{"id":18,"date":"2009-05-15T16:49:21","date_gmt":"2009-05-15T20:49:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/?page_id=18"},"modified":"2010-02-10T13:09:58","modified_gmt":"2010-02-10T17:09:58","slug":"greenland","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/past-fellows\/2009-fellows\/greenland\/","title":{"rendered":"Nathan Hogan: Greenland"},"content":{"rendered":"

Upernavik: End of the Line<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I was nervous about Upernavik. It\u2019s extremely far north, though it\u2019s amazing how much\u00a0more<\/em>\u00a0of Greenland lies beyond it. Upernavik is also very small\u2013\u2013it\u2019s an island with a circumference of just a few miles\u2013\u2013and planes fly in and out only sporadically. I landed on a Saturday, and there was no option to leave before Thursday. I hoped that I would like the place and I did, very much. It\u2019s what I think of, now, when I think of Greenland.<\/p>\n

Here are some things I did in Upernavik:<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The cold, foggy hill where I pitched my tent<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I walked around in a heavy fog, looking for the hotel-restaurant my guidebook promised. I learned that it had shuttered, and that there wasn\u2019t anywhere to eat, sleep, or warm up any longer. I pitched my tent on a very high hill, near a giant satellite dish. I cooked elaborate meals on my camping stove and drank whiskey to keep warm. I wore all of my clothes to bed every night. It was always a relief to rediscover feeling in my fingers and toes in the morning.<\/p>\n

I took to pestering the quiet man managing the museum in the director\u2019s absence. After a lot of bothering, he finally let me into the old cooperage to shower and shave. The building had been recently renovated to function as a studio for artists. The last artists to live there were two women from North Carolina. They left their long hair in the shower drain and two inches of cold standing water in the stall. I cleaned the drain and took my shower. It was my first in over a week, and one of the best I\u2019ve ever taken. I went to thank the man afterward, but he\u2019d already closed up for the day. I think he was trying to avoid telling me that I couldn\u2019t sleep there.<\/p>\n

\"spoils\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Spoils of the hunt<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I descended the rickety staircase between my tent and the town about a thousand times, always pausing to admire the sawed-off head and hooves of a musk ox, drying on a rock.<\/p>\n

\"View\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

View from N72\u00ba48\u201918.2\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I walked the perimeter of the island twice, once clockwise and once counterclockwise. I saw the remains of an old turf hut, barely visible in the grass. On my first trip, I spent a while trying to find the northernmost spot on the island, thinking it was probably the northernmost place I\u2019d ever get. The next day, I saw an aerial photograph of the island, and realized that I\u2019d missed a small spit of rock that jutted out even farther. So, I repeated the trip a second time, in the rain, to reclaim my victory: N72\u00ba48\u201918.2\u201d<\/p>\n

I met a Danish doctor who was staying in Upernavik for a month-long residency. He worked mostly out of the hospital, but sometimes did overnights to the smaller settlements, scattered up and down Baffin Bay. At one settlement, of sixteen homes, they pushed two desks together at the school, and put paper down over top, as a place to see patients. Afterward they gave him two kinds of seal meat: one regular and one that confused him as to whether it was \u201cseal lung\u201d or \u201cseal young.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Navarana\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Navarana Freuchen’s grave<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I found the grave of Peter Freuchen\u2019s wife, Navarana, who died on the fifth Thule expedition. The ground in Upernavik is frozen most of the year, so the graves are raised and covered in rocks. The smell of death is faint but detectable.<\/p>\n

\"A\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

A view of the pitch<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I watched many hours of an annual soccer tournament between Upernavik and the surrounding settlements. I ate\u00a0aebleskiver<\/em>\u00a0and clapped for both sides. The crowds were enthusiastic\u2013\u2013lots of shouting and airhorns\u2013\u2013but the biggest cheers were reserved for the icebergs in the bay, which would calve loudly, every now and again. Sometimes the ball would fly errantly into the bay, and then all the kids would rush down and throw rocks at it in a vain attempt to coax it in. In general, the games were a lot of fun\u2013\u2013I was impressed by the skill and physicality of the teams, particularly after learning that, in many of the settlements, there isn\u2019t anywhere flat enough to practice, and they have to wait until the harbor freezes to get a real workout.<\/p>\n

I spent hours hand-copying the wall labels at the museum, which detailed the complex dividing principles involved in traditional hunting.<\/p>\n

I finished\u00a0War and Peace<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The old church (1839)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I found the most beautiful building in Greenland, a church built in 1839. Inside, there were chandeliers made from brass salvaged from a 1921 shipwreck. There were countless dead flies on the floor and windowsills. They looked oddly lovely against the gleaming white walls.<\/p>\n

I met a lab tech from the hospital who was trying to get a kayak rental business off the ground. It took him months to get permission to build\u2013\u2013he complained of rampant nepotism\u2013\u2013but he got it, and now he\u2019s struggling to get a structure up before winter. I tried to talk him into taking me out kayaking, but the timing and the weather never worked. He was understandably more intent on shoveling his basement out before the ground froze. I helped him move some rocks, and talked to him while digging. He had a terrifically dry sense of humor, and was at once very cynical about Greenland, but also committed to making a life there. I wrote down some of the things he told me in a little notebook. After getting back, someone showed me an article about Upernavik in\u00a0Outside\u00a0<\/em>magazine, in which he says all of the same things, almost verbatim. I laughed at that. I hope he got his basement finished.<\/p>\n

I saw the Kingigtorssuaq runestone. It\u2019s much smaller than I expected. It was found atop a cairn on an island north of Upernavik. It\u2019s been dated to 1250-1350 A.D. and represents the northernmost artifact left behind by the Vikings. How it got there is something of a mystery.<\/p>\n

\"Chartering\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Chartering the boat<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I found out that the Danish doctor and some nurses from the hospital had chartered a small motorboat to travel to the inland ice, and I talked them into letting me pay-in to come along. We sped through the fjords and I sat in the bow and looked up at the giant, intricately carved icebergs while the doctor and the nurses laughed and chattered in Danish. We stopped off at a settlement, where a small group of smiling kids showed us how they liked to hop between bags of gravel for fun. The town wasn\u2019t much more than a few houses, a school with funny wooden cutouts of seal and narwhal on one of the walls. There was also a hand-painted sign memorializing Michael Jackson. I walked aimlessly around, thinking about how I was farther from home than I\u2019ve ever been before\u2013\u2013hours by motorboat to Upernavik, two days and three flights just to get to Nuuk, a few more days before the next available hop to Reykjavik, another night before crossing the Atlantic home\u2026<\/p>\n

\"Far\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Far from home. Mostly.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u2026 But, in the end that\u2019s what I did. It seemed like everyone in Upernavik knew someone who was either arriving or departing on my flight; they streamed up the hill from town to say teary hellos and teary goodbyes. I was the only one who didn\u2019t know anybody. And then the Danish doctor arrived to see a friend of his off, so I got to wish someone well after all.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s a wrap, I guess. Thanks so much for reading.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Uummannaq<\/strong><\/p>\n

October 24, 2009<\/span><\/p>\n

\"In\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

In the helicopter to Uummannaq<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

North of Disko Bay is where you really break free of the travelers\u2013\u2013not to mention amenities like restaurants and places to sleep (to be fair, there is one of each in Uummannaq, though I\u2019d soon be doing without either). The town is still a ferry terminal, however, so for the few hours that the boat is in harbor, people mill about taking pictures. No sooner does it pull out than the locals stare at you like maybe you missed it. The only other way to get there is by helicopter, which is how I made the trip. Too small for a runway, the island survives on these 10-minute helio-hops from nearby Qaarsuut. It\u2019s a gorgeous ride if you don\u2019t mind tucking your legs behind the bags of mail and other cargo.<\/p>\n

\"Uummannaq's\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Uummannaq’s historical center<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I had two days in the town and I spent the first exploring the sweetly picturesque old center. The most appealing historical district I encountered all trip, the various buildings\u2013\u2013a beautiful granite church, a squat yellow-washed blubber house, a well-preserved vicarage, and three traditional turf houses\u2013\u2013are artfully arranged around the harbor, and because the only market and restaurant are nearby, it remains the focal point of foot traffic. The museum is one of Greenland\u2019s finest and the turf huts are manned by an octogenarian volunteer who wouldn\u2019t let me leave until he\u2019d dutifully pantomimed the complicated creation of a pair of traditional\u00a0kamiks<\/em>\u00a0(sealskin boots). He clapped me on the back many times, laughing at how tall I was and how low the turf hut ceilings are.<\/p>\n

\"Inside\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Inside a traditional turf house<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

A quick note about the turf houses: nearly everyone in Greenland lived in them until the forced consolidation\/public housing boom of the 1950s. They look pretty rough from the outside, but every one I\u2019ve been in\u2013\u2013almost a dozen\u2013\u2013has been unfailingly clean, bright, and sweet-smelling, like the citrusy moss that grows everywhere here. Every time I go inside one I expect it to be dank and dark, and every time I\u2019m pleasantly surprised. They\u2019re really quite cozy.<\/p>\n

I probably shouldn\u2019t have gotten this far without mentioning Uummannaq\u2019s most distinctive feature. The sheer 1200m. mountain at the island\u2019s far end ends up being the backdrop for every view of (and from) town. Made of colorfully banded gneiss, the peak is pretty unusual compared to others I saw in Greenland\u2013\u2013it looks better suited to the Andes. Nevertheless it\u2019s really beautiful, and the light constantly toys with its colors. I met a climber from Zurich intent on summiting it\u2013\u2013he\u2019d already been partway up to test the rock and drop off some gear. Personally, I was more than happy to circle the base and gaze up at the thing, which I did on my second day. The sun was impossibly bright, and my shadow eerily stark against the rocks while I walked. I kept feeling like there was someone next to me.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Uummannaq’s distinctive peak<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I left town on a Saturday, and whether it was because of some unknown holiday or simply post-payday festivities, everyone in town seemed to be out drinking. Bottles were clinking in Pilersuisuoq bags, and the same people who greeted me a day before with blank stares were now waving me over to chat. To a person, everyone seemed smitten with their town, promising me that it never rained and that they would never consider moving anywhere else. By the time it was necessary to head to the helioport, I had a pretty warm feeling about Uummannaq\u2013\u2013I was headed much farther north, where it was rumored to be much colder, and I had some regrets about abandoning that glorious sun.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Qeqertarsuaq<\/strong><\/p>\n

October 5, 2009<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Qeqertarsuaq\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Qeqertarsuaq framed by ice<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

It can\u2019t be more than thirty miles from Ilulissat, but tiny Qeqertarsuaq\u2013\u2013the only active settlement on Disko Island\u2013\u2013is worlds apart in every way. For one thing, the island is relatively new (in geological terms), so the bizarre basalt cliffs and thick, verdant vegetation are markedly different from anything to the west. But the town itself has a completely different feel, too: sleepy, relaxed, relatively indifferent to the visitors who trickle in off the ferry. Large, bright blue icebergs dot the bay, rumbling and calving all through the night. It ended up being more than a nice respite from the bustle of Ilulissat and actually one of my favorite spots in all of Greenland.<\/p>\n

\"Qeqertarsuaq's\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Qeqertarsuaq’s museum<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The colonial old town is pretty much limited to the former inspector\u2019s home, which now functions as the town museum. It seems that the bulk of the funding for the museum was made possible by the descendents of Philip Rosendahl, who served as the bailiff for the entire northwestern region of Greenland during the early part of the last century. As a result, much of the first floor is dedicated to him\u2013\u2013the walls are covered with photos, and his bailiff\u2019s uniform, complete with gold-braided epaulettes. is proudly displayed in a large glass case. It\u2019s all very comical because you can tell from the photos that Rosendahl was someone who did not like a big fuss to be made about him. It\u2019s possible to pick him out in group shots just by his posture\u2013\u2013standing always a bit awkwardly off to the side, slinking down a little, always the man apart. I feel confident he would have been embarrassed by the idea of the exhibit, so the whole thing is sort of amusing. The woman running the museum was kind enough to leave it open while I lingered in the reading room upstairs. There were lots of yellowing community papers and pamphlets that made me sorry not to be able to to read Greenlandic, or even much Danish. Still, it was possible to glean some tidbits after lots of time spent digging.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The driver harnesses the dogs<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Disko Island is the only place in Greenland where it\u2019s possible to dogsled during the summer months\u2013\u2013high up on the Lyngsmarksbraen, whose ice cap stays frozen year-round. Getting up to the base hut is a steep but really pleasant climb; with few switchbacks, it\u2019s pretty much straight up into the clouds, but once you clear them the sun is bright and glorious.<\/p>\n

Once up top, I drank coffee and ice melt on the porch of the hut and waited for the ride to begin. In true Greenlandic fashion, there\u2019s no indication of where or when or what to do. When I heard dogs yipping, I walked over and stood and watched them get harnessed. When the driver was finished, he walked straight past me and yelled up to the hut. Coming back, he seemed confused why I wasn\u2019t already on the sled. I sat down, he fussed with the lines, and all of the sudden we were flying.<\/p>\n

\"A\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

A member of the sled team<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

It was great, of course\u2013\u2013how could it not be? He clucked and hissed and whistled constantly at the fifteen dogs, nicking their paws with the end of a whip for infractions I couldn\u2019t discern. The dogs kicked through the snow, tails up, constantly changing position. The driver spoke no Danish, let along English, so I couldn\u2019t even begin to ask the million questions I wanted to. After about 45 minutes, we stopped abruptly. The dogs immediately started gulping greedily at the snow, the driver stood up to piss, then sat down again and lit a cigarette. I walked around for a while, snapping pictures of the dogs, many of whom were already napping. After 10 minutes, he tossed his cigarette, I quickly hopped on the sled, and we sped off back to the hut. The way back was almost all downhill, the clouds clearing to reveal the icy bay all spread out below. When we got back, he tied the dogs up and hopped on a snowmobile to travel maybe fifty feet to the hut. It was funny\u2013\u2013very Greenlandic, really.<\/p>\n

\"Disko\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Disko Island’s basalt<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The opportunity to dogsled made Qeqertarsuaq unforgettable, but I also really loved the sea cliffs east of town. About an hour\u2019s walk from the center, tracing the coast line, the rolling hills change dramatically, to strange pillars of basalt. Assuming all manner of otherworldly shapes, the cliffs and caves are further enhanced by glacial melt pouring through their porous sides, and wet moss growing around beds of brightly colored wildflowers. The whole maze of rock formations just goes and goes, every turn offering new, incredible views. The whole thing is really beyond description\u2013\u2013like the perfect spot for the world\u2019s best game of hide-and-seek.<\/p>\n


\n<\/span><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Ilullissat<\/span><\/h2>\n

October 1, 2009<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Ilulissat\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Ilulissat ice<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u201cThis is it,\u201d raves the\u00a0Lonely Planet<\/em>. \u201cThis is why you came to Greenland and spent all that money. Ilulissat is one of those places so spectacular that it just makes everything else pale in comparison.\u201d Well, call me contrarian, but there are a half-dozen towns and settlements I\u2019ll look back on more fondly. Home to a UNESCO world heritage site\u2013\u2013the truly awesome Ilulissat Kangerlua (icefjord), choked with towering, glistening, impossibly sized bergs from the most prolific glacier outside of Antarctica\u2013and a smothering tourist industry to match it, Ilulissat is a town where you can drop $100 for two nights of camping and a hiking map; where the Air Greenland-owned \u201cWorld of Greenland\u201d tourist office sells obscenely expensive excursions and boasts display cases full of artisanal crafts carved from polar bear claws and endangered whale species\u2013\u2013with disingenuous signs reminding that these things are illegal to export (as if native Greenlanders are their intended customers).<\/p>\n

\"Another\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Trying to capture the ice<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The ice is gorgeous; the town stinks a little. I\u2019m sincerely glad that there are benches and wooden walkways\u2013\u2013not everything should be wild and mosquito-bitten and miles from any town or road. But there is nowhere in Ilulissat to even get impartial information. Every \u201ctourism office\u201d is furiously peddling something, and people seem dizzy if they\u2019re not buying just the right thing. The\u00a0Lonely Planet<\/em>\u00a0is right-\u2013Ilulissat is unmistakably suffused with a sense that \u201cthis is it,\u201d but it\u2019s that very quality that makes it frantic, fraught, and a little depressing. I wandered around for days, snapping photos of the ice, using other people\u2019s enormous cameras to snap photos of\u00a0them<\/em>\u00a0in front of the ice, and after a while I realized that part of the problem is that the photos never do it. Every one is so frustrating because it\u2019s impossible to capture the scale or the colors, and every botched attempt makes it necessary to snap two more, to shell out for a helicopter or a boat that will take you\u00a0even closer<\/em>\u00a0to something so massive and indifferent and impossible to comprehend. Finally, I fought the urge and put my camera away.<\/p>\n

\"Rasmussen's\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Rasmussen’s birthplace<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Here are some things that redeemed Ilulissat for me. Knud Rasmussen was born here (speaking of larger than life) and the old vicarage where he was born now houses a museum. There\u2019s a little curtained-off corner where you can linger and watch his 1933 film\u00a0Palo\u2019s Wedding<\/em><\/a>, and on the creaky top floor are the original drawings he collected from Polar Inuit during his 5th Thule Expedition\u2013\u2013the \u201cDanish Ethnographic Expedition to Arctic America.\u201d These drawings are so marvelous\u2013so modest and small and compositionally elegant. They\u2019re like little pencil-scratched depictions of dogsleds and seal hunters atop an Agnes Martin canvas. I loved them, and how they\u2019re displayed in a creaky old attic. They were a wonderful little escape from town.<\/p>\n

\"One\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

One of the Polar Inuit drawings<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

On my way out to the airport\u2013\u2013a long trudge with a heavy pack\u2013\u2013an old man pulled over his pick-up even before I could stick out my thumb. He was headed to the airport to pick up his sister, visiting from Sisimiut. He was bursting with excitement to see her. He had few teeth and spoke almost no English, but we muddled through together. It couldn\u2019t have been more than 3 or 4 km. of driving, but he slowed way down to get his story out. He was a proud Sisimiut booster, raising his fist triumphantly every time he said the word. I asked him why he\u2019d moved away and couldn\u2019t really make straight his answer\u2013\u2013his dogs are here and he can\u2019t leave them. Can you take them back? Yes, but no. Do you hunt with them? Used to, but the ice in the bay isn\u2019t what it used to be. Works at the fish processing plant now, but that\u2019s not what it used to be either. Has lived in Ilulissat for twenty years, but it\u2019s not Sisimiut. \u201cSisimiut!\u201d he said again with a raised fist and a far-off smile. I could tell that he was slowing down to impart this elegaic message\u2013\u2013that nothing is any longer what it used to be. But there he was, on the way to the airport to see his sister, bursting with happiness. The two sentiments kept fighting each other to a draw. It was a really nice ride.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Aasiaat<\/span><\/h2>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

September 22, 2009<\/p>\n

\"Aasiaat's\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Aasiaat’s coat of arms<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Aasiaat, an island on the southern edge of Disko Bay, means \u201cthe spiders\u201d in Greenlandic. The town was taken enough with its name that it developed a coat-of-arms featuring a very graphically appealing spider\u2019s web. Recognizing its appeal, all of the rest of the municipalities in Western Greenland quickly followed suit with their own,\u00a0equally<\/a>\u00a0amazing<\/a>\u00a0versions<\/a>. All that\u2019s left is for someone with silkscreening skills to put them on t-shirts and make them available to buy online. Somebody\u2013please!<\/p>\n

After five days in Kangerlussuaq, I\u2019d almost forgotten what real Greenlandic towns look like. In that sense, Aasiaat was a breath of (foggy, brisk) fresh air. Spread out over a rocky, precipitous island, the community is comprised of boxy, brightly painted houses, and boasts the by-now familiar 1-2 olfactory punch of drying seal ribs and ripe sled dog shit.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The 18th century Old Town and 21st century harbor<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Aasiaat\u2019s colonial old town is small but very beautiful\u2013\u2013two cleverly constructed buildings (the first from 1778, the second from 1826) that served as the whaling station commander\u2019s residence and the trading manager\u2019s home, respectively. The museum is equally small but informative\u2013\u2013they had some beautiful photographs from Qaanaaq, plus useful information on how the styles of traditional Inuit clothing change as you move farther north. There\u2019s a lot of overlap in the small town museums, but I manage to learn something new and useful at each.<\/p>\n

\"Sled\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Sled dog pups visit my tent<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Aasiaat is small and very cold, and it didn\u2019t take me long to exhaust its offerings. After games of checkers down by the docks and many cups of coffee at the Seaman\u2019s home, I was itching to head north. Falling asleep early in preparation for a dawn ferry ride, I awoke to a loud scratching at my tent. By failing to tuck away the pastry I\u2019d bought for the morning, I managed to arouse the curiosity of a couple of sled dog pups who proved tough to shake. Eventually everything settled down, however, and after a cold night it was onwards up Disko Bay.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Kangerlussuaq<\/span><\/h2>\n

September 14, 2009<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"Decaying\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Decaying U.S. Radar Equipment in Kangerlussuaq<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

After nine days on the trail, Emily and I wasted no time seeking out what the former US airforce base Kangerlussuaq had to offer in terms of R&R. It turns out not much: the artificial \u201ctown\u201d exists solely for its runway\u2013\u2013because of the facilities the military left behind after the Cold War, it\u2019s now the central transportation hub for all of Western Greenland. There\u2019s practically nothing else to say for it, however; aside for the airport complex (home to a hotel and cafeteria), the town is basically comprised of some blocky barracks, a small market, and a tiny pizza operation. That\u2019s it.<\/p>\n

Of course, our first order of business was getting a room and washing more than a week\u2019s worth of dirt off to see the sun damage underneath. After that, sleeping. And after that, hitting the cafeteria breakfast buffet hard. For the rest of the day we napped, snacked, and watched the unpredictable smorgasbord that is Greenlandic TV (I can\u2019t believe I actually saw\u00a0Dr. T. and the Women<\/em>).<\/p>\n

Not knowing just how long the hike might take, I allowed for 12 days on the trail, plus two on the other end as a cushion before the plane northwards. Because we had hiked relatively quickly, that meant we had five days to burn in Kangerlussuaq\u2013\u2013a town with less than nothing to do. Almost as psychologically trying as the hike itself, the subsequent days were spent reading, writing, people-watching, and exchanging war stories with the trekkers who trickled in after us.<\/p>\n

\"One\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

One of the few sites in town<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

We also sampled everything on offer at the airport cafeteria at least twice, and paid a long visit to Kangerlussuaq\u2019s niche-oriented museum. It\u2019s a treasure trove for anyone interested in Greenlandic plane crashes, the history of SAS airline routes, and Cold War-era radio equipment. Not really my bag, but the curator was charming. He seemed especially impressed that we were younger than 60, and insisted opening a series of \u201cspecial\u201d exhibits for us. Housed in the old Sondrestrom U.S. Air Force Command, he showed us the general\u2019s old office, which still looked exactly the way it did when he locked up and left for good in the early 1990s. I sensed that the curator had been itching to sit in the executive chair\u2013\u2013beneath the mounted musk ox head\u2013\u2013for twenty years, but couldn\u2019t quite work up the nerve to do it.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The town viewed from across the river<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

By the third day, we decided to do the unthinkable\u2013\u2013hike again. Greenland\u2019s largest herds of musk oxen call the grassy valleys around Kangerlussuaq home, and we were told that instead of shelling out for a pricey excursion to see them, we might have luck hiking past an ex-US radar facility, where the animals are said to be partial to licking the moss on the far bank of a small salt lake. Well, no dice. The walk was sort of useful as a time killer and a way to get reacquainted with aching muscles, but the wildlife was sadly elusive. When, on the way back to the airport I began to experience phantom limb syndrome from where my pack had rested on my shoulders, I knew it was time to take a break from the walking for a while.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The only way out of town<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

On our last day in Kangerlussuaq, rumors started to fly about a potential Air Greenland strike\u2013\u2013the second potentially disruptive transportation strike of the trip. We even saw a plane whose detailing had been defaced to read \u201cAir Gree____d.\u201d Fortunately, we made it out in the end, aboard an otherwise empty twin otter flight to Aasiaat. While taxiing, the flight attendant told me that the cloud cover was so heavy that the pilot had nearly been forced to turn around and head back to Kangerlussuaq. I\u2019m really glad she waited until our arrival to let me know.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/span><\/p>\n

Arctic Circle Trail, Part II<\/span><\/h2>\n

September 8, 2009 at 1:47 pm<\/abbr><\/p>\n

\n

Day 4 to N67\u00ba03 x W52\u00ba38<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Drying\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Drying out at one of the huts<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

We got rained on only once, but it was a killer\u2013\u2013ten hours of downpour, observed restlessly from the tent, before deciding we couldn\u2019t bear to wait it out. We spent a while strategizing how to cook breakfast and break down our camp most dryly and efficiently, but of course we were soaked through upon departure. Fortunately, the hut we hoped to make by evening was upon us by mid-afternoon, but the last hundred yards involved a rushing river crossing that had me going face-first into the water. In the end, the hut made everything better\u2013\u2013a Greenlandic family was already hunkered down, the kerosene stove roaring. They kindly cleared space on the clothesline and pretended not to be grossed out wh<\/span><\/span><\/span>i<\/span><\/span><\/span>le I bandaged the foot I\u2019d sliced up on the sharp rocks from the river. We learned later that the mother was a superstar athlete\u2013\u2013an annual competitor in Greenland\u2019s grueling Arctic Circle X-C ski race\u2013\u2013and felt a bit sheepish about our drenched and sorry state. We ended up staying all afternoon and evening, reading Tolstoy, drinking whiskey, and eating chocolate.<\/span><\/span><\/span>\u00a0<\/p>\n

Day 5 to N66\u00ba59 x W52\u00ba21<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"One\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

One of the last cairns we’d see on Day 5<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

On this afternoon we missed a cairn and climbed steeply up a hunting trail, surprising a mother duck who did an elaborate pantomime of wounded flight to distract us from her vulnerable ducklings. Realizing our wayfinding mistake, but refusing to go all the way down again only to climb the ridge elsewhere, we decided to plunge ahead with the map as our guide, following a river and then a shoreline with the intention of meeting up with the trail again by evening. It was sort of an unwise improvisation, but it paid off in one of my favorite moments of the hike. Bushwhacking through dwarf willow, swatting helplessly at bugs, I thought I spotted a cairn very high on a ridge. It was too soon to be the trail, but we climbed up to it anyway, discovering that it was much longer and lower than the other piles of rock. Gazing out at an incredible view\u2013\u2013the lake spread out towards the horizon, birds diving from the edge of the rocky bluff\u2013\u2013I realized that it was a grave. The National Museum in Nuuk had mentioned how, for centuries, the Inuit buried their dead under stones, and always at the mouths of rivers or overlooking large bays. This fit that description exactly, and although I would see a number of such graves in the weeks after, none was as haunting\u2013\u2013or with a view as breathtaking\u2013\u2013as this one.<\/span><\/p>\n

Day 7 to N66\u00ba55 x W51\u00ba31<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"Paddling\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Paddling on Day 7<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

There is one leg of the hike where you can cheat magnificently. There are eight or so canoes on one of the long glacial lakes that the Arctic Circle Trail traces for a good 15 miles. Because everyone for some reason hikes the trail going the other way, the boats tend to pile up at the west end of the lake. We hit this point on Day 7\u2013\u2013shoulders and calves screaming, sick of walking, desperate for any other possible mode of transport. Seeing the aluminum canoes shining from atop a ridge was great, but the paddling itself was even better. We stowed our bags between the gunwales an slipped into the glassy water. For part of the afternoon the surface was so still that the reflection of mountains and clouds was eerily exact\u2013\u2013it was so impossible to tell up from down that it felt like we were paddling through the sky. We camped on an isolated spit on the far end of the lake and listened to the loons call back and forth all evening.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Arctic Circle Trail, Part I<\/span><\/h2>\n

September 4, 2009 at 9:26 pm<\/abbr><\/p>\n

\n
\"Four\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Four days from anywhere on the Arctic Circle Trail<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The 100-mile trek between Sisimiut and Kangerlussuaq is variously described as a \u201cbackpacking classic\u201d and \u201cone of the great walks of the world.\u201d I\u2019m a sucker for just that sort of thing, and decided early that the hike would be central to my proposal. In the past, I\u2019ve found that after three or four days of continuous walking my feet and mind slip into strange and productive new rhythms, difficult to otherwise replicate. And because my project is in some sense\u00a0about\u00a0<\/em>an altered state\u2013\u2013an epistemological crisis, an imagined obstruction of ice and rock that occurs only after many weeks at sea\u2013\u2013it seemed somehow important to enact my protagonist\u2019s voyage in miniature. Plus, in less lofty terms, a 100-mile walk across wild Greenland just seemed ridiculously romantic to me. I mean, right?<\/p>\n

\n
\"A\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

A reindeer blazes a false path<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Well of course it\u2019s one thing to like the sound of something and another to be doing it\u2013\u2013day\u00a0in and day out. Emily, my companion for the trek, and I have done multi-day hikes before, but by the end of just the first leg it was clear that this was something beyond what either of us was used to. In Greenlandic terms, the route is enormously popular (most days we\u2019d encounter one or sometimes two parties, almost always going the other way). Even so, the trail itself is often just a rumor; cairns are clustered together in some places and altogether absent in others. Making this much harder is the fact that the route is crisscrossed with misleading reindeer paths. We often found ourselves moving briskly away from a cairn before noticing heaps of scat, and a path quickly narrowing into untrodden marshland.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The terrain at 66\u00ba North<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The terrain this far north\u2013\u2013just above the Arctic Circle\u2013\u2013has some definite pros and cons. For one, there aren\u2019t any trees, which makes contour map-reading terrifically easy. On the flip side, the walking isn\u2019t quite a stroll through a rolling meadow; much of the low-elevation hiking is through boggy swamps with beautiful but challenging mounds of moss and grass. These hillocks are spaced about a stride apart, and covered over so that you can\u2019t see the ankle-cracking crevasses between them. Even apart from these traps, the surface is spongy and absorbent to such a degree that it feels like walking through knee-high snow . I read somewhere that it\u2019s like \u201cwalking on basketballs,\u201d and that totally nails it.<\/p>\n

\"A\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

A rare moment free of the headnet<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I wasn\u2019t accustomed to multiple river fordings per day, mosquitos so persistent that\u00a0headnets were an absolute must, or having many days between latrines (there are huts, but they\u2019re irregularly spaced, and only two in 100 miles have bag toilets). So, it was a little rough out there, but we made it out okay\u2013\u20139 days of walking, 100.2 miles on the GPS odometer, plugging away with 50 lbs. (minus our diminishing food) more or less on each of our backs. We\u2019re pretty proud it\u2019s behind us, and have decided that the only way we\u2019ll ever do it again is via the 3-day winter dogsledding option.<\/p>\n

Because no one wants to read a minute-by-minute (or even a day-by-day) account of a 9-day, 100-mile hike, I figured I would pick out three highlights\u2013\u2013the best moments of an epic walk. I\u2019ll post those next.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

—\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n


\n<\/span><\/h2>\n

<\/a>Maniitsoq<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Climbing aboard the \u201cMarie\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The\u00a0Arctic Umiaq Line<\/span><\/a> (AUL) is Greenland\u2019s only long-distance passenger ferry, so I was expecting something a bit bigger\u2013\u2013leaving the harbor of the capital city, mind\u2013\u2013than theMarie Martek<\/em>. Alas, the\u00a0Marie<\/em>was what I got\u2013\u2013smaller than a fishing boat, with seating for twelve, though the only other passenger between Nuuk and Maniitsoq was a homesick pre-teen with a tub of Haribo. The captain was gruff and heavyset, and seemed not to want the first mate to ever take the wheel. When he had to use the head, he would jog to the back and the controls would be unmanned for as long as he was gone. The first mate was scruffy and spindly, and smelled of wet cigars. He moved from the Faroe Islands to Sisimiut 35 years ago, and when I mentioned that his country was beautiful, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. \u201cThere are no trees,\u201d he pointed out.<\/p>\n

\"Fishing\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Fishing village between Nuuk and Maniitsoq<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The ride really was gorgeous, though\u2013\u2013miles and miles of snow-smothered mountains as we maneuvered through the maze of fjords. We stopped along the way at remote fishing villages, sometimes to pick up a passenger, sometimes to drop off a bag of mail. They were like something out of time\u2013\u2013dirt paths winding between boxy, brightly painted homes, men sharing coffee on the decks of rusting fishing boats with harpoon guns mounted to the prow, markets selling frozen musk ox, digestive crackers, and long-range hunting rifles. At one of the villages, I climbed the rocks in back of town to get a view of the harbor and ate lunch while watching whales blow jets of water toward the distant horizon.<\/p>\n

\"The\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

It took a full day to get to Maniitsoq, and by the time I arrived most everything was\u00a0closed. A patch of grass between the sweet little town library and the rows of white crosses comprising the cemetery seemed the best place to pitch a tent. Very early the next morning I awoke to a whistling, chattering procession of voices: fishermen, or perhaps ghosts from the Maniitsoq cemetery? I never found out, but the timing was fortuitous because the sweetMarie<\/em> was pulling out early for Sisimiut.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Nuuk<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Nuuk's\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Nuuk’s historic old town<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

I began my journey in Nuuk, Greenland\u2019s capital and\u2013\u2013with 17,000 residents\u2013\u2013by far its biggest city. My first impression was that it was warm\u2013\u2013warmer, anyway, than I had feared\u2013\u2013and after locating my bag (there were only about twenty of us on the twin-propeller plane from Reykjavik) I hiked down the hill from the airport to a rocky patch of grass along the Labrador Sea, where wild camping seemed possible. With a traditional turf hut \u00a0built into the hillside on one side of my tent and a view of the craggy Sermitisiaq mountain across the water on the other, it all seemed pretty idyllic. But I learned the hard way that weather changes quickly in Greenland\u2013\u2013so much so that long underwear, fleece, a wool hat and gloves aren\u2019t always going to cut it inside a sleeping bag. The next morning I packed up quickly and found a warm bed inside the Godth\u00e5bshallen\u2013\u2013a cavernous youth sports complex overlooking a graffiti-covered skate park. The \u201chostel\u201d is really a bunk room that accommodates visiting sports teams. Thankfully, no matches were scheduled during my visit.<\/p>\n

\"View\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

View from the Godth\u00e5bshallen<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Nuuk was founded in 1728 by a Danish missionary whose effigy looms large over the picturesque old quarter of the town. It only really boomed in the 1950s, when Denmark made an effort to modernize the country by erecting enormous concrete housing blocks, which are now in a pretty sorry state. The contrast between the quaint historical center\u2013\u2013where it\u2019s still possible to see families walking on Sunday in traditional embroidered sweaters, white\u00a0kamik<\/em>\u00a0boots, and sealskin pants\u2013\u2013and the looming, paint-peeled housing projects is pretty stark. It\u2019s a tension that\u2019s apparent all over town, from the austere cemetery with naked white crosses that sits next to a fast food restaurant, to the apartment buildings where reindeer antlers hang beside TV antennas.<\/p>\n

\"Old\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Old and new in Nuuk<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

For me, the twin highlights of Nuuk were the\u00a0Katuaq Cultural Center<\/a>\u00a0and the National Museum. The former\u2013\u2013a sleek, modern building that curves along the street like a wood and glass wave\u2013\u2013accessibly blends modern Danish design with a more traditional Greenlandic aesthetic. The successful commingling transcends the architecture, too\u2013\u2013the coffeeshop is a warm and welcoming place to readPolitiken<\/em>\u00a0or gather large families for lunch. In a town where national\/colonial tensions are sometimes palpable, Katuaq felt\u2013to an outsider, anyway\u2013\u2013like a space that defused some of that.<\/p>\n

\"Protest\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

Protest outside Katuaq Cultural Center<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The other real highlight is the small but bountiful\u00a0National Museum<\/a>, which was full of artifacts and displays that are going to be useful for my project (I lingered for hours taking notes). The highlight, featured some time ago on a\u00a0National Geographic<\/em>\u00a0cover, are the Qilakitsoq mummies, a group of eerily well preserved 15th-century Inuit, wrapped in furs. But there are many other fascinating relics, covering everything from Pre-Dorset cultures to 18th-century whaling to the post-1950s period of modernization.<\/p>\n

\"One\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

One of the Qllakitsoq mummies<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Rumors of a strike down by the docks left me uncertain just where my ferry would leave from, and I spent my last morning racing between harbors. I successfully found the tiny boat, though, and headed north to Maniitsoq.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2014<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"nathan1\"<\/p>\n

Nathan Hogan<\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019m greatly looking forward to exploring the western coast of Greenland for seven weeks this summer. Since January, I\u2019ve been at work on a historical novel about 19th century British Royal Navy Captain John Ross, and I\u2019m hoping to get a fuller sense of what he experienced on his 1818 voyage in search of the Northwest Passage. I\u2019m particularly excited to visit the National Museum in Nuuk, see the Kangerlua glacier at Ilulissat, go summer dogsledding on Disko Island, and complete the 112-mile backpacking route that connects Sisimiut and Kangerlussuaq.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n


\n<\/span>\n<\/p>\n

\"dogsled1\"<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

—<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Upernavik: End of the Line I was nervous about Upernavik. It\u2019s extremely far north, though it\u2019s amazing how much\u00a0more\u00a0of Greenland lies beyond it. Upernavik is also very small\u2013\u2013it\u2019s an island with a circumference of just a few miles\u2013\u2013and planes fly in and out only sporadically. I landed on a Saturday, and there was no option […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":320,"featured_media":0,"parent":1399,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/18"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/320"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18"}],"version-history":[{"count":134,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/18\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":246,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/18\/revisions\/246"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1399"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.bu.edu\/world\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}