In some corners of the Russian Arctic, Norway is literally at a distance between two neighboring stations on the Moscow Metro. Sometimes it seems like you just need to take two steps, and you're already there, abroad. But it doesn’t, because you are still in Russia. It's just that nature here is shared: the same cliffs, the same wind, the same northern lights overhead.

This land is a reminder of how conditional the lines on a map are. Nature lives by its own laws: it does not divide birches and bogs, bears and migratory birds into «ours» and «theirs». All of this is a single northern space that you can easily experience without a visa or passport stamps.

Here you can catch that rare feeling: as if you've been abroad without crossing the border. Because the spirit and landscapes of the Arctic are the same as those of our northern neighbors. Only, it's all still our country.

The Arctic is a land of harsh winds, long winters, and short but infinitely bright summers. Here, in the north of the Murmansk Region, just a couple of kilometers from the border with Norway, nestled among the hills and tundra, are small towns and settlements (Zapolyarny, Nikel, Pechenga) quiet, as if pressed to the ground by time and the elements. At first glance, everything seems simple, restrained, ordinary. But if you stay here for at least a day, you will understand: the Arctic is structured quite differently.

These colorful facades are not just a decorative whim. They are like a code, a symbol. Seemingly deliberately bright, at times naive, they attract the eye, promising something interesting. But their main function is to remind you: not everything is as simple as it seems.

In the Arctic, it is not customary to speak loudly about oneself. People rarely boast here, don't flaunt their achievements, don't shout about their talents. But it is precisely here, in former clubs, basements, boiler rooms, and even utility sheds, that amazing projects are born: theaters, art residencies, workshops, scientific laboratories, youth initiatives. Everything is done by hand. Everything comes from within.

In a small settlement, there might live an artist whose works are exhibited abroad, and next door there might live a teacher who started an environmental club that is saving a local river. At the post office works a person writing stories about the polar silence, and in the local school there might live a scientist who teaches programming to children in the evenings.

The Arctic teaches you to look more carefully. It teaches you to see more than just facades, even if they are bright and colourful. Because the main thing here is not the color of the walls, but those who are behind them. And the more modest it is on the outside, the richer it can be on the inside.

To live here is to choose depth. To seek the essence. To value the warmth of the human soul more than the temperature outside the window.

Founded in 1532, it was conceived as a spiritual outpost in the land of the Sami people and became a symbol of courage, faith, and missionary feat.

The monastery has endured much: destruction by the Swedes in the 16th century, oblivion, restoration in the 19th century, new destruction during the Great Patriotic War, and finally, revival in our time. Today, it is not only a place of prayer and seclusion but also a living monument to the history of the Russian North.

Standing by the monastery walls, where the harsh wind from the Barents Sea meets the silence of prayers, you feel that this is not just a geographical border, but a spiritual one as well.

Here ends the world we are accustomed to, and another begins an inner, eternal one.