Reykjavík Grapevine - 04.12.2015, Blaðsíða 28

BOOK YOUR FLIGHT OR
DAY TOUR AT AIRICELAND.IS
ÍSAFJÖRÐUR
ICELAND’S WESTFJORDS
ARE ONLY 40 MINUTES AWAY
Let’s fly
ÞÓRSHÖFN
VOPNAFJÖRÐUR
GRÍMSEY
ÍSAFJÖRÐUR
AKUREYRI
EGILSSTAÐIR
REYKJAVÍK
is
le
ns
ka
/s
ia
.is
F
LU
7
32
63
0
3/
15

The descent to Greenland begins sud-
denly, after four turbulent hours of fly-
ing through a constant storm. I squeeze
down into the cramped seat, tilting my
head horizontally to see outside, nose
touching the cold glass. Vague shapes
appear through the iced-up windows
of our small passenger plane. Above,
the rippling cloud ceiling is just distin-
guishable by the white light of the low
moon; it's mirrored below by endless
undulating bulges of glossy snow that
recede into the grey horizon. Seen first-
hand instead of on a map, the vast scale
of the world's biggest island nation be-
comes vividly apparent.
Greenland’s capital, the coastal city
of Nuuk, feels miniaturised by compari-
son. After an abrupt landing that con-
sists of skirting a nearby mountainside,
taking an alarming last-minute swerve
and then screeching to a halt on the
short 950m runway, we step out into
the frigid, snowy darkness. Within min-
utes, we've passed through the tiny ter-
minal, and get our first glimpse of Nuuk
through the fogged windows of a taxi—
colourful houses and apartment blocks
occupying rocky outcrops, all hemmed
in by towering piles of freshly ploughed
snow.
We've just missed some bad weath-
er, as it turns out. "You're very lucky,"
says Liini, our host in Nuuk, who greets
us at the door of the Inuk Hostel and
beckons us inside. "There was a big
storm this weekend. All the planes in
and out have been grounded for days."
As it happens, we're crashing the
tail end of her daughter's birthday par-
ty, and soon find ourselves tucking into
some generously proffered leftovers of
roast lamb and cold beer. Liini's Green-
landic relatives watch us with curiosity,
and the boldest of her grandkids de-
cides to practise his English on us. He
dishes out high fives after a successful
exchange of pleasantries. The atmo-
sphere is warm and welcoming, and
as the family members gradually leave,
we’re shown through the darkness to a
homely wood-lined cabin, drifting off to
sleep, impatient to see the view come
daybreak.
Blood and ice
When I awake, Axel—one of Grapevine's
trusty photographers, and my compan-
ion for this week-long trip around the
southwestern edge of Greenland—is
already returning from shooting some
pictures at the seaside. Apparently
there’s a huge chunk of blue glacial ice
floating past in the bay. We wolf down
some breakfast, and head out towards
the city centre between the piles of
snow and icicle-draped houses.
There are a fair share of tower
blocks, too, jutting out of the snow like
black teeth. Nuuk, it becomes appar-
ent, is an unusual mishmash of both ar-
chitecture and cultures. On one hand,
it’s not unusual to pass a shop dealing
in animal skins, claws, carved horns
and whole tusks that would be con-
sidered illegal trophies elsewhere. On
the other, many of the stores are ho-
mogenous Danish chain outlets selling
generic European products. One large
general store is all-but empty except for
its plasticky cafe, which offers free cof-
fee to a throng of people who gamble
continuously on the Russian and US
football leagues.
I’m mulling this over on Nuuk’s main
street when three weathered guys ap-
pear and hastily set up a crate-stall on
the ground in front of the supermarket.
A crowd gathers around them instantly,
groping hands reaching in and pulling
out black and white seabirds. An old
lady comes running over the slippery
road and grabs two birds by their dan-
gling necks, holding them up to com-
pare them. Within minutes, all the birds
have gone, and all that remains of the
impromptu market is a patch of blood-
splattered snow.
Road to nowhere
The afternoon is spent taking a car tour
of the city with a local city guide called
Grace, who’s spent her lifetime amass-
ing knowledge on every aspect of the
town, from its education system to its
infrastructure, nature, culture and poli-
tics. We cruise around the entire city,
from the historic harbour to various
landmarks and colourful suburbs.
After an hour, we pass the last new-
ly built neighbourhood, and the build-
ings peter out. The road from there on
is unploughed, and we power through
the snow until it finally dips towards the
sea to a chilly spot that looks across
the fjord to Nuuk’s small, busy harbour.
We stand in a circle of rough stones,
the arctic wind tugging at our hair and
28 The Reykjavík GrapevineIssue 18 — 2015TRAVEL
Part one of our glimpse into the Arctic
culture of southwestern Greenland
Words John Rogers Photos Axel Sig
Southwestern Greenland