Smári McCarthy`s blagoblag

I have a strong tendency to seek out places on the fringes of human society. Perhaps this fascination with the extemes of human existence stems from having migrated from England - the most plain of all possible places - to Iceland - a fairly exciting place by several measures, complete with volcanoes, earthquakes, winter darkness, summer light and so on. But much as the adrenaline junkie seeks out higher places to jump from and the heroine addict wants ever bigger doses of his favorite chemical, I want more starkness. More loneliness. More extremes.

One place that has long struck my fancy as a great place to live is Longyearbyen in Svalbard. With a population of roughly 2000, Svalbard is low tax, low temperature colony of Norway sitting roughly 78° north. With primary occupations being coal mining and more recently higher education and research, Svalbard appeals to me for all the wrong reasons.

McMurdo station on Antarctica sounds like a great place to spend a summer. Packed with 1200 scientificly minded people, with an entire continent almost to themselves. Fairly romantic.

But not as romantic as the Russian town of Dikson in Krasnoyarsk Krai. Slap in the middle of the Siberian permafrost, Dikson is one of the most isolated human settlements in the world. Population: 800.

Moving south again, Bouvet island is another cold Norwegian exclave. With population zero, it is a “popular” (if inaccessible) vacation spot for amateur radio operators, eager to be on the air with the 3Y call sign prefix.

Somewhat north you might possibly come across Tristan da Cunha, a British archipelago. The capital, Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, was evacuated in 1961 during a volcanic eruption. Edinburgh of the Seven Seas is considered the most remote human settlement on earth, being over 2400 km from the nearest human settlement on St. Helena. One of the other islands in the archipelago is called Inaccessible Island. Sounds decent enough.

Another island with an odd name is Disappointment Island, which can be found far south of New Zealand. Nobody lives there, so it falls outside my definition: I want to be on the fringes of human civilization, not completely outside of it.

Several places in central asia fascinate me, some more inhabited than others. The city of Wulumuqi is neither remote nor small, but it’s location is so far out of the way for the average European that I honestly found it astonishing that there was a city there at all.

Some of the rural regions of Kazakhstan are interesting, and likewise much of Borneo and New Guinea. The outskirts of Petropavlovsk seem like a wonderful place to be, at a similar latitude to Copenhagen although in a much colder region of the world.

Malawi is one of my favourites, although it can hardly be called sparsely populated. This brings me to think that perhaps it isn’t rurality I’m going for. Perhaps it’s … something else. Perhaps it’s something different. Perhaps it’s just a break from the easy life - it’s just.

I’m starting to think Reykjavík brings out all the worst in me. As much as I love this town, it is here that my mind wanders the most, it is here that I do the least good. Here I tend to oversleep regularly; I’m frequently late to wherever I’m going, the work I do isn’t as good as that which I do elsewhere. I eat unhealthier food, I drink more alcohol, I grow more deceitful and more arrogant. More lazy. More self-absorbed. My speech patterns even change.

Perhaps it’s just a change of pace I need. I’ve always considered myself a city person, but maybe that’s just a lie I’ve started to believe.

The International Space Station is about as rural as it’s going to get. Two decades from now it might be possible to elope to a moon base. Perhaps I could go to the Himalayas. Tibet. Join a monastery. I could go to Peru, or Lapland. Become a nomad. Azerbaijan. Congo. New Zealand.

But until then, I’m here. I’m in Reykjavík. Better make the most of it.