A journey to Murmansk sounded like a bleak way to ring in the New Year. Spending 38 hours on a train ride to the far north to a city where the temperature could easily drop below minus 30 degrees Celsius just for the hell of it seemed foolish. However, I have always admired adventurers and explorers. I was raised on a steady diet of tales by great 19th and 20th century explorers chronicling their exploits around the globe. Thus, I thought it more than natural that I should celebrate New Year's with a great expedition beyond civilization. Of course, with a job to worry about, a cash-flow problem and a lack of proper training for a journey to the North Pole, I was willing to settle on a train ride to the largest city north of the Arctic Circle.

I was ashamed of my preparations for the journey. I didn't even bring a pocketknife, much less any suitable warm clothing. However, I was careful to remember fresh coffee, a French press and wine glasses for a $60 bottle of port wine my friend and I planned to down on New Year's Eve on the train. As for provisions, instead of jerky and other dried foodstuffs, I packed two grapefruits and a couple of bananas. As it would turn out, our ridiculous supplies would set the tone for our bourgeois journey to Murmansk.

Founded during 1915 as an alternative supply port for Russia during World War I, Murmansk is famous for its role in the world's two largest wars, plus its shipping, fishing and ship-building industry, not to mention the Kursk disaster. We expected to find a desolate, industrial city with nothing marking the skyline other than cranes, desolate Soviet-era apartment blocks and meters of deep snow.

We were partially correct, but we were surprised when Murmansk turned out to be home to some of the best dining experiences in Russia. Drab apartment buildings were plentiful, but the city's main street was the major attraction. Prospekt Lenina was a cheery, tree-lined thoroughfare with freshly painted buildings and a holiday-friendly blanket of snow. We stepped off the train bundled in all of our warmest clothing. Anticipating the worst, I had on two pairs of pants, a sweater, a fleece, a jacket, an overcoat, a pair of large winter boots, woolen socks and a woolen hat. Instead, I learned that the city's temperature during the winter hovers in the minus teens and low 20s, occasionally dipping down to minus 30 or 40. It's best to prepare for the worst, but the Gulf Stream ensures that the Kola Peninsula stays relatively warm for its latitude.

Murmansk is a thriving metropolis, sort of. For a city situated at 69 degrees north, it should consist of nothing more than igloos and reindeer; instead, it's a pleasant, albeit isolated town of slightly more than 500,000. Obviously the shipping and fishing industry have been kind to the city. One sailor I met in a restaurant explained to me that it was a good place to work in, and while the have-nots were plenty, the haves seemed to keep a nice luster on the city. Mercedes, BMWs and other imported cars line the streets. Billiards halls and casinos are conspicuously easy to come by and one young lady in the Meridian hotel bar said that "cafes were simply everywhere." While Murmansk is no Paris, it is home to Mama Mia, a nice little family restaurant just off Prospekt Lenina on Yegorova Ul. Strangely enough, this arctic town is home to the finest dining experiences I have had in Russia.

The natural setting is incredible, yet it's not so much the mountainous Kola Peninsula as the extreme environment and edge-of-the-earth location. The most exotic view of Murmansk is from the Panorama cafe atop the 16-story Intourist Hotel overlooking the main square. Young people put on their best clothes and head up to the cafe to show off their new duds or impress their dates.

A trip up to the city's World War II monument, known by locals as Alyosha, is an excellent way to get a glimpse of the incredible arctic skies during the three to four hours of daylight available at this time of year. In mid-winter, the sun never quite makes it over the horizon, lighting the sky with soft pink hues against a blue-gray backdrop. Those in search of the Northern Lights over the winter months may well have their plans ruined by the mist rising off the Tuloma River. According to locals, the lights are only visible when temperatures drop below 25 degrees Celsius; otherwise, the fog is too thick. The city lights don't help either.

Our bourgeois journey to the former-communist capital of the north ended in style. Dinner was excellent and we washed it down with beers from the Panorama. Robert Edwin Peary lost countless dogs on his trip to the pole in 1909 and took enough food and supplies for a small army. Our only casualties were a French press and two wine glasses. Our citrus provisions might have warded off scurvy, but would have provided woefully inadequate calories, were it not for the plentiful and high-quality restaurants. All in all, we were miserable arctic explorers, but left the far north feeling fat and happy.