Land of Ice and Fog: Ch 3

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Farewell

Old and new: we’ve seen both on this journey. Iceland: a new island of the old world. Greenland: a land of old traditions struggling to come to terms with new ideas. The Explorer: an old ship with a new face on her inaugural voyage. Tonight: the end of an expedition and the start of new school years for Amanda and I. Despite being “new” members of this old Lindblad family, we have been welcomed whole-heartedly. We’ve been shown such kindness, so to all of you: Quyanasuaq! We’re especially grateful to Karen Copeland, our “mentor” on this voyage. From our initial calls and emails, to staring at a rock in Nanortalik, Karen has encouraged our curiosity and guided our footsteps. We’d like to leave you with some of our favorite memories. Takuus!

Thursday 8-14-08

We start the day with Alexandra Cousteau’s second presentation. Many people pipe up afterwards with some story of water problems, pollution problems, or hope. After this, I float about (metaphorically speaking) on the decks and watch as we dock in Nuuk. It is a grey and drizzly day, made worse by the bitter wind. As a capital city, Nuuk is not large; it has some 15000 residents, five round-abouts, one traffic light, and no high-rise buildings (that I see, at least). Our guide, Stephanie, tells us that land is parceled out in Greenland by lottery; if you want land, you enter the lottery and win a ninety-nine year lease. No one owns the land. Building here is difficult, because you can’t dig foundations due to the rocks. Some of the oldest rocks on earth are here: 3.8 billion years. We pass the hospital, a sprawling complex of one-story, yellow and orange buildings. Amanda and I visit the fish market, the bloody floor and stalls of which are as red as its bright paint. The museum we visit is interesting and houses an umiak from the 15th century that was found very far north, as well as four mummies. These lie in glass cases within a dim room. There are three women and one baby. The three women are brown and shriveled; their skin pulls taught against their bones, their hands placed upon their chest, near their throats. Their teeth strike me most— small and white and well-placed. They wear clothes of fur and feather, so that only their faces and hands are exposed, their skin drawn away from the blackened nails. Their hair has fallen away and bunches beneath their skulls like wigs. The baby is tiny and looks like a perfect— albeit dirty— porcelain doll. Its skin is white, and the mouth and eyes are still lined with color, rather than the empty sockets of the women. It too is wrapped in furs. The posted information suggests no method of death, but scientists believe that they are all closely related, of the Thule culture, and that they died five hundred years ago. I leave as soon as Amanda has seen her fill, for it is eerie standing and scrutinizing these skeletons that had been laid to rest once but now lie on display.
We then check out the shopping district, but things are very expensive here. In the a store that seems to be the Greenlandic version of Wal-mart, we find Indiana Jones, High School Musical II, Sweeney Todd, Ferris Bueler’s Day Off, etc, as well as clothes, toys, and food. We leave shortly after, for it is a grey day and we’re done exploring.
Or— maybe we’re not done exploring. Our fabulous leader Tim announces a somewhat spur of the moment expedition: to find the mysterious, lost western settlement. However, we have only Xeroxed charts borrowed from the neighboring ship and a tiny x in a fjord. Nevertheless, we set off. We disembark around 9:30 at night and land on a great granite slope that shortly surrenders to the usual flora of arctic willow, blueberry, crowberry, lichens, and mosses, etc. However, deep in this little fjord, with spectacular mountains rising above (especially to the west-ish) we find a new plant: the aromatic Labrador tea. Jad, who is working on an article about Greenland’s western settlements, manages to shoot some beautiful pictures.
We stumble about in this moss-swathed, glacial-sediment valley until we see a light blink upon the mountain behind us (northeast-ish). This, I later learn, is Jes, who has found something that could be ruins. He has also found a great big reindeer skull with antlers, which lies in his room. I stay up and chat with everyone, see the northern lights (blue streaks in the sky forming an arch), meet Valentino and Alfred (two of the Philippine barmen), try some sort of smoked whiskey (it feels like drinking a campfire) and have a great time.

Friday 8-15-08

We start off today with the breathtaking Angamagssivik/Sangmissoq fjord. It is set amongst the ever present mountains, and their snow melt has collected here in lakes and rivers that spill into the sea via white-water, green-algae waterfalls. The land itself is formed from glacial sediments and erratics, but enough soil has collected in the lees and hollows for a thick carpet of moss and lichens to grow. Beds of palest green reindeer lichen grow so thick here that it’s as though they were planted and tended. Also present is the tall fireweed, aka willow herb, the sprawling ground willows and birches, dogwood, crowberry, Labrador tea, and blueberry. There is evidence of reindeer— scat and shed antlers— and at the top of a ridge, we spy a reindeer itself, standing stark and small against a low cloud. Looking down, the water is so smooth here that we can see the rocks on the bottom, the weeds on the rocks, and the fish that eat the ever-present midges (luckily these don’t bite, though they are thick). We see a loon, snow buntings, and glaucous gulls, as well as carnivore scat (probably fox). I scamper about and don’t want to leave, but eventually I must.
We next get into kayaks, and around the fjord is such abundance! I view first the spectacular waterfall and ride its current out again, noting as I go several lion’s-mane jellies. Weeds and algae cover the stones on the bottom, so that in shallow water I sail over patches of color. Blue mussel shells cover the sea’s bottom on the far side of the fjord.
We sail on into the ocean once more. Kevin has just sequestered us to interview us when whales are spotted. There are humpbacks all around the ship, “logging” as CT calls it (just floating near the surface). They surface and spout and undulate— for that is how they move— amongst the swells, more than ten whales in all. The water around us roils and breaks, revealing harbor seals as well, and many seabirds sit on the waves waiting for a stray meal to swim their way. The humpbacks stay on the surface for a long time, then dive once more, only to reappear a short time later. It goes on like this for probably an hour, and it is an awe-inspiring sight.
We then write our Daily Expedition Report, attend Sissy and Cotton’s presentation, and go to the Farewell. Amanda and I speak and Jenny and Bernd share a song that they have modified for our voyage (to the tune of “Rolling Home”). As we sing our voyage to its end, images of our voyage slide across the screens. We spend the evening sailing through a beautiful, ninety mile long fjord to reach Kangerlussuak early tomorrow morning. Amanda and I are packed, ready to go, and set to enjoy our final bit of camaraderie tonight.

Saturday 8-16-08

Today we say our goodbyes and load the zodiacs for the last time. Our tour of Kangerlussuak begins with a gear-grinding drive up a mountain, and then a second mountain, with the stated purpose of finding musk ox. However, I am tired, sad, and in need of a restroom (or convenient, discreet boulder), and so I do not look long or hard for the beasts. We stop by at a sled dog yard outside of town— just a dusty plain with Caribou bones scattered about, dogs chained inside decrepit fences, and no shelter for them to be found. The animals whine, howl, bark, pace, and dig, but I only let them sniff my fingers, for these animals have not been reared for gentleness. In one corner, a white dog paces, gaunt and desperate to lick even the salt from my hands. Its paws are so huge but the dog just skin and bone . . . I get on the bus to wait for everyone.
Lunch is musk ox burgers and smoked salmon and bread (I eat mostly bread) at a somewhat forlorn restaurant on a pretty lake. As we drive back to the airport, I note the signs of glaciation in the smoothed granite mountains, the gravelly dirt, and the beautiful lake. There are also signs of American base-building— roads cut into bleeding gravel hillsides, the river of ice-cap melt running swift and chalky thought the sterile banks, the roads named for Americans (with ip-Aqq added to the end). Pipes and wood and concrete lay broken and unused, sheds for radar hunch on the summits, and some sort of wire contraption claws its way into the sky.
The runway is long— a mile, I believe I heard someone say. The First Air flight crew are very kind and friendly. I sleep most of the trip (four hours, nonstop). We turn our watches back another two hours, to Eastern Standard Time.
Ottawa is gorgeous! The city is full of trees, window boxes, ledge and roof gardens, fountains, Rideau Canal, the Ottawa River, and beautiful stone and copper buildings. Out hotel— Fairmont, in Chateau Laurier— is of palatial proportions, with marble floors, molded ceilings, wood-paneling, and a king’s ransom in fine and antique furniture, mirrors, and art. There are conference rooms and banquet halls and goodness knows what else. Nevertheless, most of us leave all of this splendor to explore the city. Amanda, Ragnar, Dee, Lindy, Jim, Darcie, Luisa, and I eat at a little café, wander through some stalls, and then Amanda and I leave the other to venture down Rideau Canal. As we walk along the canal, we find a Caribbean festival with wonderful Jamaican music. I want to go dance, but Amanda’s common sense prevails. We walk around some more, soaking in the beautiful night, and then return to our lush, luxurious queen-sized beds.
I must say, sleeping in a palace is something that I could get used to. I wake up early to go explore the Chateau Laurier, and I can’t help but feel like some fine lady. Eventually, I cut my pretending short for the more tangible pleasure of breakfast. We eat with Derry and Charlene once more, meet Jessie and Cullen from Lindblad, and bid goodbye to everyone. Amanda and I then take another long exploratory walk through Ottawa. We find a wonderful park along the Ottawa River, gaze enviously at the museums (we don’t want to pay admission costs), parade through the Parliament section, and draw our faces in the Library and Archives building (they are having a special exhibition). On our way to the airport, our taxi driver tells us of all of the places that he has driven: essentially most of Europe, America, and a good deal of the Middle East. As we gather our luggage and walk into the airport, I bid farewell to this wonderful adventure.

Tuesday 8-26-08

Today I sit in the living room of my dilapidated apartment, with my friends and roomies doing homework, Monty Python playing in the background, and my laptop on my lap. I am trying to interpret my chicken-scratch-notes, correct my (often atrocious) spelling, and turn thought fragments into coherent sentences. Life is back to normal for me— it is back to normal, but I am changed. I have walked in places without names, glimpsed other cultures, heard histories that continue to shape people, and met truly exceptional people. All of my experiences have shown me how fascinating, complex, and beautiful our world is, and I will now and always seek ways to preserve it from corruption and degeneration.

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