Grim, her 8-year-old Finnish Lapphund, makes sure Mrs. Blomdahl goes outside regardless of the amount of daylight. She feels safer with him, but she still carries a firearm in case she encounters a polar bear.
Ms. Blomdahl said the polar night is forcing her to shift her focus inward.
Winter, she said, “is something we experience rather than endure. We all chose to be here.”
The real darkness of the polar night begins around January, after the warmth of the holidays has passed. But one day she will walk along the fjord and see a sliver of light, and pitch black will turn to inky blue. March is the blue hour, when winter is over and the sun slowly returns. The polar day, when the sun does not set, is not far behind us.
“It’s like a rebirth,” she said.