A month without seeing the sun

From fearing it to loving it

“It’s almost here…” I mumbled, stirring the silver teaspoon through the pitch-black coffee our neighbour had just brewed. Outside, the dark sky hinted that the polar night was about to begin.

I stared into the cup.

So dark…

“Is it really going to be this dark?” I asked.

Our neighbour, with his own mug steaming in his hands, reassured me:

“Don’t worry… you’ll still be able to read the newspaper outside.”

His words stayed with me as I thought about the weeks to come.

We had been preparing ourselves for this unusual stretch of darkness, both mentally and physically. We stocked up on vitamin D, worked out regularly and tried to eat healthy. Everything to make sure we felt as good as possible when the darkness arrived.

We spoke to many people. Locals, friends, others who had lived through the polar night before. What could we expect?

The answers didn’t make us much wiser.

“This is the hardest time of the year.”

“Actually, I love this season.”

“I make sure I’m abroad then.”

“Honestly, it’s the coziest time of the year.”

One thing was clear: we had to experience it for ourselves.

On December 4th, it finally started. The sun disappeared and would stay behind the horizon for at least a month.

We stood at a viewpoint, watching the sun act shy. But the light stretched too far to hide completely. In the clear blue sky, a soft pink glow appeared.

We stood there quietly, simply taking it in.

Until one of us whispered what we were both thinking:

It’s not so dark…

It was nothing like the black coffee I had been staring at. Our neighbour was right.

Here, in Hinnøya, the polar night is not an endless black tunnel. It’s more like a room with the lights dimmed. A sort of twilight: darker than day, but not pitch black. You can clearly tell day from night.

For a brief moment this realisation felt more like disappointment than relief. I had been curious about a stretch of complete darkness.

But let’s not make it sound like this period let me down. On the contrary.

Because the sun floats so close to the horizon, a beautiful pink light spreads across the landscape. With no real sunrise or sunset, this glow lasts for the entire ‘daylight’ period: around four hours each day.

On clear days, of which there were many, the sky was luminous. We spent hours under that light, simply watching, and feeling how lucky we were to be living here.

Looking back, this dark period arrived at exactly the right moment. We were still settling in: unpacking the last boxes, navigating immigration paperwork, and finding our rhythm in a new life. Everything took time, and somehow, the polar night made it feel as if we were allowed to take that time.

And it wasn’t just us slowing down.

Everyone seemed to move at a relaxed pace. The days were short, even if not completely dark, and life seemed to adjust to that rhythm. We met with neighbors from time to time, but everything felt easy and unforced. There was no rush or pressure, and that suited us perfectly.

Visually, the polar night was perhaps less dramatic than we had imagined. But emotionally, it meant more to us than we thought it would. We loved curling up in our little house, wrapped in blankets on the couch, getting lost in a good book, trying out new recipes, lighting a few candles…

It was simple. It was good.

I can already imagine looking forward to this time of the year again: a season that forces you to slow down, to breathe, and to simply be.

I think it’s a beautiful invention.

Thank you for coming along!

Jule Noah