Eyes twitching, body twisting, mind racing . . . I felt fried. “Man will somebody turn off the Lights!” I shouted up at the ceiling as lay in my overly firm little bed of the Tasiilaq’s Red House.
Yes, there is a surreal beauty, and it is a very cool and interesting experience to be in a place where the sun does not gone down . . .but, man, after awhile, it becomes just weird, disorienting, crazy, and very, very hard to get some zzzz’s. Having no idea what time is was as the sunlight poured through the sheer curtain into my room, I grabbed for my travel clock. It read 3:37am.
Sleep not possible, I decided to head outside and check out the little village which ran down the road about a mile away. The previous two days I had gone on long hikes up behind the guest house and had not been to the village. Yes, to see the quaint village early asleep would certainly be lovely. Walking down the hill which fed into the lone street, the setting was so still and pure. The icebergs looking like bobs of cotton balls gliding by, oh so slowly in water, which now appeared almost purple in color, set against the ruggedness of those dark sculpted mountains.
As I walked, I thought of my past travels through the years, and thought yes, this setting is one of the most dramatic I have ever come upon. However, just as I was losing myself in Talisuq’s bucolic bounty, there appeared to be something in the road in front of me. It looked like a human body. I approached slowly, and yes, it was a body, a body of a man. Laying face down, spread eagle, his head titled to the right with his tongue sticking out, as if he was licking the pavement. I approached cautiously to look closer. He seemed to be breathing. Directly to his left a few feet away rested an empty liquor bottle. I did not recognize the brand.
I decided to leave the man as he was, thinking he would wake eventually. But then within another two minutes of walking, there on the side of the road was another body. This man was younger, probably no more than eighteen. He was on his back, face up and snoring. On the other side of the road was another man, equally as young, and could have passed for his twin brother. He was curled up on his side. I continued down the road, determined not to let the late night bingers interfere with my walk to the village. However, about five minutes more of walking I could see two male figures. These two looked Danish, not native Greenlandic like the previous three. They were located slightly off the road by a bench. What was going on? The one man standing, a rather giant of a guy, easily 6’5 was laughing in a goolish manner. As I passed I could see that he was urinating on the body of the other. Actually pissing right in the face of the stone cold drunk man slumped on the bench . . . lovely.
It seemed odd to me, to experience sights like this in such a pristine landscape. But just as I was about to criticize the locals for their behavior, I made sure to adjust my “experienced traveler of the world” hat. Don’t be judgmental, and was almost in the state of complete diffidence to the whole situation, as I spotted yet another couple drunks over to the left staggering about, when I heard a scream . . .
It was a scream that was blood curdling, primal, horrifying. It was the type of scream you hear in a cheap B grade slasher flick, but hopefully never in real life. Off to my right, I see tearing down the steep hillside this Greenlandic woman, clothes torn, hair flying. She runs towards me and stops in front of me for a brief moment. Her face is bloody as if punished repeatedly. She yells something to me. I don’t understand her. Panic and terror is on her face and she bolts down the road toward the village. Her screams of terror ripping through the early morning air.
And within seconds I hear some commotion from behind me. I look over to my right, and in the same direction that she came from, I see a man, a short burly man. He is running down the hill and yelling loudly. He stumbles and gets up and he looks incredibly pissed off as in a dire need to catch the woman. As he runs he seems to have something in his hand. He has made it to the road. He is just fifty yards from me. He is staring at me. He is holding an ax in his hand.
What do I do? A woman is grave danger. A maniac is after her, who will probably kill her. He is approaching, running at top speed, what should I do? And just then as I get ready to try to intervene, a car screeches around the bend. The ax man leaves the road as he runs across the open field, he dropping his ax as he does. The car stops and three men get out and follow in pursuit. I don’t know the ending.
OK, now I have seen enough . . . my goal to take a quiet walk to the village has been disturbed. I feel shaken, numb. I decide not in mood for the village, I will tackle it later – and return to the Red House. I do not tell anyone what I just witnessed. I sit on the rock, look at the landscape and read Philip Roth’s Goodbye Columbus. It does me good getting lost in the words and removed from this horrific morning as far as possible.
GOOD NEWS . . . I did make it to the village – and the day turned out to be an eventful and colorful one. The day included the cannons going off at 9am to signify that the Red Boat was arriving. The Red boat is a freighter from Denmark that once a month brings food, goods, supplies, to the one main store in Tasiluq. It is not an official holiday, but the stoic Greenlanders seemed in festive spirit, as I watch at least one hundred people stream down from the surrounding village hills. They watch the boat unload, and the form a que to go in and shop. Robert Mirroni who runs the house mentioned how often the store runs out of the most basic of necessities, and also how expensive things are because of having to be shipped so far to Greenland. (Later in the day I would witness this firsthand, buying some razors blades, more than the cost in NYC).
But what I enjoyed especially about the day was that I met a very unique and colorful personality, who went by the name of Vernine, or should I say Vera. I met Vera as I went to the book store around noon, its location resting attractively on a rise by the water. The book store was small but quite charming, nicely decorated and seemed to double as a cafe.
As I wandered about I did not see anyone at all in the store. Then about ten minutes later a man, well, I think a man, no, perhaps she was a woman, came out through a curtain in the back of the bookstore. I was confused. The face though delicate, was that of a man, of perhaps forty years old. However, he wore his hair long tied in a bun, and wore a floral patterned pink skirt. On top he wore a simple green tee shirt which displayed his small but rather pointy breasts.
“Hello, can I help you?” he asked, his voice was warm soothing possessing that unmistakable Scandinavian sing-song uplifted tone. I explained to him that I had read some of the Icelandic Sagas, (the classic 13th century literature from Iceland) and had heard that one of the Sagas was set in Greenland. He beamed with enthusiasm on hearing this, and probably a little surprised as if perhaps he had expected me to ask for the latest Jacqueline Suzanne novel. “Why, yes, that would be Njal’s Saga. We do have it, but it is written in Old Norse only. We do not have an English edition.”
I thanked him for his help and started to check out the maps of Greenland when he said, “would you like to join me for tea?” “Yes, OK.” So he led me out the door of the bookstore where there was a patio deck with four wicker chairs. It was a nice setting as you could see the locals milling about the village, and still view the mountains and water as well. “My name is Scott, I am from the States.” “I am Vernine, but feel more comfortable being called Vera,” he giving a little chuckle as if an inside joke. “Well, Vera, good to meet you, I like your bookstore.” We shook hands. His grip was like a vice.
He was intrigued that I had traveled to Tasiilaq. “We do not get many tourists, and as for Americans I have not seen one here in maybe seven or eight years. When I lived on the west coast in Nuuk, we would get some from the states. But, here in the east, only Europeans, mostly from Denmark and Iceland.” He asked “Why?” I came to Tasiilaq. I only had to respond “I live in New York City,” and then gesturing to the landscape.
He nodded as if he understood, and then he spoke . . . “I know the feeling, twenty three ago I arrived in Greenland from Copenhagen. I was working for the telephone company, and had an assignment in Qaqortoq in the southern Greenland. I was taken by the nature, the beauty and solitude. I did not want to return to the noise and pollution of Copenhagen.” Vera sipped on his tea and then continued. “I asked for the transfer to Greenland and I got it. I spent eleven years working between Qaqortoq and Nuuk on the west coast.”
“But Vera, how do you end up in Tasiilaq?” He paused, he looked like his eyes were watering with emotion as he said, “Scott, I was sent her on a two day project, and just came under the spell of the place. Tasiilaq was so pure and the landscape, well you know, look at it! I just could not go back to the west coast, my heart was here. I wanted to live in Tasiilaq. But there was no post needed with the company here. I had to create something. So twelve years ago I moved here and set up my bookstore.
As he spoke I noticed that several people entered the store, some waving a book or two as they left, others empty handed. “I have always loved books, now I am surrounded by them, and I actually live in the store behind the curtain with my two cats.”
Quiet passed between us for a little while, and then Vera leaned in closer and said, “Scott, you know what? I am also the official Judge of Tasiilaq, the radio weatherman, and the town’s only transvestite.” His tone was very matter of fact. I asked him about being a transvestite and how the town accepted him, as Tasiilaq seemed quite conservative. “At first it was pretty difficult. I got teased a great deal. But as time went on, and I became so involved in the community, they have accepted me for who I am. I know they don’t understand me – but they accept me. And by the way I do where pants, and not a skirt as Judge.”
I then mentioned what I witnessed earlier in the day, regarding the men passed out and the ax wielding fiend, this vision still leaving a sick feeling inside me. “There is so much drinking here, which leads to such violence. The violence almost always within family, especially between husband and wife.” Then he paused as if feeling an ache within and the continued. “There is a sense of hopelessness here, especially in the young people. Do you know that 90% of the people are unemployed? If you are not a hunter or fisherman there is virtually no work.”
Well then how do people live? How do they afford to buy things if there is no work?” I asked. “The Danish Government, they live off the government, as they receive a welfare check every Friday which is not much and most is spent on booze. Vera then stood up and pointed, “Scott do you see the back of the billboard over there?” I nodded that I did. “Take a look at it later, it is a sign to tell people ‘Not to Drink So Much’ and further up the street there is a billboard for ‘Don’t Fight With Family.’ And suicide is a very serious problem. Especially in the dark moths of November to March where the sun never comes out.”
I mentioned to Vera my sleeping problems with the light – I could only imagine the misery of living in the darkness for such a long stretch. Asking Vera of his favorite month, without a second of hesitation, “May, the light begins to appear, the snow melts, it is very special time.
Vera was so generous with his time, and I learned more things about Greenland, including: That it is considered bad for to call an Inuit and Eskimo. The word for Inuit means “eaters of raw meat.” Evidence of the first Inuit arrived in Alaska 8,000 years ago, and made their way to Greenland via northern Canada some 5,000 years ago. The Inuit is credited with the invention of the dogsled, harpoon, and kayak. The Norwegians were the first Europeans to discover Greenland around 900 AD, by the wild and controversial Eric the Red who was run out of Norway and Iceland . Norway controlled the country for many years before Denmark laid claim in 1953. Also – Greenland runs 2,500 miles north to south, and 1,000 miles across. Except on the coast, there are no roads at all in the interior of the country. And the language, which Vera said was a nightmare to learn, contains gigantic words, some with over thirty letters. They especially are fond of the letter “Q”. And the words describe entire phrases.
It was then that he phone range, we had been speaking for nearly two hours. He came out and expressed that he had to be in court tomorrow morning and had to prepare. I embraced Vera thanking him for the team and letting him know how much I enjoyed our conversation. He then added, “Scott do you know about the settlements? “No what are those?” “These are very tiny hamlets far from Tasilaq, where only a handful of people live. It is very primate. But locations are so magnificent. If you love nature and want to see the most authentic form of the lifestyle of the Inuit you must visit a “settlement” “How do I get to?” “There is not public transport, but you might be able to get a local hunter to take you. Are you staying at the Red House? Ask Robert Peroni, he should know if there is a chance for you get there. But I strongly encourage you to see a settlement. You will never forget it.”
As I left and made my way up the little road, I heard, “Scott.” It was Vera waving from the deck, “I think this might help you.” I walking toward him, he meeting me halfway and he handing me a black piece of cloth with an elastic string attached. “It is a blindfold for sleeping. Many of the locals use them. I think it will help you.”
Later in the day as soon as I got back to the Red House, I spoke with Robert Peroni if he might be able to arrange for one of the locals to take me to a settlement. He said he knew of a couple hunters that might be able to do it and would give them a call. Following dinner that night, he pulled me aside and informed me that a local Inuit man, a fisherman named Nino would be available.
He explained the particulars with precision. “OK, meet Nino at the port at ten o’clock, near where the Big Red Boat came in earlier in the day. Look for a Greenlandic man about forty years old, average height and wears a baseball cap.” “That sounds like most of the male population?” I joked. “Don’t worry. He will be looking for you. You know you are an oddity, right?” He went on telling me of the itinerary and cost. “The nearest settlement is called Tinteqilaaq. It is three hours away by boat. He will drop you off here and you can stay from one hour to three hours then, he will drive you back. He speaks no English, just show your fingers to give him an idea of how long you want to stay in Tinteqilaaq, and he will wait for you.” “What is the cost?” I asked. “If you stay for just one hour it is $80. For each hour after that it is an additional $15.”I thought the cost was fair.
Robert spent more time explaining that this settlement was one of eight settlements along the east coast, within a 300 mile vicinity. It was the closest in distance to Talisuq but still would feel very remote and give insight into the Inuit’s life. He saying that there are only about twenty five or thirty people that lived in this settlement and their lives are very hard, they hunt to survive. Robert then said, “The people in the settlement are poor and the children have very little joy, and if you can give them anything, such as a pen or piece of paper it will be appreciated.”
So that evening with the excitement of visiting the settlement and my blindfold from Vera, I for the first night had a wonderful deep sleep in Greenland. The next morning I was down at the port about fifteen minutes early. As I expected there were a lot of Inuit men wearing baseball caps about. I just stood still, being an “oddity” looking as American as possible - as I was, and within a couple minutes, I was shaking hands with my boat driver, Nino. He wore a baseball cap that read CAPTAIN. He had a weathered dark completion and looked every bit the part of a fisherman and today my captain.
His boat was a simple metal motor boat, not large, perhaps fifteen feet long with an outboard motor. I felt terrific as we pulled out of the harbor around 10:30 under cloudless blue skies Nino waving to other little boats that zoomed about, many of them packed to the rim with smiling waving Greenlanders
It took the boat a little over three hours in length to get to our destination of Tinteqillaq. The ride was fabulous passing staggering icebergs some being 100 feet high, Nino maneuvering the boat very close to them, their whiteness piercing, and an otherworldly blue that would seem to case around them . . .as far as the landscape …mind blowing in its drama and grandness.
There were a couple areas in particular on this three hour voyage that rank among the most numbing and mesmerizing land formations I have ever seen. The first was as we turned left off the main body of water, this beautiful enough already as a long chain of snowcapped mountains rising out of the sea. But, now we turned left and entered the Ammasilik Fjord. The fjord was narrow, maybe just 300 yards wide, and on both sides staggering black mountains rising out of the water. And the angle of the mountains was extreme, as if leaning back – spectacular. Then as we slowly went through the fjord for a good hour, my neck hurting, but hurting with great joy from looking up at the overpowering view … But then, it got even more intense. We left this fjord and turned into another fjord, just as narrow, and, here the mountains even more dramatic! One, two, three, four, five, yes, six towering black snow capped beauties sculpted in almost unimaginable razor edged formations, each mountain seeming to wink behind the other until you were on top of it. And as we moved large pieces of ice would float by and parts of the mountain side were caked in glacier of various shades of blue.
I was so dazzled that I screamed “I love it!!!” giving Nino a big thumbs up. Then the narrow fjord opened up, and ahead about a quarter mile away on the right I could make out a few, tiny wooden houses. One in the red, yellow, blue, like the colors of the houses Tasiilaq, but much more faded, looking aged, sitting casually on the rock strewn coast . . .my gosh they looked lonely, desolate. Yes, we had arrived in Tinteqillaq.
Nino tendered the boat close to a rock out cropping and I jumped ashore. I then heard Nino’s voice calling, “Scott, Scott.” I turned around and he held up his hand and displayed his hand showing, 1, then 2, then 3 fingers – as inquiring how many hours I was planning to stay on land. I put up 1 finger, but what I meant was “give me one moment to check it out,” not making a decision to stay just one hour.
I climbed the little rise and looked down on the settlement. It was sparse, just seven or eight tired looking houses resting on rugged rock formations. Some laundry flapped on a close line. I saw a couple kids kicking a deflated soccer ball. Off to the right there looked to be a man skinning a carcass. A dirty underfed dog was digging at the dry baked dirt. The place had primitive feel, and best of all it was fronted by towering icebergs. Within one minute I had my gut feel, my assessment of the place. It was savage, raw and wild. I climbed back over the rise and yelled down to Nino showing him 3 fingers. Yes, I had a love for this place immediately.
My three hours went by very quickly. I hiked high above the settlement which provided fantastic vistas and spent a good deal of time down right along the water gazing in awe at the gigantic icebergs, some at least 200 feet high, and the amount of broken ice all jammed in together. This sight was made even more memorable by the sound as occasionally you would see a huge chunk of ice fall from a mountain or and crash into the water. But beyond the natural beauty of the setting and the power of nature in full force, it was the contact I got from the local people that made my brief stay so memorable.
These people live in such remoteness that I had to approach them carefully and quietly. I wanted to meet them, but I did not want to be intrusive and force anything. So I watched the kids play soccer, and they became curious and kicked me the ball. There were three of them, two boys and a girl, about ten – twelve years old. We played two aside. This was followed by me sharing with them some little “toys” which I brought. These included a slinky, a couple of wind – up toy animals, and a game of “pick up stix.” They seemed to be captivated by these and I would give them these as I departed. The kids spoke only Greenlandic, but we formed a nice bond and through them I met the man carving up the animal, still was not sure what it was and was pretty gross, but interesting.
The highlight though was one of the boys, his name Tord, invited me to his house, the other two kids joining as well, where I got to meet his mother. I was not sure where the father was. She was a woman of probably just mid twenties, actually quite attractive and she was with her grandmother, a woman with an amazing deep lined face. They insisted that I join them to eat, and the food they served was whale meat. It was the first time I had whale. Though I did not like it that much, it is very rubbery and has a harsh bitter taste. But to be their home, this simple chipped red painted wooden structure, looking out at the ice flow, feeling their kindness, as down the whale with great gusto and appreciation . . . “MMMgggood” – it was a very special moment.
Following lunch with the three kids, the mother, grandmother, and about six others joining in. This making up almost half the town as they walked me back to the boat wishing me goodbye. And as I left, I kept looking back, at them and the aged wood huts where they lived, seeming so alone against the staggering Greenland nature. So remote. So desolate. Truly another world.
Photo1: Vera in his bookstore
Photo2: "Settlement" TinteqilaaqPhoto3: Local Inuit child
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