September 2025

I was 14. I was staring at the lights of a big city across the dark waters of the fjord from me. I was totally and unapologetically happy. It was dark, it was August and the Arctic day was already over. The lights were glaring on the calm waters of the fjord - white, orange, yellow. I couldn’t understand where this feeling of content was coming from, but it was so consuming. Yes, the year was 1989 and I was standing on the deck of a Soviet destroyer anchored in the middle of the fjord across from Murmansk, the largest port above the Arctic Circle. It was a season when impossible things were possible, and one of these miracles just happened: I, a simple Soviet schoolboy, was on board of a Soviet destroyer with a mission - to be a translator for an international research team, which was allowed to be on board of that ship for three days. Impossible over impossible. But that was that season… Yes, it was exciting all about: we had conversations about environment, about nuclear weapons, about politics. And I was translating it, a 14 year old boy. I