Greenland: among the giants

Greenland always loomed large on the maps I spent hours poring over during my childhood. This is partly due to its actual size (it’s the largest island in the world) and partly due to land mass closer to the poles appearing more vertically stretched on common map projections. One of the first fun facts I learned about Greenland is that the Vikings named it so to entice more settlers. In reality, the vast majority of Greenland (80%) is covered by an ice cap, and its 55,000 inhabitants live predominantly along its western coast. While Greenland is geographically part of North America, it is politically part of Denmark (and autonomous in a number of ways). 

Kangerlussuaq airport, Greenland

Getting to Greenland requires some time and dedication, as the best way to reach it is via a nearly 5 hour flight from Copenhagen to Kangerlussuaq, a small town of about 500 inhabitants and the only airport in Greenland able to handle larger aircraft (originally built as a military base during World War II). Kangerlussuaq is a good jumping off point for visiting the polar ice cap (as a day trip, or more commonly an overnight camping trip), or for internal flights within Greenland. Note that the weather is notoriously fickle; delays and cancellations are not uncommon, so plan accordingly. Upon landing, I took a short flight to Ilulissat, a town further north on the western coast. There are no roads between towns in Greenland—just airplanes, boats, dog sleds, and snowmobiles. I booked all my flights directly (including the roundtrip from Copenhagen) via Air Greenland.

Colourful buildings in the town of Ilulissat

Walking around Ilulissat

While Ilulissat is the third largest town in Greenland, its population is 4,600, so you’ll need to plan ahead for your accommodation and transport. You can visit any time of year, but the summer months, during which the sun never fully sets, tend to be most popular (conversely, during winter there is little daylight). The town itself is a colorful sprawl of houses and buildings made to withstand the harsh winters, with the color of the building indicating its use (yellow for doctors and hospitals, red for teachers and churches, blue for fishermen and fish factories, etc.). After settling into my centrally located Airbnb, I went for a walk through town, finding my way to one of the western viewpoints over the bay. I enjoyed lunch at Cafe Iluliaq, which offers a range of different meals, with both locals and tourists seated outside to enjoy the summer sunshine. For dinner, Inuit Cafe offers perhaps some of the best food in Ilulissat, including a range of local specialties. You’ll also find a couple of supermarkets with a decent array of products, though keep in mind that Greenland imports almost everything except for fish, so prices are high and selection is limited. Note that everything closes quite early, even in summer (unless you happen to be invited to one of the local all-night parties). 

Icebergs in Disko Bay

Midnight colours in Disko Bay

That evening, I embarked on a previously booked icefjord boat tour, which turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. The tours typically depart around 10pm to take advantage of the summer midnight sun. We glided among sunset-tinted icebergs, spotting numerous humpback whales putting on quite the display, flukes playfully raised and blowholes spouting above the sea. The sunset went on for hours after our return, soon turning into a bright dawn. 

The next day, I embarked on a kayaking excursion with Ilulissat Adventures around Disko Bay. They provide all the gear, including a drysuit—bring some warm wool layers to wear underneath. In general, layers are key to Greenland, as the average summer temperature in Greenland is about 10C (50F) and can fluctuate significantly. While some days were so warm I could wear a t-shirt, others necessitated protective layers against pelting rain and winds so strong I could barely breathe.  

Kayaking in Disko Bay

It felt truly spectacular to be on the water in close proximity to giant icebergs, and a good reminder of how small we are in the larger view. In a similar vein, the spectacular Ilulissat Isfjordscenter (a short walk from the town center), newly constructed and opened in 2021, is also worth a visit. Its unique architecture and informative exhibits are sure to occupy the better part of a couple of hours, and it’s also the start of a couple of short trails to reach the ice cap, a UNESCO World heritage site. Perhaps my favourite part of the whole trip, the Ilulissat Icefjord is at once breathtakingly beautiful, awe-inspiring, and humbling; it will leave you questioning humanity’s role and place on this planet. 

Walking from Ilulissat Isfjordscenter to the icefjord

The views and sounds are stunning: this giant, slow-moving glacier, witness to thousands of centuries past, passes slowly before you, iceberg-sized chunks breaking off and echoing, cracking and heaving, into the abyss. It’s at once both larger than life and disappearing before our very eyes: in recent years, the ice sheet has been melting at record levels. Second in size only to Antarctica, Greenland’s ice sheet contains 12% of the world’s glacier ice. Its melting is predicted to result in significant sea level rises worldwide that will change life as we know it over the next few generations. 

View of Disko Bay on a short hike from Ilulissat

A good place to continue philosophizing is always over great local food and wine. Koks is an excellent restaurant typically based in another Danish territory, the Faroe Islands. I had the privilege of dining there during my trip to the Faroe Islands a few years back. While Koks constructs a new home for their restaurant in the Faroes, they have established a summer residency in Ilimanaq, Greenland, accessible from Ilulissat via a 90 minute boat ride through even more icebergs. Reservations are recommended well in advance, and you’ll book the boat transfer separately through World of Greenland. Koks in Greenland does not disappoint, focusing on showcasing the best of what the area has to offer in ways that are both delicious and surprising. Afterwards, enjoy a magical sunset-hued ride back to Ilulissat at the end of the evening. 

A dish with wine pairing at Koks in Ilimanaq

The town of Ilimanaq, a 90 minute boat ride from Ilulissat

After a few nights in Ilulissat, I caught the local Arctic Umiaq ferry that takes both locals and tourists up and down Greenland’s western coast. I booked a cabin for the 36 hour journey down to Nuuk, Greenland’s capital; while expensive, it afforded a calm and private place to sleep and rest during the day. The ferry is a fun experience and special way to see Greenland, including some tiny coastal villages (some stops along the way required us to launch a dinghy to pick up the passengers and bring them aboard). It’s a basic ship with relatively simple food options (bring snacks and whatever else you might like aboard, including books, games, etc.). It’s typically too windy to be outside for more than a few minutes at a time, though you can disembark at some of the larger ports en route (notably Sisimiut, which was a nice place to stretch my legs and walk around for a couple of hours)—check first on the departure time before disembarking. 

The Arctic Umiaq ferry

The town of Kangaamiut seen from the ferry

Nuuk is worth a night or two to get a sense of life in Greenland’s capital and largest town, though it is decidedly less charming than Ilulissat. During my stay, the winds were too strong for most outdoor activities, and the standup paddleboard tour I’d booked was cancelled. This is not uncommon in Greenland, and travelling here during any time of year requires an open mind and flexibility. My flight from Nuuk back to Kangerlussuaq was repeatedly delayed and then cancelled due to the high winds, and I eventually arrived on another flight later that evening once the winds had temporarily relented. As it was after 6pm, nothing was open in Kangerlussuaq (no grocery stores, restaurants, etc., of which there are just a couple to begin with), so be sure to have food with you. I was personally saved by my Airbnb host’s instant ramen supply, for which I am eternally grateful. Kangerlussuaq is largely skippable except as a starting point for an ice sheet tour, a worthwhile experience to see a piece of our planet that may not be around for much longer.

Downtown Nuuk

Downtown Nuuk

Colourful residential buildings in Nuuk

Where to eat and drink

Cafe Iluliaq, Ilulissat

Inuit Cafe, Ilulissat

Koks, Ilimanaq

Killut Cafe, Nuuk

Daddy’s, Nuuk

Godthåb Bryghus, Nuuk

Sarfalik, Nuuk

Restaurant Charoen Porn, Nuuk

Kristinemut, Nuuk

Where to stay

Airbnb in central Ilulissat

Arctic Umiaq ferry (between Ilulissat and Nuuk)

Airbnb in Nuuk

The allure of islands

“We live—as we dream—alone…” - Joseph Conrad

These words of Conrad’s resonated with me when I first read them in Heart of Darkness years ago. In many ways, we live independently, never truly knowing the depths of others. For years, I’ve been drawn to remote islands when I travel, and since travel isn’t quite possible right now, I’ve taken some time to reflect on why. Islands are solitary, independent, stoic—they don’t care whether you tend to them or not; they can fend for themselves. They’re the perfect escape, and yet, they are also inescapable. The next ship or flight out may not be for a few days, and until that time, you’re committed. 

One of my favourite beaches on Ikaria

One of my first trips to an island was to Ikaria, which, according to Greek mythology, is formed from the remains of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun. Ikaria is a spectacular mix of dramatic, steep mountains inhabitable only by goats and stunning beach coves where the cliffs meet the sea. Though the island briefly gained some popularity following a New York Times article describing the island’s inhabitants’ longevity (many currently live well into their 90s or later), spurring a wave of dining on Mediterranean staples, it remains a calm and simple place. In a way, things here are much as they were 50 years ago, and perhaps even further back. There is no room for posturing on an island of this size, as everyone knows each other, and gossip remains a vital form of currency. With roots in Ikaria, Mihalis Kavouriaris has been running a language school high up on the northern side of the island, by the village of Arethousa, for over 20 years. Offering a range of relatively intensive courses in Greek language and culture, the school attracts students both young and old, with one thing in common: a sense of adventure. Reaching Ikaria involves a flight into Athens, followed by a transfer to the port of Piraeus, after which you board a ferry for the six hour ride to Evdilos or Agios Kirykos, the two port towns on Ikaria. You can also fly to Ikaria, bypassing some of the journey, but that feels a bit too easy. It was, after all, Odysseus who showed us that the journey is just as important as the destination. 

A beach on the eastern side of Ikaria

The port town of Evdilos on Ikaria

Once at the school, mornings and early afternoons are occupied with classes, but the sun of the midday and late afternoon are all yours. I spent many a scorching afternoon daydreaming at the small outdoor tables overlooking the Aegean (on a clear day, the island of Chios and mainland Turkey come into view), writing down my hopes and dreams for the future. For what I might become. Islands can push you to take a hard look inside yourself and reflect on what you are, and what you want to be, in a way that no other place can. Islands, after all, are focused on survival: what truly matters? What do we need to live? 

The Seychelles

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to travel to a much more remote set of four islands, the Aldabra Group in the Seychelles. Uninhabited save for a few researchers who receive supplies by ship several times a year, this group of atolls was spared destruction by humans because it has no source of fresh water. It is the only place in the world besides the Galápagos where the giant tortoise roams, and you feel very much a passing visitor to a foreign land. You can reach one of the islands, Assumption, by small plane, but you’ll need a ship to see anything else. We travelled there aboard the National Geographic Orion, setting sail from Dar es Salaam in Tanzania a few days prior. One evening, we came ashore from the ship via Zodiac and witnessed sea turtle hatchlings heading out to sea under the superbly clear southern sky. Never had I seen such a dizzying array of stars, so many that it seemed there was more light than darkness in the sky. With the warm Indian Ocean lapping at our feet, it was comforting to feel that we were the only humans around for miles, in a place inaccessible to others: that is also the magic of an island. 

A giant tortoise on Aldabra island

Much of the enchantment of islands is not immediately visible—you’ll need to go below the surface. Aldabra is a coral atoll, and with the tide, while scuba diving or snorkeling, you can drift into its inner lagoon, the current pushing you along its abundant reefs and wildlife in a crystal-clear reverie. Schools of snapper, aggregations of eagle rays, and solitary sea turtles pass by with the most imperceptible of nods. Just offshore, shivers of black-tipped reef sharks circle in the shallows, and you immediately feel a sense of wonder for these often-feared animals. These sharks have no interest in humans, preferring to explore the warm waters in search of fish and to play-fight among themselves. But they are curious: upon dipping a camera into the water, I quickly found a young shark investigating this novel intruder, nudging with its snout to test its boundaries. 

The Faroe Islands

Some islands have developed rich cultures that over centuries have thrived on their seclusion. The Faroe Islands, accessible by plane from Copenhagen, are a place I’ve often dreamed of during this quarantine. Due to the islands’ remoteness, the local people have developed a way of life drawing on their creativity and resourcefulness: food is often fermented to preserve its nutrients for harder times, and no piece of any animal is wasted. More remote villages have been connected via an intricate network of tunnels to ensure passage even during rough seas, resulting in a dispersed but also interdependent population. The islands’ beauty feels all the more striking due to their isolation: you recognise what a privilege it is to experience such a place, to hike for miles in the company of nature, without coming across another human being.

The Faroe Islands

Manhattan from above

And yet, the beauty of islands does not necessarily lie in their remoteness. Some are inhabited so densely that you might easily forget you’re on one. Manhattan is a perfect example: you could live your entire life without leaving, and its connections to the rest of New York City are so heavily trafficked as to feel permanent. Bridges, ferries, subways, buses, bikes are constantly buzzing, and the sense of scarcity here is defined more by the distance between the haves and the have nots. Yet each time I see the Manhattan skyline after some time away, I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of possibility: all humanity is here, and you can find anything you like, at any time of day or night. Authentic Colombian arepas? Just around the corner. Some of the best sushi in the world, flown in daily from Tsukiji fish market in Japan? A few blocks’ walk. A strong community of multi-generational Italians? A short subway ride. In the midst of so much activity, you feel that you are a part of something, that you belong. In the end, perhaps that’s what we live for: this sense of belonging. In many ways, islands group like-minded people, allowing us to share our feelings, plans, and dreams. They are reminders of what we really are.

What place do you dream of?

The most beautiful city in the world

For more island reading, check out this piece by scientist Vivien Cumming.