10/09/2026
What is it about lands without trees that keeps calling?
The Danish government in the 1970s decided that it was too expensive to run little settlements, and so forced everyone out to the bigger towns. That is not a wound that has healed. Today, Qoornoq is officially an abandoned settlement, which means no new houses can be built, and the old ones have become summer homes.
The colours used to tell you what each building was for. Red was for trade, churches and schools; yellow was for the clinic; green was for the electricals and telecoms, while blue was everything to do with the sea. It's been decades since this was followed, but the general hospital in Nuuk is still bright yellow.
Before satellites, coastal stations like these were essential for ship-to-land communication. Line of sight is crucial, so they were perched high and close to the water.
There are no significant sources of smoke and no trees to produce pollen. The air is cool and dry and carries very little water vapour.
We subconsciously judge distances based on how hazy they appear. Over here, miscalculations are common. Ask any skipper. That mountain is not close.
Most of Greenland is neither green nor land. It is one piece of ice, up to three kilometres thick, that has been sitting over the rock for 120,000 years.
Here's the recipe: First, make it snow. Keep everything cold enough to not let it melt. Add more snow on top. The pressure that builds turns the lower layers of snow into ice. Repeat for a hundred thousand years and voilà, you have the Greenlandic ice sheet.
At this point, the ice begins to flow in slow motion. Like pancake batter slowly spreading out over a pan, the ice flows out towards the sea.
Sometimes, the glacier meets the sea in the form of pretty meltwater falls.
And other times, in a rather dramatic fashion, it drops enormous amounts of ice into the sea.
This is the Ilulissat Icefjord (Kangia in Greenlandic). This slow-moving fjord connects the glacier front (Sermeq Kujalleq) with the sea. Like a traffic jam from hell, it takes the ice about a year to make the journey out.
This is the most productive glacier in the northern hemisphere, and also the fastest. It flows at 40 metres a day, to the West out to Disko Bay (to the right in this picture).
The biggest of these bergs face further waits once they reach the mouth. A large moraine deposit, left over from the previous Ice Age, raises the seabed to less than 250 metres below. Like a speed bump, the taller icebergs run aground, where they loiter for a year or two, moving laterally, until they melt enough to clear it.
What you're seeing is just the tip of... hmm. What you're seeing is just the top part of the block of ice. Ninety percent of its volume is under the sea. The biggest of these stands at a hundred metres above the sea, and nine hundred metres below.
The icebergs that make it through go on a long journey spanning years, past Labrador and Newfoundland in Canada, eventually melting in the warm waters off of New York. Some have even been spotted all the way in the Bahamas and Ireland.
These giant blocks of ice are the size of entire towns. Can't get too close to them, though. As they crack and melt, their centre of gravity shifts, and sometimes, they roll over, causing sudden waves and coastal tsunamis.
In the sun, the melting ice creates channels and draws streaks on the surface. Under water, warm sea currents etch tiny groove-like patterns that almost seem biological. The berg in the foreground has recently rolled over.
Lack of trees does not mean a lack of flora. There's an entire forest below your feet. Greenland's autumn colours come from ankle-high. The secret to surviving the Arctic tundra is to lie low, away from the winds.
Ilulissat is Greenlandic for Icebergs. Here, doing the dishes is never a chore. The view outside is never static, as giant icebergs drift slowly, constantly.
Home to 5,000 people and 4,000 dogs, Ilulissat is the third largest city in Greenland. A generation ago, those two numbers were almost the same.
The town's big store's coffee bar is an excellent place to catch up with old friends, or if you're an outsider, to practice your Greenlandic.
What's that? Oat milk? It's black. One cup. That'll be 8 kroner. Qujanaq.
Q sounds like a hard K from the back of your throat. You'll hear it often, and you'll see it often, and when you learn to say it right, a thank you (Qujanaq) will earn you a slightly wider smile.
Versions of this word can be heard all the way to Alaska.
Domestic air travel in Greenland feels closer to ferry travel than flying. Airports are tiny buildings that serve as check-in desk, waiting room, departures and arrivals all at the same time.
Greenland sits outside the EU aviation security jurisdiction, which explains some of the informality of it all.
The DASH-8/200 is a slender 37-seater that is the face of domestic air travel in the country. While not as fast as jet planes, this propeller-powered aircraft has surprising acceleration from rest, reaching takeoff speeds rather quickly, making it ideal for short and rugged airstrips. In other words, great for Greenland.
There are no roads outside towns in Greenland. Ferries take days, and these flight routes are crucial for travel, supplies and other essentials, especially in the deep North.
Dogs in Greenland are a complicated affair. North of the Arctic Circle, and all of the East coast is considered the official sled dog district. The only dogs allowed in here are the Greenlandic sled dog. All dogs are working dogs, not pets.
These rules exist to maintain genetic isolation. The Kalaallit Qimmiat is essentially a pure breed isolated for a thousand years, and originally came with the Thule people when they migrated from Siberia via Alaska and Canada. The only exceptions allowed are for police and guide dogs, and even then, they have to be sterilised.
All adult dogs are kept chained outside, while pups under six months roam free. You are not allowed to play with them. According to the musher, if they associate humans with cuddles and scratches, they'll make bad sled dogs.
South of town is a giant field of over five hundred dogs and pups, barking, playing. And then without warning, they all howl in unison. If there's an official sound to Ilulissat, it has to be the sound of the dogs.
On my first arrival at Nuuk, I found the airport to be comically simple but functional, with just three gates, a single café and a small duty free shop. Outside was a single-file taxi line with two cabs.
On my second arrival at Nuuk, twelve days later, it felt like it had magically grown in size. Three gates seemed excessive and having two cabs waiting felt like luxury.
At the edge of what's habitable, it's not just your sense of distance that's impaired, but also your sense of scale. You shrink against the expanse and the quiet. Perhaps this is what keeps calling: an invitation to feel small for a brief moment.
