Reflections 2012
Series 24
December 21
Atlantic Isles VIII b: Voyage to Greenland - The Titanic

 

This posting, which includes events in Greenland on and around the summer solstice of 21 June, during the 24-hour polar day, is finally being posted precisely six months afterward to the day, so that it falls exactly on the winter solstice, 21 December, during the 24-hour polar night. What was then light is presently dark.

 
 

We had just come back to Hafnarfjördur, south of Reykjavik, from Þingvellir, the geysers, and the waterfall the evening before, and overnight set sail from Iceland for Greenland. Yet my sense of direction was a bit out of balance. Surely you just had to go west, but that's not the case. The Deutschland proceeded sharply southwest, so much further south (Map by Uwe Dedering) does Greenland project than Iceland. Nuuk is well up its west coast, yet it's almost even with Reykjavik. From Iceland, around Kap Farvel/Cape Farewell, and all the way up to Disko Bay our route would more or less be U-shaped.

 
 

June 16   Our first day out of Iceland was the first of three days at sea. While it's nice to make stops along the way during a sea voyage (Stavanger, Shetland, Faroes, Iceland), shore activities do eat into shipboard life. Any day that includes a stop disrupts all the things you want to do on board, which is why an Atlantic crossing between the UK and US, with no stops, is so ideal. While the purpose of this kind of a trip is to see places, a relaxing calm, undisrupted day (or several) at sea is always welcome. However, I did have to take some time to go to the ship's hospital to have my sprained wrist looked after.

 
 

June 17   When I found out that the Deutschland was sailing to Greenland again, and it fit into my Atlantic Islands schedule in June, I failed to notice something which only became apparent on this particular day. The Deutschland had always gone to Greenland in July, but this year was committed to be at the London Olympics in July, so it went a month earlier. In the world of ice, a month turns out to be significant. In the end, everything worked out well, and I was quite satisfied with the trip, but changes were made en route. We had taken on a Danish captain as an advisor in Iceland for this round trip (I had a conversation with him in English later on), and he had had a lot of experience sailing in Greenland. I'm sure he was the one that helped guide us, and found alternatives when necessary.

 
 

As we were approaching Kap Farvel on this day, it was announced that there was too much Packeis/pack ice (salt-water sea ice) and Treibeis/drift ice for us to enter either Prins Christians Sund as scheduled, or even nearby Tasermuit Fjord. I knew nothing about them at the time, and have only gotten to look them up now, six months after the fact. They are also obscure enough that they're aren't on English Wikipedia, but I found some information on both German and, not surprisingly, since this is Greenland, Danish Wikipedia, some of which I could follow because of knowing Swedish, plus looking up a few words on Google Translate. Both places involved are right at the southern tip of Greenland, on one side of Kap Farvel or the other. Prince Christian Sound is on the east side, which means it's technically on Greenland's east coast, which would have been our only visit there, but that's just a technicality. It seems the sound, which is 100 km (62 mi) long, might even cut through to the west coast around the island that Kap Farvel is on, is attractive enough to be often visited by cruise ships. Tasermuit Fjord seems to be 70 km (43 mi) long and is on the west side of the cape.

 
 

However, we had an alternative, perhaps from the Danish advisor. Going up the west coast a bit this afternoon, we entered as an alternative another fjord, whose name I never found out. The day was overcast and foggy, and the ride up the fjord was as well, but just as we got to the end, we were inland far enough to break through the overcast and fog, and the village at the end was in bright sunshine. We sailed in a loop around this sunny haven, and this, along with later magnificent fjord experiences, proved to be a viable substitute. Yet it was still a sea day, since this sightseeing was from on board!

 
 

June 18   The third sea day in a row! On our way up to Disko Bay, our northernmost point, we were only going to stop in Sisimiut, and then make all the other stops on the way back south. This sea day was the best of all. An announcement was made when the first iceberg was sighted, in the bright sunlight and under blue skies. I'd already seen plenty of icebergs in Glacier Bay (Alaska) and Antarctica, but that mattered nary a whit. When these ladies of the sea make their appearance, you scurry up to the top deck to admire them and pay due homage. In addition to the iceberg views and sea views, the best part of the day were the incredible coastal views we had. We weren't too close, but not too far out, either, and for hours on end on our starboard (right) side, we saw an absolutely endless lineup of snow-covered mountains, surely with the icecap in the distance behind them. The mountains had, however, a grey-black area of exposed rock at their lower levels. I found a picture which should give an idea of the view we had. This is the Greenland coast (Photo by Túrelio) more or less as we saw it. However, since this was taken from a plane, there's a better view of the icesheet in the distance than we had from, well, what else, sea level. Imagine it as we saw it, white above, gray below, on the blue sea and under blue skies, hour after hour after hour. Note in the picture the bergy bits and growlers below, I suspect more of the latter than of the former. I would say this sunny day at sea, sightseeing all day long right from the ship, was a highlight of the whole voyage.

 
 

June 19   Our only northbound stop was Sisimiut, which is the second-largest town in Greenland, after Nuuk, but that isn't really saying too much. Nuuk does stand out, with about 15,500, so that's "big". After that, town size varies between small, tiny, and minute. Sisimiut leads the "small" towns with 5,500, Ilulissat 4,500, Qaqortoq 3,300, Aasiaat 3,000. Tiny would be Paamiut with 1,600, and an unvisited town we'll mention shortly north of Ilulissat, Upernavik, with 1,100. The two we've mentioned that have minute populations are Kangerlussuaq with 556 and Narsarsuaq with a mere 158, but remember, these two towns are where the only two international airports are located, since those were built for wartime needs in WWII. In general, just picture low populations.

 
 

I have a very convenient map that shows most of the places we're about to visit. It's actually meant to show air routes out of Ilulissat, but will serve our purposes very well. Start by locating the first pair, ILULISSAT & AASIAAT on opposite ends of Disko Bay, shaped like a backwards-C around Disko Island, whose local name you see. The small town of Upernavik, which we'll mention again later, is to the north, beyond where we went. The second pair is SISIMIUT & KANGERLUSSUAQ, both just above the Arctic Circle, which cuts horizontally across Kangerlussuaq's diagonal fjord. Thirdly, locate NUUK, on its fjord. To the south of this map, and almost down to Kap Farvel, is QAQORTOQ, which we never got to visit, and, halfway there from Nuuk, PAAMIUT, which replaced it.

 
 

It remained just as beautifully sunny as it had been when we woke up this day docked in Sisimiut (Photo by Chmee2)(click), having just passed north of the Arctic Circle. You will notice three things about this picture that are typical for all towns in Greenland. Houses are BRIGHT COLORS! I find that the most distinguishing feature. There are ROCKY HILLS everywhere. Here, just the port area is flat, and the main street starts going uphill into town immediately. There are frequent wooden steps in place of some steep sidewalks, and staircases leading uphill. If you look above the triangular maroon sail on the right, you'll see someone going up a modest one of the staircases, while other staircases (Photo by Pmarshal), like this one in Qaqortoq, are much more substantial. Thirdly, there are NO TREES. This is the Arctic, and what we have is tundra. Inspect those hills closely, and you'll see that yes, there is green in Greenland, but it's modest.

 
 

Debarking for a couple of hours' walk around town, we passed some fish being unloaded, with the expected aroma, but that was only in the port. On the way into town, in a few moments we first reached the area of the Sisimiut Museum (Photo by Algkalv). This picture is from above and beyond it, and continues to show bright houses, treeless tundra, and the hills we came puffing up from the port visible down below. Click to note the white staircase needed to reach the blue house on the upper right. The blue building is the Bethel Church from 1775, the oldest surviving church in Greenland, which exudes the smell of old wood inside, and other historical government and commercial buildings have been moved here to surround it.

 
 

We continued on that road uphill to the commercial area (Photo by Algkalv), still hilly with wooden steps. I stopped at this Boghandel (bookstore) for a peek, and in the upper area was a Pisiffik supermarket. Pisiffik is the largest privately-owned commercial company in Greenland, but its 30 stores are restricted to the six largest towns in order to have sufficient customer bases.

 
 

Typical everywhere in Greenland is this type of prefabricated single-family house (Photo by Algkalv), climbing up the treeless, rocky hillside. But apparently in the 1960's there was a burst of apartment houses (Photo by Algkalv) built as well, typical for every city we visited.

 
 

This being our first actual visit in Greenland, in the evening we had a local chorus perform in the Kaisersaal. The staff had on board, specifically for this trip, a Danish woman who was a minister, who spoke both German and English. She did give church services, but actually acted as a middleman whenever needed, so she was the emcee for this performance, speaking Danish with the Inuit performers. There were about ten women and ten men behind them, and it was a pleasant evening. However, the most enjoyable was how they were dressed, since they appeared in the national costume. While the women's costumes were quite colorful, with emphasis on red, the men's were just black and white.

 
 

I have some pictures showing the national costume, one for now and others for later. These are Inuit schoolchildren (Photo by Kim Hansen) ready for their first day of school in the first grade. Click to inspect the boys in their black-and-white, as opposed to the girls, who are primarily in red, and have that geometrical, shawl-like shoulder covering, each one a different pattern. While the boys' boots maintain the black-and-white theme, the girls' are white with lacy, flowered tops. The costumes of the adult chorus was exactly like this. And also note that the kids are each carrying a Greenland flag.

 
 

This kids are in Upernavik, that town just north of Ilulissat beyond our route, and it has the typical colorful houses we expect. It being Greenland, no one is surprised to see a bergy bit offshore, with a few growlers nearby. I like this map of the Upernavik Archipelago (Map by Algkalv). The places we visited were south of here, to the left (Upernavik is 73°N, while Ilulissat is down at 69°N), but what I like about this local map is how obviously the icesheet is indicated as being just slightly inland from the inhabited places. A bergy bit in front of you, an icesheet in back of you, all as a matter of course.

 
 

June 20   Having left Sisimiut during the night, today we reached the middle of Disko Bay, our northernmost point, and stopped in the middle of it, beyond Aasiaat but not up to Ilulissat. Off to our left somewhere was Disko Island, the second largest in Greenland after Greenland itself. Eric the Red paid the first recorded visit to Disko Island some time between 982 and 985, and Viking colonists in the settlements to the south may have used the island as a base for summer hunting and fishing. For the most part, though, icebergs in the bay blocked its view.

 
 

With Ilulissat in the distance, located to its right, and pointing toward us, was the Ilulissat Glacier and Icefjord, a Unesco World Heritage Site. The Glacier, sometimes still referred to by its old name of the Jakobshavn Glacier, is an outlet glacier, in other words, an extension of the icesheet into the sea, and is the source of all the icebergs before us, which come some 40 km (25 mi) down the Ice Fjord into Disko Bay, and then beyond. The glacier drains 6.5% of the icesheet and produces around 10% of all Greenland icebergs, calving some 20-35 million metric tons of icebergs every year.

 
 

It is one of the fastest moving glaciers, moving at its terminus at around 20-35 m (66-115 ft) per day, making it the most productive glacier in the Northern Hemisphere. It can be pictured as thrusting itself forward at about one meter/yard per hour. In recent decades this rate has varied, but output has mostly grown, increasing the rate of 20C sea level rise by about 4%. The icefjord and its area have become Greenland's most popular tourist destination.

 
 

Look carefully at this NASA image to understand several things in sequence. On the right is the icesheet. This picture was taken in 2001, so that contour line shows the calving front of the glacier in that year. Lines to its right show how much the glacier has retreated since then. Lines to its left show icebergs in the icefjord, with markings of where the calving front of the glacier since 1851. This is a current view from a plane of the calving front of the glacier feeding the icefjord.

 
 

Icebergs calving from this very productive glacier can be huge, up to 183 m (600 ft) high, making them much too tall to float down the fjord, so they get jammed in the shallower areas, much like a logjam, sometimes for years. Only further pressure from later icebergs moving down the fjord might break them up and get them moving along.

 
 

On leaving Disko Bay, the icebergs follow the currents in Davis Strait and Baffin Bay and first flow north, and only eventually turn south to reach the Labrador Sea and the Atlantic. Larger icebergs might not melt until they move down to 40-45°N, a range of latitudes level with New York City at 41° and just running north of the Azores, which reach up to about 38.5°. This is where you can think about the Titanic, which sank at 41° 43.5' N (more below).

 
 

A source I'll identify shortly told me that once in a while, visiting ships can actually enter the icefjord, but obviously that was out of the question now, with all the ice in it overflowing to fill the inner half of Disko Bay. He explained that large blockages in the icefjord had recently broken up, freeing all manner of bergs to exit and clutter the bay. But as a matter of fact, although the day still worked out very well for our iceberg tour, the Captain had announced earlier in the day that there was too much ice on the far side of the Bay for us to even reach Ilulissat, where we would have tendered into town, and we'd remain the whole day mid-bay auf Reede/at anchor. Therefore, I never actually saw the following views of Ilulissat from the town itself.

 
 

This is Ilulissat's old town and harbor (Photo by Vincent van Zeijst). I suppose if we'd tendered in, those not on tour could have walked around the town, but I doubt we missed anything we hadn't seen in other towns beyond the bright houses, hills, and treeless terrain. This view interestingly combines Ilulissat with its icefjord (Photo by Pcb21), and this one combines Ilulissat with Disko Bay (Photo by Kristine Riskær). Click to enlarge to inspect why "Ilulissat" is the Kalaallisut word for “icebergs”.

 
 

There was some sort of hiking tour that was cancelled, as was the outrageously expensive helicopter tour of the icesheet, that I'd declined to sign up for. But most people wanted the iceberg tour of Disko Bay, and that worked out very well. Two boats were to take two groups in the morning, and the boats would then come back for two afternoon groups, one of which I had asked for. Apparently, under the original plan, these cute little boats would have picked up their people in town, but instead, as the Captain announced in the morning, they would instead come out and pick up their groups directly from the Deutschland. Shortly before the 10 AM departure time, many of us were up on the top deck looking out towards town across the seemingly impenetrable sea of small icebergs, bergy bits, and growlers, when finally the first of the two little red boats, which had expertly zig-zagged their way through the ice, suddenly weaved its way around a berg and appeared and came toward us, which was fun to watch, sort of like watching Tubby the Tugboat coming to the rescue.

 
 

This picture can give an idea of what we saw, but I have to alter the scene. The boat (Photo by Vincent van Zeijst) was red, and perhaps twice this size, although still small. No one used the indoor seating, and maybe 25 of us were all around those railings. We first spotted the boat coming toward us, not away as here, and there was MUCH more ice than this picture shows; picture bergs and growlers this size, but seemingly impenetrable, like a maze. These pictures are all from Disko Bay (Photo by Algkalv), but you have to imagine maybe four or five times more ice than these (Photo by Algkalv) show.

 
 

Leaving on our boat, the Deutschland loomed above us as we left the open waters and started weaving through the icebergs and growlers. For close to a couple of hours, we slowly circled bergs as though we were teasing them with our daring presence—we could have been in a bullring--and zig-zagged along. At one point this captain slowly nudged into a smaller berg with our bow and gently began to push it. I was one of those standing at the prow, and we all reached out and slapped the berg, then high-fived it. It was a highlight, since this was a "live iceberg", and not just a pile of ice and snow on the side of the road. Going past one larger berg, we saw a small waterfall running off its top. Some bergs had holes in them due to weathering; one had a section that looked blue.

 
 

There was a young Danish college student on board acting as guide. He made announcements in English, and a staff member from the Deutschland translated them into German, so I got to hear them twice. Actually, at one point someone privately asked him a question in German, and he did answer in very good German, but I suppose when he had to do public speaking, he was more comfortable in English. He had hauled two chunks of ice out of the bay to illustrate two kinds of ice. One was white inside, which indicates air bubbles, just like ice cubes. The other was perfectly clear, which meant that the ice had melted, perhaps into a puddle on top of a berg, but then refroze, losing its air bubbles.

 
 

I took him aside when he was done and had a long talk with him, so this is the "source" I was referring to above. If I were more of a journalist, I'd say I'd interviewed him. He was a college student in Denmark, in Århus, as I recall, studying veterinary medicine. He had lived for a while in Greenland, but this time he was here just for the season, working as a guide. I asked him about Kalaallisut, and he had studied it a bit, but found it very hard, so he usually spoke Danish with local people, since almost all are bilingual. I then asked him a question I was very curious about, even though I already knew the answer. I asked him, if he were speaking Danish to a Greenlander, would he use, logically, the Danish name, such as Jakobshavn, or would he still say Ilulissat in the middle of a Danish sentence. As I suspected, without a doubt it was the latter. I can see that the former would really be disrespectful.

 
 

This day was my fourth time in contact with ice like this, and each time was really quite different. The first time was with Beverly in 1970 on our first trip to Alaska. Somehow or other we had arranged to take a day trip out of Juneau, flying to the town of Glacier Bay, where at the lodge, we took a ride in a small boat in Glacier Bay, just the two of us with the boatman. It was here that we heard and saw a glacier calving, and where we had the unique experience of hearing small growlers clunking against the boat underwater as we moved along. The second time was in early 2006 in Spitsbergen (2006/6), where there was still a little ice in the summer, but the Deutschland did pull very close to the face of a glacier where the ice was almost above us. Then, later that year, in Antarctica, I clearly remember the day we made our only continental landing on the Antarctic peninsula, foot to icesheet (2006/15). Afterward, we had a ride in a red, rubber zodiac a few minutes away into a bay, where the half-dozen of us were surrounded by ice on a gloriously sunny day. That would have been enough to make it memorable, but the driver turned off the outboard motor and told us to be perfectly quiet. The perfect silence was fantastic. Your heard nothing at all behind ice occasionally crackling, with one notable exception—you actually heard your heartbeat, really your pulse in your ears. And this fourth time, I slapped a "live" iceberg!

 
 

We finally wove our way out of the maze of icebergs back into more open water, and it was actually a bit strange to see the Deutschland ahead in the distance, still looming above us. On board again, we then spent the evening going back out to the Aasiaat end of Disko Bay, still sailing among icebergs, but far fewer. We were as far above the Arctic Circle as we'd be on this trip, and it was daylight all evening, but quite overcast and gray, so there was no midnight sun—that we saw a few days later. In the evening out on deck, where it was 7°C (45°F), there was a bit of a party. I couldn't possibly eat any more, but they did serve bouillon, which was really quite appropriate. They also did something that ships often do, had a crew member chipping away and making an ice sculpture of something or other. This time, though, the ice sculpture was particularly appropriate, since there were "live" icebergs in the background.

 
 

June 21   I had made a note to myself that the night before today, the summer solstice occurred at 21:09 WGST (West Greenland Standard Time), which was 19:09 Eastern Standard Time in the US. But it was this day that was celebrated as Midsummer's Day all across Scandinavia, and also in Greenland. The name is appropriate, since days lengthen up to Midsummer's Day and then begin to shorten, but still, many like to consider June 21 the "first day of summer". But the date has even more significance here than in Scandinavia, since Greenlanders chose Midsummer's Day as their National Day, since it was when self rule began in 2009. They also adopted their flag on this day in 1985, in a sense, making it Flag Day as well.

 
 

So it was on a holiday that we docked in Aasiaat, and we were told there'd be ceremonies in the late morning, which we could attend. But the last night's overcast had become a drizzle this morning, so no one was in a rush, and neither were the Greenlanders, since the ceremonies were put off a while. Finally, we ventured around puddles and started on the usual uphill road from the port area, but then found that Aasiaat had more, and longer, wooden staircases than we experienced anywhere else. On the way up, I stopped in a turf house museum (more in a moment), then finally reached the upper area where a cannon was fired, open-air speeches were made that we couldn't understand, and a choir sang. It was a pleasant, short visit.

 
 

I could find, quite unusually, absolutely no pictures of Aasiaat. However, I found several ideal pictures of what I want to talk about in Aasiaat, except that ALL these pictures are actually from Sisimiut, so SHHHH!

 
 

The highlight for me in Aasiaat was the visit to the historic, but surely reconstructed, turf, or peat house (Photo by Algkalv). While this is the one in Sisimiut, and there was another in Paamiut, the Aasiaat one was the only one that was open (free) and that I visited. It's built of layers of turf and flat stones, plus the wooden roof. I went in, and the young lady spoke perfect English, and explained that years ago, when this type of house was common in Greenland, it was considered a winter house. There were cooking, sitting, and sleeping areas, and was extremely cozy, especially since a fire was on against the outside chill on this dreary day.

 
 

At the ceremonies in Aasiaat, I saw sights like the following ones in Sisimiut, which will continue to stand in for Aasiaat. This was taken on National Day 2010 (Photo by Algkalv), the first anniversary of self rule. We've discussed the Greenland flag the men are holding, plus men's simple, black-and-white national costume (although a woman's colorful boot is peeking through). In that vein, let's look at her boots (Photo by Algkalv). Click to inspect the beautiful handiwork. The traditional ceremonial boots worn by Greenland women on special occasions are called kamik (ka.MIK). My research shows that they are a soft boot traditionally made of reindeer skin or sealskin. This type of boot was originally worn by both the Inuit and the related Yupik in Alaska and in the Russian Far East, and we're more familiar with the Yupik name for them, mukluks—but these are kamik.

 
 

Finally, let's see her entire outfit (Photo by Algkalv), and inspect that shoulderpiece closely. She's being greeted at a church by the mayor of Sisimiut on National Day 2010, with everyone in the traditional Inuit national costume.

 
 

But we were in Aasiaat. We left that evening in the overcast, but on deck we saw in the bay two frolicking Buckelwale / humpback whales, flapping their tails and, to the delight of all, spouting repeatedly.

 
 

June 22   We continued overnight along the coast, and by morning passed Sisimiut, heading for Kangerlussuaq inland. Now remember that both these towns are barely above the Arctic Circle, which cuts through horizontally through the long fjord leading to Kangerlussuaq. This is important, since it involves our sighting of the midnight sun a couple of days later. In other words we crossed the Circle southbound passing Sisimiut, entered the fjord and passed it again up to Kangerlussuaq, then crossed it a third time leaving, which was when we saw the midnight sun.

 
 

But en route today, it was still overcast, as we, in Davis Strait, approached the mouth of Kangerlussuag Fjord (Photo by Algkalv). It wasn't as choppy as this, though, and the very sharp (eight o'clock) left turn into the fjord can be seen ahead. You can see how nice the sides of the fjord are, which continue its entire 190 km (120 mi) length, making it the longest fjord in western Greenland, and its name means "Long Fjord" (the town has the same name). The fjord varies in width from 8 km (5 mi) down to 1.5 km (0.9 mi). While we couldn't appreciate it much on the way in, the weather made up for it on the way out two days later. This is the head of the fjord (Photo by Algkalv), near the town, looking back down its length.

 
 

We spent one full day and two nights in Kangerlussuaq, the second night since we wanted to be able to see the fjord during the day on the way out. The day in town turned out to be almost surreal in its development. It wasn't a fiasco, since we got done pretty much what we wanted to, but let's just say it was NOT the high point of the Greenland trip.

 
 

Many of us signed up to take a long bus drive (it turned out to be six hours round trip) up to the icesheet in order to walk on it. As usual, people on tours are given extremely little information, and are led like sheep to see A, B, and C, and then go home, having seen some interesting views, but with little background. There was nothing in the advance description except the bus ride to the icesheet along the only rural road in Greenland, no map, no explanation why there was a road at all (the driver-guide gave a fleeting explanation), no mention that we'd see a glacier, no name of the glacier (I'd checked before leaving it was Russell Glacier, and had to confirm that with the guide, since he didn't say a thing about its name), no explanation of how the glacier connected to the icesheet or to the rivers coming out of it, no names for the rivers, or even that there were two of them, and nothing about the airport. This is so often the case with guided tours, that participants are foolish not to prepare themselves in advance. For instance, earlier, nothing at all had been explained about the importance of the Ilulissat Glacier and Icefjord, we were just asked if we wanted to sign up for a boat ride in the ice. Travelers who don't pre-inform themselves will get much less out of any experience they have, anywhere.

 
 

With the exception of this road, there are no rural roads in Greenland. Towns have their streets, reaching into whatever suburbs they may have, and that's it. I've read that there's talk about connecting Sisimiut and Nuuk with a road, but it would be so expensive, and would serve so few people, that nothing has happened, so locals continue to rely on planes and boats to travel around. All we'd been told in advance about this trip is that this was the only rural road in Greenland, and that it went to the ice sheet. In fairness, the Deutschland had never been here before, and was relying on local information, but it's still so typical to massively underinform tour participants. On the other hand, probably many don't really care, once they've seen their iceberg or whatever.

 
 

Even being there, I was able to formulate little, and only additional research now, six months after the trip, have I learned a lot more about what we did and saw. First, it has to be realized that the long fjord we'd sailed up, up to the town, continued on dry land all the way up to the icesheet, so picture a diagonal cut, from two o'clock to eight o'clock, coming down from the icesheet via the town to Davis Strait.

 
 

The local part of the icesheet ends at the highland named Isunngua, where barren, open tundra begins. To one side, the output glacier that the icesheet feeds here is the Russell Glacier, which extends down into the valley. Two rivers extend down the valley from the glacier. The main one is the Qinnguata Kuussua (for me, the "QK"), and the secondary one, which serves as a tributary and meets the main one just before town, is the Akuliarusiarsuup Kuua (the "AK"). Glacial rivers are fun to watch, and were a highpoint of the day.

 
 

It's to Isunngua that the trip from the dock leads, 40 km (25 mi) in total, including 30 km (19 mi) on the special, bumpy gravel road, but let me tell the rest as part of the bus excursion. We tendered into town, but all we found at the dock was a handful of commercial buildings, plus four buses waiting for us. I got into the first one, a sort-of tour bus that had seen better days, but was serviceable. At least two of the others were yellow school buses. My bus was driven and guided by what seemed to be the main honcho, who spoke good English. Sitting next to him up front in our bus was the Cruise Director himself, who did translations into German for our bus.

 
 

It was an 8-10 minute ride inland to reach the actual town, which seemed from the bus to consist of some very utilitarian shopping areas with gift shops directly adjacent to the airport. The town had been founded in 1941 along with the US air base that became the airport, so the road thus far up from the dock, had apparently been the army road. Typical in looks was the hotel (Photo by Algkalv), which was a recycled army barracks. Off to the right, we could look down to the right to the Kangerlussuaq Airport (Photo by Chmee2), Greenland's main air hub and largest commercial airport. The advantage of this picture is that it shows that the fjord continues inland from the dock area at the far right, and that the QK river, by now joined by the AK river are draining the icesheet and Russell Glacier into the fjord proper. We were very glad to see a plane arriving, as it came in rather low over the fjord proper to land here. The town was an army base from 1941 to 1951, and in 1948-9 the airport played a major role in the Berlin Airlift, since the distribution of goods was organized here. The driver/guide announced that this was the airport most frequently closed by fog in the world, adding up to six months a year!

 
 

You can imagine how airport-dependent this town's population of 556 is, as well the even smaller population at Narsarsuaq. Curiosity led to research that revealed that late last year, Air Greenland decided to move the intercontinental air hubs away from these WWII relics to where they would be more useful for the domestic population. The first step will be to build 1,199-m (3,034-ft) airstrips at Nuuk, Ilulissat and Qaqortoq. Since that's still too short for intercontinental flights, so, before the two old airports can be closed, a new 1,799-m (5,902-ft) airstrip will also be needed. The main candidates are Nuuk, which to me is more logical, given its size, and Qaqortoq.

 
 

After the town and the airport, we continued up the only rural road in Greenland. The driver/guide did give some explanation about Volkswagen testing cars, but the whole story still remained unclear to me as to when and why. Here's the answer.

 
 

This road was built in six months in 2000 by a Swedish company. Once this road from town reached the icecap, as it still does, it continued for another 150 km (93 mi) on the inland ice. Volkswagen had done winter testing of its cars in northern Sweden and Finland, and this road on the ice was to be used for summer testing, from April through October, to check performance in extreme cold. It was the airport that led them to this location, since cars were flown in from Europe, then driven to the proving grounds, a system that allowed for secret testing away from industrial espionage. However, the project was abandoned in 2006, and the road up to the icecap is now a tourist road. But access is limited, and a key is required to open the padlocked gate (which we saw the driver do). But nature wins out. The inland ice segment has deteriorated by ice activity, and the road now ends at the Insunngua highlands at the edge of the icesheet. I think the entire story is more interesting than just the passing reference the driver made.

 
 

It became clearer once we were on the ride that there were three things of interest, the rivers, the glacier, and the icesheet. After researching the road information, I now know that the river it runs along is the AK, now confirmed by this picture of the AK river with the road on the left (Photo by Algkalv). You can confirm that the road goes through treeless tundra, and once again that yes, Greenland can be green.

 
 

There were two characteristics of the river that we were easily able to see from the bus. First the river water was churning, even to the point of having small whitecaps. I now understand that this is caused by riffles, which are short, relatively shallow and coarse-bedded stretch of river, that cause the water to flow faster and more turbulently. The other is the color of the water, something I'd seen in the past. Glacial meltwater is full of sediments and full of nutrients, causing it to be, not blue, but grayish-green, and quite opaque. We had already spotted that characteristic of the water coming up the fjord, so it certainly had to be true about the rivers, which feed the fjord. This is a close-up of glacial meltwater (Photo by Algkalv) in the river. Click to inspect the gray-green and opaque quality that is so typical.

 
 

We finally arrived at our first of only two stops, Russell Glacier (Photo by Algkalv), the local face of the icesheet, with fresh meltwater showing below. We walked a few steps down a grassy slope to the side of a lake for a better view. I now find that Russell Glacier is quite active as well, since it advances 25 m (82 ft) every year, but not being on the sea, it calves no icebergs.

 
 

It wasn't much further alongside the glacier to our second and final stop, at the main part of the icesheet. Once off the bus, we were instructed to walk ahead a few minutes further along a dirt path. It started out like any normal path, and as one looked at a steep drop to the left, you could see that there was indeed a huge mass of ice under the entire area where we were, but that we were on a relatively thin layer of soil and rocks on top of the ice. No matter. We'd walk a little further to where the soil and rocks ran out and be standing right on the ice. Right?

 
 

Within moments, this path became what I now call the Path of Hell. It rose and narrowed, and then became, instead of a proper path, a series of rocks to maneuver, even as a steep slope appeared that dropped off to the right. A mountain goat would have had concerns here, and I could only continue to maintain my balance by leaning forward and holding on to rocks, essentially on all fours. People behind had already given up and turned back. Somehow, a number up front continued behind the oblivious guide around a bend. We could see no open ice at this point, although we knew there was ice below the soil and rocks we were on. The situation seemed impossible, and I was still mindful of having fallen just a short distance at Gullfoss in Iceland, not more than a meter/yard, and still having sprained my left wrist. I gave up, turned around, with difficulty, and realized that this was it. I decided to consider the soil and rocks of the Path of Hell as a condom separating us from the ice below. With or without a condom's separation, the deed gets done. The few daredevils who had gone on ahead with the driver/guide did apparently eventually get to step onto open ice, but we were on top of the icesheet as well, and were more than ready for the long ride back.

 
 

Whatever you may think of this daytrip so far, you've heard the sanitized version. When I got back to the ship, I was talking to two American women and provided additional details, and they assured me that those details should always be included in the retelling of this story, so the below addition makes it the unsanitized version of the daytrip.

 
 

Urination is a fundamental human need. This was perhaps a matter that went over the heads of the driver/guide, and, it being the first time the Deutschland came here, they were insufficiently aware of the problems. Normal needs were compounded by the fact that free half-liters of bottled water were regularly handed out when leaving the ship to people going on tours, and for once, I picked one up, and innocently drank it down on the first part of the trip. Big mistake.

 
 

There was no toilet on the bus, and its bouncing didn't help matters by the time we arrived at Russell Glacier. As we were getting off the bus through the door in its rear, it was clear that there were no facilities here as one would expect in any public area that attracted visitors, so I naïvely asked the driver helping us down if there were facilities at the next stop. His only reaction was to suggest using the side of the road, and, as the strong-bladdered moved immediately to the right of the bus to see the glacier, a row of gentlemen who'd caught on quicker than I had were already forming a side-by-side line along the left side of the road, and so I joined them. It had to be perfectly obvious to those across the road what we were doing on the open, treeless tundra, but that was as discreet as one could be, given the conditions. And it wasn't over.

 
 

When we did reach the second stop, the scene repeated itself, with perhaps even less discretion. Then, as we started up the easier part of the path, we passed on the right a huge, yellow John Deere tractor, and some women in the group then used it as a shield as they stepped behind it. And it still wasn't over.

 
 

We were halfway back and it was time again. How much longer until we're back? Then it got worse. The driver got a call, stopped the bus, and started to turn it around. One of the other buses had broken down. What was wrong? It had lost its gas tank. If you think you misread that, I'll repeat it. It had lost its gas tank. They called ahead to town and a mechanic would be sent out, but meanwhile, the people on the fourth bus would have to crowd into the other three buses. I was in the third row, at the right window, blocked by a large, elderly woman with a cane, that I didn't think had gotten off the bus at all. Fortunately no one squeezed into our row, but two people each squeezed half-cheek style, into the first two rows, making seating for four in each into seating for six. And we proceeded, sardine-fashion.

 
 

I hadn't realized until later the extent to which I was not the only one in distress. I don't believe in national stereotypes, such as Americans being pushy and Germans being complacent, but as it turned out, that's just the way things worked out. I took a deep breath, stood up in the moving bus, and stepped widely over the large lady with the cane. I then started pushing my way between the people crammed into the two rows in front, to reach the compartment where the driver was. I mumbled that I had a question, and someone asked why I didn't call it out, a suggestion I ignored. I asked the driver to make a "rest" stop, and so the American on the bus was responsible for the whole convoy coming to a halt. On my way to the back door, I announced "Wenn man muss, so muss man", which is roughly "When you gotta go, you gotta go", and a number of people agreed with me, including, notably, a woman. Another discrete line was formed behind the bus, and apparently at least that one woman found a spot a bit up on the hillside, and her husband stood in front of her to block the view. So the ongoing lack of pee-breaks added to the Path of Hell is why I call this long, long, bumpy bus ride a near-fiasco, although we did accomplish our goals, even if only with the inclusion of the condom factor.

 
 

June 23   The weather had cleared completely the night before, and this morning we started our return trip down Kangerlussuaq fjord to Davis Strait, which took much of the day in order to be able to enjoy the views. It was warm and sunny, with readings of 17-18°C (63-64°F), and clear enough so that, as we started to leave, I looked back inland and clearly saw the glistening white of the inland icesheet. While sitting on deck, or having lunch in the Lido, or watching from one's cabin, one could watch the sun playing on the cliffs on both sides of the wide fjord, with small icefields in the crevasses and also full glaciers, and quite a number of small waterfalls crashing down the sides. It was an outstanding day, and totally made up for the dreary day we had when we went up the fjord.

 
 

Back in Disko Bay, it had been overcast, so while it was light all night, no "midnight sun" was visible. Last night, while still in Kangerlussuaq and north of the Circle, the sky was as clear as could be, but there were the walls of the fjord on both sides blocking distant views, and as time went by, the sun just moved behind a mountain, with no horizon for anything to even begin resembling a sunset. On leaving town, halfway down the fjord, we crossed the Arctic Circle southward for the final time, so this evening would be our last chance to see the actual sun at midnight. It was dinnertime when we left the fjord and turned left into Davis Strait, and the magnificent views continued down that coast as well.

 
 

Here's another fun way to look at the situation. On the way to Iceland and Greenland, as days kept getting shorter, the daily bulletin would read something like Sunset 23:30, Sunrise 1:30, for about an hour of darkness. In Disko Bay it would read Sunset 0:00, Sunrise 0:00, indicating that we were in the 24-hour polar day. In Kangerlussuaq last night was another fun one when it read on 22 June 2012 Sunrise 00:01, Sunset 23:59, or officially, about two minutes of night.

 
 

Travelers who go to the far north in the summer experience a daylight phenomenon that they sometimes don't fully understand, nor can explain, and use the catch-all term "midnight sun" to refer to what they've seen, even when they're really describing the "polar day". Some readers have told me they've understood my description some time ago of time zones, others continue to say they'll just take my word for it. Let's see how successful the following explanation is.

 
 

If the earth sat straight on its axis, we wouldn't be having this conversation. The sun would strike the earth evenly from pole to pole, and everyplace would have day, then night, every day, all year long. But the earth famously tilts, and it does so considerably, some 23°27', or roughly 23.5°. Since there are 90° from the pole to the equator, the tilt is over a quarter of that distance, so at the time of the year when that tilt is toward the sun, we have a large polar area experiencing polar day (constant daylight), and six months later, polar night (constant nighttime). (When the Arctic has one, the Antarctic has the other. All comments made here about the Arctic apply equally to the Antarctic, but at opposite times of the year.)

 
 

I find that extreme examples help comprehension, so let's say the earth tilted even more, say half-way in its orbit. Polar day and polar night would seasonally reach down much closer to the equator than they do now, and the Arctic Circle and Antarctic Circle, which each mark the border of polar day and night, would also be closer to the equator. More extreme still, is if the earth tilted all the way so that its axis was perpendicular to its orbit. Then, in the summer, one entire hemisphere would have constant day, and the other night, reversed in the winter, and the two Circles would coincide with the equator. Heady stuff. Let's be satisfied with its quarter-tilt.

 
 

I also find that idiotic examples on a human scale can be helpful, so we'll use the top of your head. Let's say you were watching a TV that was on a low table across the room, so that your head was bowed as you made a sandwich across the room. There's a large floor lamp in the middle of the room between you and the TV, so that the light is shining on you (day), but not on your back (night). But because your head is bowed as you intensely watch your program, the top of your head is lit (polar day, so it's summer), which it wouldn't be if you were standing normally. You then want to see something more closely on the TV, so you walk around the lamp, to intermediate illumination (autumn/fall), and then stand in front of the TV, head still bowed. The floor lamp is now behind you, your back is lit, your front is not, and the top of your tilted head, being tilted away from the lamp, is unlit (polar night, so it's winter). But you want to finish making your sandwich, so you go back, but you're transfixed by the TV program, so you don't turn around as you return walking backwards around the floor lamp, to intermediate illumination again (spring), and end up where you started, in the next summer season. The only weak spot in this human example is that the earth would be having its daily rotation as it was doing this, with the bulk of it alternating day and night, while the tilted polar area would maintain polar day or night in the appropriate seasons.

 
 

Polar day is obviously more interesting to experience than polar night, and travelers will often refer casually to the polar day experience as seeing the "midnight sun", which isn't quite accurate. In addition, the polar day experience is different well north into the Arctic from the experience on the edge, closer to the Arctic Circle. (In all of this, we have to assume good weather. An overcast polar day is daylit for 24 hours, but is gray as any other overcast day, and if you can't see the sun, most of the fun is taken out of it, including the possibility of a near-sunset.)

 
 

Here's the difference. When you're well north of the Circle, assuming you don't get bored watching the sun all day, you'll see it just circling overhead, actually in sort of an oval. When your watch says noon, it will be east-ish of you (Arctic noon, just like noon anywhere else), and when it says midnight, it will be west-ish of you (Arctic midnight, the "midnight sun" people talk about), but way north here, it will look just the same as Arctic noon. This is what I saw up in and near Spitsbergen (2006/6), and it's wonderful to experience, but less interesting than further south, since nothing about the sun changes all day, with no hint of even a near-sunset.

 
 

When you're closer to the Arctic Circle, things are similar, but not quite the same. The Arctic noon (east-ish) is still high up, but this being much further south, when the Arctic midnight (west-ish) occurs, the sun comes much closer to the horizon. The closer you are to the Circle, the more of a near-sunset you get, with two corresponding phenomena. The sunlight you've been experiencing all day becomes more diffused, weaker, milder, and the air itself seems different. Then, if you're lucky, you'll get not a plain near-sunset, but one that produces color, which will be a golden glow, close to orange. I remember seeing, in Norway, people, and the ship and sea around you, just glowing in this orange color for quite a while, not just momentarily.

 
 

I experienced this kind of polar day first in 1973 when we sailed with the coastal Hurtigruten ferry to northern Norway. We'd had a lot of overcast, including when standing on the Nordkapp/North Cape, but we finally saw it when we sailed past Nordkinn, the actual northernmost point of Europe, and again later in Tromsø. Then, in 2006 on the way to Spitsbergen, I finally experienced it again in good weather at the North Cape.

 
 

This is a map of the area within the Arctic Circle (click to enlarge). The circle is in blue, and the red line denotes the area within which the average temperature of the warmest month is below 10°C (50°F), another definition of the Arctic region. Note how Spitsbergen (part of Svalbard) is far enough north to avoid all near-sunsets. Note how Norway's North Cape and Tromsø are just north of the Circle, allowing for near-sunsets, possibly colorful. Note how the rest of Scandinavia, including Iceland, is just far south enough to not have a polar day, but to experience the borderline twilight darkness for short periods in summer. Finally, note Greenland's west coast.

 
 

I found an excellent YouTube time-lapse video that shows the polar day above the Arctic Circle, although it's listed in the vaguer, general sense as showing the "midnight sun". It's a loop that starts repeating at about 0:25, where you can detect a slight seam in the sequencing, so you'll see the same body of water followed by the same mountain again and again near the location of the near sunset-sunrise. Most time-lapse photography, such as of an opening flower, involves a stationary camera. This camera obviously kept rotating over a 24-hour period to get this action. The location isn't specified, but since the high point of the unremarkable Arctic noon is followed by such a low low point of the near-sunset, it must be just north of the Circle. Thus the term "seeing the midnight sun" really refers to experiencing a 24-hour polar day, which further north will have a "midnight sun" still quite high in the sky, but nearer the Circle, will have a "midnight sun" that's a near-sunset. South of the Circle will still be pretty good, but there'll be an actual sunset/sunrise, at least for a little bit.

 
 

Let's see what the possibilities look like. This is a near-sunset "midnight sun" at the North Cape, in Norway (Photo by Yan Zhang). It shows mild orange color, including on the water. This is something similar in Greenland, in the next fjord north (Photo by Jan Kronsell) of the one we'd just left. The disadvantage of this picture is that the orange color is way to exaggerated, but the advantage is that it shows how mountains can obscure the horizon, something that was much more extreme for us the night before, with much higher mountains around our fjord.

 
 

The most representative and illustrative picture of the subject to my mind is this absolutely idyllic one in Norway, not far from Tromsø (Photo by Chmee2). Note the orange color of the sun, and click to inspect closely the orange color of the water, and you'll understand why the stylized Greenlandic flag uses a red sun and sea. Finally, look again at Upernavik, where we saw the kids on their first day of school. Click to enlarge to inspect the orange glow (Photo by Kim Hansen) on the hillside in this picture taken at 23:45 on an August night.

 
 

So what was the experience on this trip? The Arctic Circle is located at about 66.5°. Disko Bay is above it at about 69°, and Sisimiut and Kangerlussuag squeeze barely above it at about 67°, so, to varying degrees, they would see near-sunsets. But the next day after today we'd be in Nuuk at 64°, so this evening the ship was somewhere somewhat below the Circle, and what I expected in the good weather we were having was what I might call a "quick sunset", down then up again for a sunrise. It sort of worked out that way.

 
 

Nothing was organized by the ship's staff, who tended to let one on one's own. Shortly before midnight, several of us made our way to the top deck, and to the stern of the ship, since it seemed that any action would be in the northwest, behind us. For some reason I still can't understand, things didn't really revolve around midnight, but rather 1 AM, and daylight savings time was not a factor. Anyway, the sky and ship were already enveloped in the diffused, weak light typical of any sunset, but prolonged and very beautiful this far north. While things worked out, what made fools of us all is the glacial slowness (no pun intended) of the sun this far north. We wandered around for a good half-hour and the low sun hardly moved. Some gave up after midnight, and I wandered down two decks to where there was a covered pavilion at the back of the ship outside the Alter Fritz bar. We sat around, munching on a hot dog from the eternal buffet, or on a cold Frikadelle (meatball) from the display inside. Glacially, the sun went down, and finally, the bottom touched the horizon. There was some orange glow, but not as intense as I've seen, especially since a wispy cloud or two appeared on the horizon. It took an eternity for a quarter of the sun to set (we were, after all, in the twilight zone just south of the Circle), another eternity until half was gone, then three-quarters. Finally, a persistent top point of the sun lasted for minutes on end, and finally it was gone. Many left at this point, but I was so sure that it would start rising again shortly that I wanted to at least see that little tip again, but nothing happened right away. Finally, it was 2 AM and I called it quits, just as a fog bank was rolling in from the south, anyway. It was still a great experience so late in the day, in the diffused and gentle light.

 
 

June 24   The fog had cleared when we woke up the next morning in Nuuk down the coast. Aside from being the largest city in Greenland, and its capital, it's the northernmost capital in North America, at least depending on your outlook about Greenland's location. Nuuk is virtually equal in latitude to Reykjavik, but while Rejkjavik, at 64°08'N, is the northernmost capital of an independent country, if you include "constituent countries" which is Greenland's present position in regard to Denmark, Nuuk, at 64°10', surpasses it by a whisker. The name Nuuk means "cape", since it's on a cape at the end of its fjord facing the Labrador Sea, surrounded by mountains (Photo by Oliver Schauf).

 
 

We tendered in from the ship, and it was a bright and sunny Sunday morning, so the pleasant harbor area we were in on this side of town and cape was quiet. Although Nuuk had the requisite hills a couple of blocks inland, the interesting area lay on relatively flat land along the harbor, along about 3-4 blocks of the interestingly named Hans Egedesvej ("vej" is Danish for "way", and rhymes with it). Right at the dock some schoolkids, in Greenlandic costume, were having a bake sale for those coming off the ship, and were also selling trinkets. Surrounding us were the quaint buildings of the Greenland National Museum, housed in colorful historic warehouses and trade shops.

 
 

A block or two further along was a bit of parkland along the water, whose grass was sprinkled with dandelions, which I found interesting, and you could walk down to water's edge and almost "pet" some growlers in the water. Just above that, on a small hill, was the statue of Hans Egede (Photo by Svickova), with the red Nuuk Cathedral in the background. It wasn't a very steep hill, and others had already reached the statue. I got about three-quarters up the hill, and the grass and rocks became quite slippery. After falling in Iceland, and with the Path of Hell fresh in my memory, my view of the statue from where I was was quite adequate. Afterward it was just a few steps to visit Nuuk Cathedral (Photo by Algkalv), built in 1849.

 
 

This is a very nice panorama of Nuuk. Click to enlarge and start on the left. In the background is that mountain we saw in the earlier picture, and then there are some of the hills in town. There are plenty of larger buildings, including apartment houses. Pan past the cathedral with the shadow of Egede's statue on its roof. When you pan to the end of the land on the right, you'll see where our tender docked, and the red and gold buildings of the museum. Right above that, you'll see that Nuuk has its occasional long wooden staircases like everywhere else. In the water to the right you'll then see some beached growlers stuck in a cove, and then the view from the cape Nuuk is on out to the Labrador Sea.

 
 

This last picture is of something we did not actually see, but is located more in the center of town, on the main street, Aqqusinersuaq (Photo by Alankomaat), which has a number of shops and the 140-room Hotel Hans Egede. This shows a bus on one of Nuuk's three bus lines, the X3, at one of the town's two (!!!) traffic lights. In addition, the majority of the 72 buses and 2,570 cars (as of 2004) owned in Greenland operate in Nuuk. I include it to show that Greenland is not necessarily as unusual a place as many readers might picture, at least not in the "big city" of Nuuk.

 
 

June 25   There was an adjustment to our last stop in Greenland that involved 1) a cancellation, 2) an unfortunately unsuccessful attempt at an added day trip, and 3) a substitution, which turned out just fine. To follow, here is another one of those maps showing airline routes, including Nuuk, Paamiut, and the big airport in the little town of Narsarsuaq, where Qaqortoq is a helicopter connection to its south. You can also see how close this is to Kap Farvel/Cape Farewell, after which we'd say "farvel" to Greenland.

 
 

The cancellation was of our last originally planned top in Greenland, in Qaqortoq (Photo by Alankomaat), which looks pleasant enough in this picture, but not very different from what we'd seen. This is a view of the town heliport (Photo by Kim Hansen), which connects it to the Narsarsuaq Airport. We were told that there was just too much sea ice near town for us to safely approach it, so the stop with its couple of town tours was cancelled.

 
 

However, while sailing down the west coast, I'd been learning more online about the Norse settlements, and found that the entire Eastern Settlement had been located between Narsarsuag and Qaqortoq to its south. In addition to a number of lesser relics remaining in the general area, the ruins of Hvalsey (hval+s+ey = whale+'s+island), or Whale Island, 19 km (12 mi) north of Qaqortoq, are the most prominent Norse ruins in Greenland, particularly the ruins of Hvalsey Church, where a 1408 wedding is the last documented Norse event to occur in Greenland. Two years later the Icelandic newlyweds returned to Norway, then settled in Iceland in 1413. The details were recorded in letters between Papal dignitaries in Iceland and the Vatican. Those facts to me are heavy stuff, given the date and remoteness of Greenland.

 
 

While there are other relics to see (details in the next posting on the Norse), it seemed like this excursion to Hvalsey might be doable, and I was surprised that the Deutschland tour desk hadn't planned on it. I talked to the Concierge, who was cooperative, but explained that it would involve him hiring a high-speed boat to come down from Nuuk to meet the ship in Qaqortoq, since Hvalsey had to be reached by boat. He didn't offer to announce the possibility, which made me wonder, but shortly afterward I met a American named Mark, who was very familiar with Norse history in Greenland. and was even more eager to go to Hvalsey than I was. We'd need 12 participants, and shortly afterward he said he'd rounded up 9 Americans, and we could probably meet our goal. And then the whole project became moot when the stop at Qaqortoq was cancelled. It was a disappointment, and when I got back to New York I researched how one could do it on a later trip. It's unlikely, but I never say never.

 
 

The last-minute substitution for Qaqortoq was then Paamiut, halfway down the coast from Nuuk to Qaqortoq, and that's where we docked this morning. It was a short, rather level walk past bright, private houses into the center of Paamiut (Photo by Clemensfranz). It too, had apartment buildings from the 1960's (in the background), but more interesting was the small museum consisting of the half-dozen historic buildings dating from 1839 to 1925 clustered around the green-roofed one in the center, and the town church to its right. The absolutely charming 1909 church (Photo by Clemensfranz), which was also open, was in the form of a Norwegian stave church, and was a pleasure to tour, including the cemetery next to it. As mentioned earlier, Paamiut also had a turf or sod house, but it was closed. I passed a shop with a half-dozen Inuit playing cards outside, and there were three apartment buildings on the hill, each with a sign on top, naming them in English Siberia, Canada, Alaska, the other locations of the Inuit, along with Greenland. There was also a contemporary, but utilitarian, department store I stopped into. On the large ground floor were furniture, bikes, hardware, aluminum rowboats, patio furniture; upstairs were clothes and drugstore items. It was another northern, small-town outpost of commercialism.

 
 

June 26   This was the first of two days at sea, rounding Kap Farvel on the way back to Iceland. There was a final Gala in the evening, but the Frühschoppen (2012/17) scheduled in the late morning was postponed to the next day due to wind and drizzle. But a day at sea is always valuable, even if it's just to stay cozily indoors.

 
 

June 27   The last day was magnificent, and after a usually well-enjoyed breakfast, I went to the rescheduled Frühschoppen at 11 AM on the top deck around the pool. I sat at a table, had a stein of beer, listened to the music, but couldn't bear to even approach the buffet table this time as I had on other occasions. I particularly missed the warm soups, but lunch was coming in no time! During the afternoon, people were in swimming, but I sat on a deck chair with my book, first in an open area looking out to sea, then near the pool under a shaded overhang. A blanket made both locations even more pleasant.

 
 

The next morning we docked back in Hafnarfjördur (2012/21) where I had my day in Reykjavik, and on the following day flew back to Boston to take the train to New York.

 
 

The Titanic   I've just discussed Greenland and its icebergs, and the 15th of April this very year was the centenary of the sinking of the Titanic, so it's appropriate that we connect the two topics. This is an excellent map of the route of the Titanic (Map by Prioryman) on her maiden, and only, voyage, other than her sea trials in the Irish Sea two weeks earlier, starting on the 2nd of April. From Southampton she went to Cherbourg, and then to Queenstown in Ireland, now known by its original name of Cobh, which is the port for Cork. ("Cobh" is pronounced "Cove" and has no meaning in Gaelic, it being a gaelicization of the English word "cove", since the town had been named in English as the Cove of Cork.)

 
 

Note the position of the Titanic when she sank on her way to New York to dock at what is now the Chelsea Piers (2012/22). Though often described as having happened off of Newfoundland, adjust your perspective of the disaster to look at Greenland and its relation to Labrador and Newfoundland across the Labrador Sea. We now know icebergs usually travel north on the prevailing current up to Baffin Bay before turning south along the coast of first Labrador, then Newfoundland, so just draw a mental line along the Canadian coast at that point to imagine the iceberg's route to cross the path of the Titanic. This route of the icebergs is also called "iceberg alley" because of the high frequency of icebergs coming down to the shipping lanes.

 
 

Although not known for sure, estimates of the size of the iceberg have put it between 15-30 m (50-100 ft) high and 61-122m (200-400 ft) long, and may have been just one of many icebergs in the area. However, it is believed possible that a picture of the iceberg in question exists. This is the iceberg suspected of sinking the Titanic. The ship went under at 2:20 AM, and this iceberg was photographed by the chief steward of the German liner Prinz Adalbert later on that same morning, just a few kilometers/miles south of where the ship went down. He hadn't yet heard the news of the sinking. What caught his attention was a smear of red paint along the base of the iceberg, which indicated that it had collided with a ship quite recently.

 
 

A further footnote, one that has nothing to do with icebergs, but is nevertheless timely here, is about the sinking this year of the Costa Concordia in Italy. It happened on 13 January 2012, almost exactly three months short of the Titanic centenary on 15 April 2012. Although the loss of life was far less and it remained close to the surface, this was the largest passenger ship by tonnage to have ever sunk, almost two-and-a-half times larger than the Titanic.

 
 

Travelers Century Club   The last addition to my TCC list was on the Amazon trip, Saint Barts, 141. This trip, the Azores, being semi-independent from Portugal, count separately as 142. Madeira, the Canaries, Germany, and Norway were not new for me. Shetland was new, but neither it nor Orkney has any independence from Scotland, where I've already been, so Shetland doesn't count. The Faroes are 143. Iceland was not new, but Greenland was 144, which is my present new total of destinations visited.

 
 

I'll state again that I find it helpful as a dedicated traveler to have a well thought-out check-off list such as this, much as someone having taken some special college courses appreciates a certificate to commemorate the event. But with the addition of South Sudan in 2011, the TCC list now comes to 321 destinations. There are a handful of members who have slavishly gone to every one of them, and there are more who are regularly listed in the club newsletter that have reached 300, 250, 200. None of that will be for me, because so many destinations listed are boring, or at least of no interest to me. I'm running out of NEW destinations of interest, and have only a handful left on my to-do list. If I hit 150 and get my silver pin, I'll be more than satisfied. From my point of view, there is so much of value in repeat visits. Look how different brand-new Churchill was compared to past visits elsewhere in Canada, and this trip, the visits to Madeira, the Canaries (both Gran Canaria and Tenerife), and Iceland were a world apart from earlier visits. Passing 150 will be enough, and then come a lot more revisits.

 
 

For those readers interested, this is a link to the Wikipedia article on the TCC, with both positive and negative comments. Wikipedia also maintains its version of the TCC list of destinations (called "countries"), with the four most recent updates at the very bottom. I find this list confusing, and suggest the reader check out www.travelerscenturyclub.org directly. Click on "Countries and Territories" to see them grouped by region, which is much more helpful in many ways. You can also click on "Alphabetical List".

 
 
 
Back  |   Top  |   Previous Series   |   Next Series