I was feeling overwhelmed and unable to focus, so I decided to take a break and go for a weekend getaway. I packed a couple of t-shirts, my warm jacket, and all my wintry accessories, and off I went to Svalbard, Longyearbyen. It’s the northernmost human settlement in the world, and I was hoping to find silence and peace to practice yoga and meditate—to pull myself together.
The village is otherworldly, to say the least. I got there on a cloudy afternoon on 8 February, and the place is unbelievable at this particular time of the year as the long Arctic night starts to fade into timid, short blue days. It’s not like a fully clear day; it’s just that intermezzo between day and night, lasting about five to six hours during this period of the year.
It was with a bit of trepidation that I descent into that desert of ice with no vegetation and temperatures below zero—not too cold, though, just enough to remind you that the place is inhospitable enough to kill you in a few minutes if you get lost and a storm reaches you.
However, the hotel was amazingly comfy, and the silence was divine! I took a bath and had a long yoga session before setting aside an hour for deep meditation. That was what I needed to tune myself back in with my inner self and regain my focus.
One thing that struck me, though, was the fact that people didn’t seem as relaxed as I had expected. I thought that after three months in the darkness, people would be as calm as we normally get at night. You know, we’re different by night. But that didn’t seem to be the case with people in Svalbard. They were mostly kind and friendly, but I noticed something discomforting underneath—some sort of uneasiness that could well be worked out by a little yoga practice.
The following day, I was already on my way back to London, and it turned out to be one of the most remarkable days of my life. It became day at about 9:00 AM. I had a marvellous breakfast, went for a walk, and took some pictures of that amazing blue light that would never cease to wow me. At 3:00 PM, we took off, heading to Oslo, and it was already pitch-dark. But as soon as we crossed the clouds, the light changed—it became like early morning before sunrise. The more we flew southeast, the brighter it became. After a few minutes, we glimpsed a flat orange-coloured line at the end of the horizon, which grew larger and larger until the sun emerged between the clouds and the sky. As we flew further, it became bigger and bigger, standing just above the horizon line for a couple of hours before we descended, touched the clouds, and watched it disappear, making way for the nightfall.
It was the longest and most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, and it looked like a sunrise—rising to a certain level and lingering there before finally deciding to go down again.
I felt blessed when we landed in Oslo, but then a few setbacks brought me back to reality. The airport was undergoing some refurbishment, so we had to take a bus to reach the terminal. Once there, I discovered that the transit area for non-Schengen citizens was makeshift. The immigration officer was a bit confused, struggled to understand English, and was adamant that I was in the wrong place. He refused to let me pass and instead sent me in search of someone to accompany me through the transfer wing. But nobody seemed to be available. After a bit of back and forth—and when some officials started to feel embarrassed by the situation—the officer finally called me back to his till, stamped my passport, and let me through so I could reach my boarding area.
Once there, an airport employee came and asked all passengers to get up, exit the boarding room, and wait in line in the corridor for about 30 minutes before we were allowed to board the plane.
Once onboard, I noticed that my fellow passenger wasn’t very friendly. But as I was sitting by the window at an exit, and the seat next to me was empty, I crossed my legs in a lotus pose and dove into deep meditation for the entire flight to London. That attracted a lot of attention—I could hear people taking pictures and commenting excitedly about my posture. I couldn’t help but be slightly amused when I noticed that my seatmate, who had been almost cold when we first met, was now anxious to strike up a conversation. But by that point, I was already deeply interiorised and wasn’t interested in socialising anymore.
Today, the only thing I could think about was his reaction and change of attitude—how it must have felt to him to realise that he had judged me by my appearance, only to soon discover that I was nothing like he had anticipated.
How silly of me to waste my time thinking about such irrelevancies! After a beautiful weekend in one of the most breathtaking places on earth, after witnessing the longest sunrise/sunset I’ve ever seen, and after the unique experience of going into deep meditation while flying, my childish mind still fixates on a minor, pointless revenge against a complete stranger who, unwillingly, had been cold to me at first.
How is it that our minds are always trying to distract us from the things that truly matter? Why is the ego always trying to overshadow the soul?
I wish I could stay in that blessed state of mind forever, but I can’t help thinking about minor earthly pleasures and worries.
Any suggestions?
Soulful Touch Wellness 
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