Frozen in time, this once-thriving mining town now stands empty and desolate on the exposed Arctic tundra. The communist settlement of Pyramiden was abandoned over twenty-five years ago following a devastating plane crash. Now, its sole inhabitants are polar bears, a colony of sea birds and just a handful of staff.
Click or scroll on to tour the ghost town, explore its gripping history and discover why the townspeople left, leaving many of their belongings behind...
Arriving by ferry from Svalbard's capital Longyearbyen is like taking a trip back in time. You can't help but get a sinking feeling when you alight at the ghost town's bleak dock.
Svalbard was ceded to Norway in 1920 under the Spitsbergen Treaty, but the signatories, which included Sweden and Russia (the USSR wasn't formed until 1922), were given the right to engage in mining in the territory.
Sweden had begun prospecting for coal here in 1910, naming the promising town after the spot's pyramid-shaped mountain, but ended up selling it to the Soviets in 1927. In the early 1930s, Pyramiden came under the control of the state-owned Arktikugol ('Arctic Coal') Trust, but large-scale extraction didn't actually start until after the Second World War.
The snowcapped mountains in the distance give us a hint at just how remote this town is.
Just to the east of the harbour is the old abandoned coal power plant, which provided the town with electricity and heating. It burned through a million tonnes of the fossil fuel over the course of the settlement's history.
Next to the power plant is a warehouse, one of several in the outpost that would have been used to store the extracted coal – all in all, nine million tonnes of the resource are thought to have been mined at Pyramiden.
Now, let's head west into the town along its main road, which is named after the 60th anniversary of the October Revolution.
A welcome sign and sculpture crafted from old red water pipes from the mine marks the official entrance. In front of it is a memorial minecart filled with the last tonne of coal extracted in Pyramiden on 31 March 1998.
Many of the remote town's buildings were constructed on stilts to keep the permafrost beneath them from thawing and with rounded edges to mitigate the impact of the harsh Arctic winds.
There are tunnels that lead to the mountaintop mine: one was used to transport the miners to and from the facility, while the other was used to haul down the extracted coal.
To the south is the town's abandoned farm. In its heyday, it consisted of a cowshed that provided fresh milk and beef, a pigsty, hen house and heated greenhouses.
Huge quantities of soil were imported from the mainland and everything from tomatoes to lettuce and cucumbers were cultivated. The soil was also spread around the settlement and during the summer months, grass grows here, in stark contrast to other parts of Svalbard, which are completely barren.
The next set of buildings you come across are the school and kindergarten. Unlike other mining settlements on Svalbard and other Arctic outposts, which were almost exclusively male-dominated, Pyramiden was a family-orientated community with plenty of married couples and children.
Outside the school is a colourful mural, one of many here that were painted to beautify the town. It shows a scene from the Frog Princess, one of the best-loved Russian fairytales.
While it looks dreary and depressing these days, Pyramiden was something of a utopian community way back when, with a bustling population of over 1,000 at its peak in the 1980s.
Inside the school, this classroom looks like it was abandoned all of a sudden judging by the belongings scattered around. Textbooks litter the shelves, stationery is strewn across the teacher's desk and there's even some writing scrawled on the chalkboard. Though the room appears just as it was left, the walls are in a sorry state, with the paint peeling away.
After exiting the school, your next port of call is Pyramiden's hospital. It is easily identified by the green-hued relief sculpture on the exterior, which depicts the serpent-entwined Rod of Asclepius, which has long been used as a symbol of healthcare and medicine. The building is out of bounds to visitors these days, so let's move on to the town's canteen.
A regal neoclassical-style edifice painted in pastel blue, the cafeteria was open 24 hours a day and kept the residents, who lacked kitchens in their homes and therefore had to be catered for, very well fed. After all, the cooks had ample supplies of fresh meat, eggs, milk and produce from the town's farm, even during the long, dark winters.
The main dining room is as fancy as the exterior and is accessed by an ornate staircase. At the top of the stairwell is a mosaic mural showing an idealised Svalbard landscape with polar bears, a Siberian husky dog, a Viking longship and what could very well be a depiction of Bragi, the Norse god of music and poetry, who appears to be playing a tagelharpa, an ancient Nordic horsehair harp.
The space is typically Soviet in style, though the chintzy wallpaper and fine wooden furniture aren't as austere as you might expect. Whoever decorated the place even went as far as to install carved ornamental wood covers for the radiators.
Dried-out plants are peppered around the room, bolstering the impression that the townspeople left quickly.
In contrast to the reasonably well-kept dining room, the canteen's kitchen is in a mess. The oversized catering grills and ovens along with the industrial extractor hoods have rusted over in parts and debris covers some of the tiled floor.
A stone's throw from the canteen are the town's living quarters. Single men were housed in one block dubbed London, while unwed women resided in another, which was nicknamed Paris.
Workers on short-term contracts were put up in another building called Gostinka, which is the Russian word for hotel.
Married couples and their children lived in what the residents wittily referred to as the Crazy House. It was reportedly so named because the children would run riot in the corridors during the long, cold winters.
These days, the building has been taken over by equally noisy gulls, which nest on its windowsills, lending the eerie ghost town a Hitchcockian vibe.
Inside the kindergarten dormitory, tiny beds stand in rows. Poignantly, artwork still hangs on the walls made by children who left the remote town long ago.
Next up is Pyramiden's bust of Vladimir Lenin, which is the world's northernmost statue of the Russian revolutionary. It rests in a prominent position in front of the town's Palace of Culture.
A common feature of many Soviet communities, the cultural building served as a recreation and entertainment centre and this one included a cinema/theatre, library, weight-lifting room and sports court.
Pyramiden's Palace of Culture was packed with amenities – the town was designed as a model communist community after all – and contributed to its reputation as an idyllic place to live.
Contracts to work in the settlement were extremely sought-after and living in the outpost was considered a major privilege by those lucky enough to secure one.
The auditorium was regarded as one of the highlights of the facility, with its plush red velvet seating, panelled walls and capacious stage. Music concerts and theatrical performances were put on here, and the space, which was fitted with a projector and enormous screen, doubled up as a cinema. A Red Oktober, the planet's northernmost grand piano, still stands on the stage.
In a room next to the theatre, long-forgotten props and decorations once used to entertain the people of Pyramiden now lie in storage. Despite the fact they look brand-new, it's doubtful they'll ever be used again.
The sports court is just as impressive. It was used for basketball games, soccer matches and other team sports and has a viewing gallery for spectators. Like the auditorium, the space is in remarkably good shape considering it hasn't been used for more than two decades. Adjacent to it is the weight-lifting room, which is also in a decent state of preservation.
Educational pursuits were encouraged in Pyramiden in addition to sports and other wholesome forms of recreation. The Palace of Culture's library would have been well-stocked with books and journals, allowing the residents to cultivate their intellectual side.
Moving on through the modern ghost town, you come to the Yuri Gagarin Sports Complex, named after the famous cosmonaut and the first human in space.
The large pitch outside was used for soccer games during the summer (they were played in the Palace of Culture's sports court in the colder months of the year), while in the winter, the pitch was reportedly transformed into an ice hockey rink.
The sports complex houses Pyramiden's heated swimming pool, which has long been drained. A fabulous luxury, it was considered one of the town's major pulls and even attracted visitors from Longyearbyen, who were said to be green with envy that the Soviet settlement had such a swish amenity.
Elsewhere in the town are the former fire station and jail, the secret KGB office, which was said to have been kitted out with a stove to burn sensitive documentation, various workshops and the all-important covered shooting range.
As we can see from this image of a polar bear looking for food along the Pyramiden coast, these powerful predators were a constant threat and residents would have carried rifles at all times. Marksmanship skills were a must. Even today, guides are armed to protect tourists – and themselves – from bear attacks.
The desks and chairs in the administration office are still laid out as they would have been in the 90s. Papers are strewn around the office, with long-dead plants and peeling plaster adding to the feeling of eerie desolation.
It was in this building that the KGB office existed. Intrepid visitors to the town can still see files and photographs of the area's former inhabitants lying on the desk of the secret room.
Once a place of bustling industry, the mining town would have needed a robust communications system to coordinate the day-to-day running of the town and the arrival of ships and planes, as well as for miners calling their families back in Russia. Now, like everything else, it lies abandoned.
Out to the west of the town is the quirky bottle house. Cobbled together in 1983 from a rumoured 5,308 bottles, the unusual eco home served as a fun hangout.
Following the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the subsequent economic crisis, Pyramiden's generous subsidies, which financed its lavish amenities, dried up. You see, Pyramiden was never actually profitable...
A sort of Potemkin village, it was intended more as a showcase of an ideal communist settlement, and when the USSR collapsed, the writing was on the wall.
Bolstering its demise, the mine's mineral resources had dwindled by the early 1990s and the quality of the extracted coal was very poor. Then a subterranean mine fire is said to have hit in the mid-90s, further sealing Pyramiden's fate.
The kindergarten and school closed in the mid-1990s and most of the women and kids left not long after.
The nail in the coffin came in the form of a catastrophic plane crash in August 1996. A charter Vnukovo Airlines plane careered into a nearby mountain, killing all 141 people on board, many of whom were mine workers heading to Pyramiden.
Norway's deadliest aviation accident, the crash had a devastating effect on the community and contributed to its demise. Together with the Russian government, Arktikugol Trust made the decision to close the mine and empty the town in April 1998.
Within a few months, the entire population, which by this point had dwindled to a few hundred, had gone, having left many of their belongings behind.
Pyramiden has however since reinvented itself as a tourist attraction. The old 'London' residence was converted into a hotel – it opened in 2013 and was refurbished the following year – and visitors flock to the town seasonally.
There are even a handful of permanent residents these days, including maintenance staff and tour guide Aleksandr Romanovsky, who goes by the nickname 'Sasha from Pyramiden'. Sasha has guided tourists around the ghost town since 2012 and believes he was the only person to apply for the job at the time.
It may never function as a bustling town again, but it seems Pyramiden may have a new future as a sort of living museum giving a glimpse of life for communist communities at the end of the Soviet Union.
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