Snow fell in the evening. White flakes partially covered the brown and black colours of the town. Rock, stone and coal everywhere. And glaciers. Svalbard has a death ban. Graves can’t be dug here, it’s either rock or ice. Yet the town of Pyramiden died. First, the TU 134 plane with miners and their families crashed, and within two days the whole town was evacuated. A town that was the crowning achievement of the socialist thought of the Soviet Union. Where soil was imported from Ukraine to plant grass and show the world that beauty and an ideal society could be achieved even in extreme conditions. Where the working class, the miners and their families lived in prosperity and happiness. Sumptuous balls and sports competitions were organised. Where temperatures above -40 degrees Celsius weren’t terrible; dark days for most of the year, followed by bright nights. Unas wsiegda wiesielo: All is well. So it was. Now Pyramiden is inhabited by seagulls. They’ve taken over the city and are building their houses on the ruins of the former communist era. The windows in the central building of the town – at which Lenin, the leader of socialist thought looks upon from afar – are covered with guano. He looks down on a town that does not exist. There are no people. The memory remains. The memory of great disappointment.