Greenland

Greenland. Is. Awesome.

We had extraordinary luck on this trip. Everything that can go right with travel, did: flights landing on time (despite major issues), great tour group of strangers-turned-travel-buddies, nature happenings that tour guides warn are rare and not to be disappointed if you don't see them... we got it all!

We started by choosing a tour company. We picked the "South Greenland Adventure" from a rather neutral sounding "Greenland tours" company, so were surprised when we arrived and all of the employees were wearing Tasermiut company gear: it was a classic shell in a shell of a tour operator. Despite that business's local sounding name (it's the Greenlandic name for a specific fjord), it's a Spanish company, and we were kind of bummed that only a small fraction of their employees were native Greendlanders. Still, there's not an abundance of choice when it comes to tour operators, especially ones that run their own housing. There are two "hotels" (hostels) in Narsarsuaq, and only one once you cross the fjord into Qassiarsuk - that's Leif Eriksson hotel, run by Tasermiut, which is where we stayed.

Flying in to Narsarsuaq airport can only be accomplished via Copenhagen or Reykjavik. Greenland is part of the kingdom of Denmark, so that explains the Copenhagen connection, and I'm guessing Reykjavik is prioritized due to its proximity and popular airport. Mike and I had spent an awesome few days in Reykjavik, so of course we used that as our origin point. Flights run every 3 days or so, so in order to fully enjoy our brief 8 days of activities, we were counting on that flight not being canceled. After a brief delay we boarded in Reykjavik and flew for a few hours toward Narsarsuaq. We were about to land when the chilling announcement was made over the loudspeaker: heavy fog made landing dangerous and we would need to circle the airport for a while - then the captain would decide whether or not we needed to "head back to Reykjavik" (!!!!!!). Tip to airport designers: landing would probably be less dangerous if the airport were to be located somewhere other than between two mountains in a bay covered in icebergs. From a post on the top 12 most dangerous airports: "Even on calm days, planes flying in suffer extreme turbulence and wind shear. What makes this so serious is that arriving aircraft must fly through a fjord where pilots must make precise 90 degree turns to line up with the runway while in the “valley,” and at some point during this turn, wind will hit the craft from one side and speed it down to the airport. Plus, downdrafts and icebergs surround the place. Flyers new to the local topographical and meteorological conditions should not fly here through the fjords."

After a charged 30 minutes, the plane landed with no other announcements. We were in!

Our guide Sergio was waiting at the airport. He's Italian, but when he introduced himself his ethnically ambiguous looks made me think he was Greenlandic, which led to me mishearing his introduction and embarrassingly trying to pronounce his name as if it were a novel set of syllables in the local accent. Kill me.

A few other people joined us with Sergio - a lovely slightly older French couple (Fred and Corinne), a sibling duo from Germany in their 20/30s (Jenny and Max), and a soon-to-be-legendary solo traveler from Spain, Rubén, who despite being in his late 40s absolutely smoked everyone in hiking, kayaking, and any other physical activity. Turns out he is a firefighter in Bilbao and, if you ever get to choose which city to be in a fire in, I say Bilbao all the way, because their entry requirements and training programs are clearly topnotch. Fred spoke great English, Corinne had requested a French guide, and Rubén had requested a Spanish guide. Sergio spoke English and presumably Italian, but that was it. Apparently, a mandatory 4 month stint in Greenland is not the #1 most desired assignment for multilingual tour guides. Corinne and Rubén had to rely on some pretty subpar translating from one of the participants *cough*. Everyone thinks they speak Spanish until it's time to translate "musk ox" or "King Christian IV of Denmark sent a series of expeditions to Arctic waterways to locate the lost eastern Norse settlement and assert Danish sovereignty over Greenland."

So maybe Corinne and Rubén weren't that lucky, but boy did our group do better than the other one. Still at the airport, Sergio let us know that the flight from Copenhagen had also done the "circle and wait above the airport" routine just after we had, but their captain had circled for so long that they needed to refuel in Kangerlussuaq, over 400 miles of icy tundra away. That was bad enough, but then the weather deteriorated even further, and they had to give up and go back to Copenhagen (!). Which meant that their next opportunity to join our group would be four days later. Four days!!! Out of an 8 day tour! 

Our mini/incomplete group set off to guiltily enjoy our program, always wondering at the back of our minds what the other group members would be like and how they would affect our (very pleasant, copacetic) dynamic. Sergio changed the schedule around so the biggest "must-do" items were at the end to give the stragglers a chance to enjoy them. So our first adventures looked like this:

Get set up at the hostel in Qassiarsuk settlement: 30 minute RIB ride from airport in Narsarsuaq. RIB stands for Rigid Inflatable Boat, and ours could "seat" about 12 people plus the captain. Of course there are no seats; you perch on the side and hold on to a rope that is threaded through some strategic handles. At low speeds the ride is ok; at high speeds it is very cold and uncomfortable. They make a logical choice for transport since they are shallow (there are icebergs everywhere), can navigate through tiny channels (again, icebergs), and are easy to fuel and store. They do not, however, prioritize passenger comfort. To combat the extra wind and cold on the water, every RIB journey involved the guides passing out massive parkas to everyone. They did a great job in keeping out the chill, but they were quite rank and probably had never been washed despite hundreds of people wearing them. ANYway! We made it safely to the hostel.

RIB journey. Our luggage is in the middle of the boat with a tarp over it.

The dock to the hostel on a nice day.

This part was very rough around the edges. All the accommodation for the trip was shared, and you didn't get a say about rooms or roommates. Mike and I were lucky to get a "private" room, which had a tiny bunk bed for each of us and no room beyond that. Like, you couldn't get in bed if the door was open. Other tourmates were stuck in a group room with six bunks - some occupied by people they had met before, others not. Snoring was a very public issue. The bathroom (yes, singular - one for each gender) and showers were shared not only with our group but also three other groups that were simultaneously booked, bringing the total number of bodies in the little house to an average of around 30. The food was piled on a communal table and everyone swarmed it at mealtimes, then took their spoils to their folding metal chair that constantly had to be moved in order to let people get by because of the lack of space in the tiny dining room. It was chaotic and not for those accustomed to regular hotel travel. As long as you are in "rough it" mode, you will do great! Technically, all human needs are met :)

Full day hike to Flower Valley and Kiattut Glacier. Very arduous hike (let's be honest, most hikes are arduous for me, but I guess that's what I get for hanging out with elite mountain climbers like Robert and Rubén). Steep ascents with lots of mud and slick rock. Yes yes it was also beautiful with epic glacier views, but I have to tell you what the brochure doesn't, right?

Setting off on the hike. 

Northern lights. Easily the most magical thing I have ever seen. Humor a small tangent here: our hostel was named for Leif Erikson, who has a fascinating history in the region. The story of Leif in Scandinavia and Greenland is dramatic, violent, and entertaining, so it's no wonder that several podcasts have featured it. There are Leif statues in many places around Iceland and Greenland, and our hostel featured one, located about a 15 minute hike up a rocky hill. 

Ok, back to the lights. Over dinner one night it became apparent that Fred was an amateur astronomer and knew quite a lot about the lights. He had an app that indicated the best time to view them, how strong they would be based on solar storms in the last 11 years (no, seriously. This blog does a good job of putting things in laypeople terms), and which side of the horizon we should look at. He suggested that despite the almost complete lack of civilization, we should still hike up the nearby rock to avoid light pollution from the hostel. He told us exactly what time to get ready and meet him at the door, and I just want to say thank you to people like that all around the world, because we all need people like you! Had it not been for Fred I would have been bungling around the hostel too early and probably given up after 30 minutes. With Fred we saw... well, again, the most magical thing ever. 

This is why I told you about Leif! That's his statue on the hill near the hostel.

Lights bright enough for phone cameras to capture, and me with my headlamp and pussy hat making for interesting silhouettes.

As incredible as these lights were, we would get an even more amazing show when we left the hostel far behind and ventured into the desolate wilderness of Qaleraliq, the glacier camp. The camp was approximately six hours away by RIB. Six hours is a long time to be perched on the side of a raft (no real seats), unsheltered from the wind in the middle of literal icebergs. So preparations were made. One: the stinky parkas. Two: schedule a stop. We stopped halfway to the camp at Narsaq, a little town with very little to do, time-passing wise. We had lunch at a hostel (but didn't stay there overnight), and walked around a little bit. I befriended a mangy cat while taking in the adorable scenery. The houses are brightly colored and very small; heating needs to be as efficient as possible!

You can find much better pictures of Narsaq houses on Google; this is my attempt. 

There was a single, tiny grocery store there. Normally I don't report on grocery stores but this one was special. That's because in the middle aisle, between games and school supplies, were multiple PS5 systems. Even as a non-gamer I knew that lack of availability of this console was resulting in a black market and astronomical prices in almost every part of the world. People hoping to buy one had been waiting for months and years after signing up on "invitation lists." But here they were in the grocery store, ready to be picked up with your weekly food prep items! The Germans and Mike and I fleetingly considered buying them and reselling upon our return to Europe and the US, respectively, but alas, they would fit neither in the hostel nor the RIB boats. Another business venture cut short before it could thrive.

We hopped back in the RIB and survived the last leg of the journey to Qaleraliq. This camp was quite bare bones: no running water (well, except for the waterfall nearby), camp toilets, no electricity for 4 days. It looked like a Martian colony: a small sandy plateau with about 12 small geodesic domes, each dome with 2 sets of cot bunk beds and a small table. 2 large domes housed the separate mess tents: again, another tour group was there but kept mostly to themselves. One mess tent was for them and the other for us. The kitchen tents had propane stoves for warmth (and separate ones for food). I tried in vain to sleep in the kitchen tent next to the stove, but was relegated back to our cots and lack of propane. I had 2 sub-zero sleeping bags and all of my clothes on and was still freezing the whole time. That's just my life though. And anyone's life who decides to camp next to glaciers several miles wide.

We would come back from cold expeditions to the warm kitchen, and everyone wanted to dry their wet socks and gloves. But there was no room; the tiny stove allowed for one person to be in front of it, maaaaybe two. Your favorite blogger found a solution though!

Gloves perched on beer bottles to dry out. Yes I am wearing socks covered in a plastic bag and the (male) German's sandals because I had not yet discovered these. The result looked like a modern art installation.

We, the campers, had to lug multi-gallon water jugs from the waterfall (about 5 minutes away and down some slippery rocks) to be heated in the kitchen. No one relished this task except for Mike. Mike was absolutely thriving in this rugged, cold moonscape. I looked on in admiration and confusion.

By this point we were expecting the other half of the group to arrive at any moment, but they were still MIA.

Maybe it was the distance from civilization, or maybe a solar flare 11 years ago was stronger than it had been a few days back, but when Fred led us out to see the lights in this new setting, it was somehow even better.

The lights begin with a faint wisp that could be a cloud, but gradually becomes brighter and more colorful. This was around 11pm.

Within about 30-60 minutes, the show really starts! Here is our camp under the lights, around midnight.

Absolute insanity.

About a 10 minute walk from our camp was "the beach" - a sandy expanse next to the bay that separate us from the enormous glacier. Dotted with icebergs, the water was so comically cold and uninviting that one day in the kitchen, the Germans and Mike and I joked about going for a little swim. Laughing along, our guide Sergio quipped, "You can! It has been done before! Haha!" At this point the laughter in Mike's eyes took on an eerie sheen that I did not appreciate. "I brought my swimsuit!" he joked, sort of. "So did we!" the Germans bantered, their smiles leveling out. The atmosphere in the tent changed. "Guys, no. Haha," I said. "No WAY," I added by way of clarification.

Damn it.

Make sure your sound is off. My subconscious coping mechanism was blood curdling screams.

That evening, an unscheduled RIB came motoring up to the camp - our other group mates had arrived! Alas, the delicate group dynamic had already been established, and 2 of the 3 new members quickly annoyed us beyond repair. I won't dwell on it here but feel free to ask me about these stories directly. Ok I'll give you one little tidbit: male speedo influencer with nipple rings and older American lady who constantly complained and gave almost everyone Covid by coughing without covering her mouth yet denied being sick. Another guide had been seeing them through their travel tribulations, a young Spanish girl Paola, who looked to be about 19. She admitted that this was her first guiding job.

The next day, we put on helmets and glacier spikes and set off for a "glacier walk." Walking on glaciers is very interesting but incredibly uncomfortable. It also did not inspire confidence because Sergio was overwhelmed with the larger group and began relying on Paola in increasingly impromptu ways. Both guides had to repeat the instructions several times to the new group members who apparently had a death wish. When there was something important but dangerous to see, like a hole in the ice that dropped several hundred feet down into a sub-glacier river, Sergio looked around and then yelled "Paola, stand there and hold them when they look down." It was very very cold (shocker!) and gently sleeting. Final answer: it was awesome, but not enjoyable. Hopefully that makes sense.

Spikes, harness, and helmet, plus a pick pilfered for the photo. About to scale the glacier behind me.

Glacier texture. Very spiky and hard; falls would result in blood for sure.

Gazing over the multi-hundred foot drop, with 90-pound Paola casually holding my harness for "safety."

Guide trailblazing under my watchful gaze.

Glacier views. Water mountains.

Rubén and Sergio

The now complete group.

With strained joints and sore calves, we made our way back down the glacier and into the boats. It was time to head into the Bay of Icebergs. Our captain for this portion was Niels, the most stereotypical sea-weathered explorer you could imagine. He deftly maneuvered the RIB in between thousands of icebergs, casually zipping along until the passage was completely blocked.

Niels, everyone's new hero.

Sergio and Niels conferred secretly for a bit, and the next thing we knew we were next to a hefty iceberg and Sergio was chipping it with his pick. He then whipped out some metal cups, put a little iceberg chip in each one, and poured some Martini liquor in there. At this point I would have preferred some hot tea, but I kept that to myself so as not to ruin the moment.

On the way "home" Niels took us by some icebergs the size of buildings.

As well as "the wall," the edge of the glacier that sometimes pushed entire shelves of ice into the sea. Birds frequent the area because the falling ice churns up the water and fish are easier to hunt.

The blue.

Clickbait: I was impressed with the tiny ice slide, but then THIS happened!!

Finally it was our last day, and we had the option of re-exploring iceberg bay, this time by kayak. The smaller watercraft would allow us to be among the icebergs without the sound of a motor, and to get closer since the underwater portion may allow a kayak where a boat would get stranded. Our guide for this part warned that sometimes the icebergs didn't cooperate: they may drift out of kayak zones and we might not see much. But our phenomenal luck held: not only did we see a ton, one huge one even flipped for us!

Here you see Corinne and Rubén followed by the Germans, followed by a big surprise.

Guys, that trip was magic. A lot of the best moments were generated by people, and you never know who will join you. Between that, the northern lights, the glacier breakage, and the volcano from Iceland, our luck was extraordinary. Wishing you tons of adventure for 2023!

Qujanaq for reading!