Northern Lights (Nuuk, Greenland)

23:42.

The clock blinked, signaling another minute closer to midnight—another minute closer to turning a quarter century old. I sank lower in the Ikea-imitation blue couch provided in my apartment when I moved to the country, semi-entranced by the fact that for the first time in months, it was actually dark outside the nearby glass doors. I’d gotten so used to the sun barely dipping below the horizon during the arctic summer that when the sky turned to darker shades of blue instead of bright hues of red at the deepest hours of night, I felt a bit of fear within my soul that reminded me of being afraid of the dark as a child. How the Greenlanders made it the reverse, the months without seeing the sun, was a mystery to me despite having friends and coworkers try to explain the psychology behind it.

23:51.

The bottle of champagne I had been given at breakfast had been shared with the office and finished off before the noon hour hit. With the price of alcohol sky high even compared to where I had been living in Washington, D.C. and with the only other American in the city, Sarah, in one of the northern cities for work, I could not justify buying a bottle of wine for myself. Instead I sipped on boxed milk and gnawed on an apple flown in from abroad, and wondered idly if the couple who were couch surfing at my apartment would be back before I went to bed from their excursion to experience the nightlife of one of the northernmost capitals in the world.

It had hit me that, like most other places I had lived or traveled abroad, you don’t really have time to reflect or appreciate what you’re living until you’re back at your ‘home base’ and can compare it to what you have in front of you. Again, the surreal nature of living and working in Greenland seemed more than I could put into words or even a coherent thought process—I had walked through a mountain to get to work every morning, had seen a lady wearing an 80's prom dress while dancing and singing in broken English to Mambo No. 5 at the bar, had watched whales swim by my office while working on tax data. Until you leave the aura of uncertainty and the new, you cannot fully synthesize and break it down into understanding—just collect more ‘data’ for use later.

These images slowly, quickly passed through my mind as I watched the clock. The luck and experiences I had both worked hard for and been blessed with over the past years weighed heavy on my mind, though I couldn't put a finger on what emotion I was feeling. Apprehension for the coming months of leaving Greenland, backpacking through Europe and returning to the US unemployed perhaps, or just the gravity of the last few months and trying to make sense of something that made none.

23:58, 23:59.

I raised the glass of milk to the black television in a salute. From outside in the distance I heard some slight commotion, and seconds later a loud banging on the apartment door behind me. Josh and Laura came barreling into the common area, and wordlessly Josh had thrown open the door to the porch and jumped outside. Noticing me out of the corner of her eye staring blankly at the two excitable Canadians; Laura, half short of breath from racing up the stairs, said I need to get outside that second, right now, they were here.

The realization of what she meant and the hope I hadn’t misunderstood her melded into one as I leapt from the couch and briskly walked to the door, stopping only to turn around my first step outside and note in an ironic disbelief that, despite this being reality (or some variation thereof, Greenland tends to make you question that), the clock had just with my eyes on it, turned to midnight—it was my 25^th birthday, the same second as I first saw it. 

Above us, in a very faint green hue, were the Northern Lights dancing in the sky.

There was little to say in those first few minutes. Josh kept repeating the word ‘amazing’, Laura said a number of soft ‘oh, my God’s, and I’m sure I let out a few sighs of disbelief with ‘wows’ of my own. On the rocks below us some locals had stopped to watch the lights as well, and I noticed in the far distance that a car had even stopped in the road for the passengers to get out and watch the sky. Tourist, transient, and locals alike were frozen with our eyes to the sky, all resolved to speechless and smiling humans, watching something beyond our comprehension.

Even knowing the science behind them, the reaction that people have experiencing them cannot be explained.

After a while, Laura began to snap photographs and Josh took off to the nearby rock face to try and get a better vantage point. I watched the lights and recalled back to my few weeks in Denmark, when I had provided voice for one of the short promotional videos for Greenland—a two minute spot showcasing the Northern Lights, with my voice providing the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ when the camera spanned upwards to the glowing green sky. I had felt silly sitting in a windowless white room in (hot) central Copenhagen with an Australian-Danish producer, shoving a fluffy microphone into my mouth and mimicking for me to sound more excited, be more audible. After all, I was ‘seeing the walruses play football in the sky from a cabin in Kangerlussuaq with the Inuit people hosting me’, not sweating in a cosmopolitan European capital city trying to block out the sound of construction equipment building a bridge across the harbor outside. When the spot had been developed and sent to our office as a test run a few months later, I was already in Greenland and felt foolish when I heard myself. It worked for the video perhaps, but my voice had always sounded forced or odd to me in that clip.

It wasn't until those minutes standing outside with only the sound of Laura’s camera snapping beside me and a far off Josh’s loud and constant exclamations that I understood, even then, that experiencing something like this couldn't be faked. The soft, breathless sighs from my couch surfers next to me on the porch earlier seemed so much more full of life and understanding than my terse ‘it’s so beautiful’ in the video.

To this day I don’t know why I became (and still am) obsessed with the Northern Lights. Until my last day in Greenland I would sit outside from midnight on during any clear nights, hoping to catch a glimpse of the increasingly brighter green through the wisps of clouds. I even slept in the living room of the apartment with all the blinds drawn so I could watch the sky as I slept through the glass doors, and wake up from dreams of the lights to seeing them softly turning above me.

Even now, nearly a year later and living in one of the world’s capitals, I dream of them above me; of glancing up above, only to notice that the sky was on fire.

-View from my apartment in early September 2012

8/20/2012- Hardest Part of Living Abroad (Nuuk, Greenland)

In 2007 before I boarded the MV Explorer and embarked on Semester at Sea, I made an agreement with my family; if anything were to happen to anyone, under no circumstances was I to leave or return home. Although unspoken, each of us knew that it was in reference to my grandfather, who had been suffering from Parkinson's for years and had come to the edge of death a number of times. How would it be when that time came?, I wondered as I boarded. Would it come? Would I keep my word or want to be there for my family?

Throughout the subsequent months I faced these moral questions in a number of forums, though luckily never outright. A cliche'd cry on the top deck during a storm after discovering a friend's father had passed and receiving a call from my mother that dropped and having to wait ten minutes in silence at 2am knowing someone had died and not whom were two of the most poignant (it was our dog, Sailor, in the second). However none were as moving as a story went around the ship during the voyage-that a girl had found out only a week into the journey that her brother had been killed in an automobile accident, and although she returned home for the funeral, her family pushed her to fly to the next port and meet the ship, continuing her journey in her brother's memory. It wasn't until one of the final nights that this story hit home for everyone; the majority of the ship gathered for kareoke in the main hall, and she stood up to tell her story and sing 'You Raise Me Up' in front of the entire ship. Not a dry eye in the house became a literal expression that night, not just a saying.

Given the buildup five years ago and how much I had come to prepare myself and expect the inevitable death of my grandfather while abroad on the Explorer, it came as a glancing blow yesterday morning when, upon waking up at 0645 to speak to a friend overseas, I logged onto Facebook and saw a single note from one of my uncles:

sends heartfelt sympathies out to the Paterson clan....we'll miss you Mampa.....:(

I blinked a few times, staring at the screen. There was a confusion; Mampa? Paterson clan? That was my grandfather, of course, but...

Oh, he must have passed away last night, my mind calmly replied. You should probably text your mother, or is calling better? Does she know? If she doesn't how is it best to break the news? He wouldn't put it online unless he was sure, I suppose. I should log onto the Air Greenland site and see if there are any flights which would get me back to the US in the next few days; I don't think the Reyjkavik flights leave for another few days though, so will probably need to look into going back to Copenhagen then Boston? Do they have direct flights on that route? Do I have enough money to buy a ticket in my account, or should I contact Dad first to see? I really should call Mom...

I texted my mother with a simple 'I love you' to see if she was awake, or if she knew. Moments later she called my US phone, and I answered as best I knew how; instead of a hello, with love, and an awkward 'how are you' which was responded to with a like 'Im alright' or something equally false and devoid. In that second we each knew the other was aware of what had transpired, and fell into tears of emotion from saying it (in my case) for the first time.

After assuring her I was fine (damning the fact that no matter how calm I actually am and how accepting of something I can be inside, I still cry when saying things for the first time, which did nothing except to worry her) I promised to try and get ahold of Lee, who was refusing to answer his US phone and had not yet given anyone his Australian phone number so that she could try to sleep a few more hours.

The next few hours were a whirlwind; getting ahold of Lee online and needing to tell him through Gchat (still better than Facebook?), speaking to my father about how Mom would handle everything, fielding two more calls from my grandmother and mother later in the day, writing an email to them about my favorite memory of Mampa, and taking a few trips into town to get air and walk all blended together as the hours stretched on.

I thought back, once again and so many times, to the conversation I'd had with all of them five and a half years ago; that no matter what happened, where I was, how bad it could be, that I would not come home. The circumstances were different now; I wasn't in the middle of the ocean or enrolled in classes this time around, for one. Lee is living in Australia now, meaning that Mom needs to handle this without either of her children even in the same country. Despite my grandmother's initial comment to me that I'd 'better damn well not even think about coming back for the funeral' when she picked up the phone, all of this ran though my head.

In the final call of the night, Mom repeatedly asked me if I was okay, being alone in a foreign country dealing with everything. Despite my trying, it was impossible to reassure her that I was really okay; that it comes almost as a comfort knowing he's passed on after fighting so hard for so long against a disease for which there is no cure. He beat the odds so many times that having Mampa around this long is a miracle in itself. That after a few seconds of the initial emotional outburst of losing the only grandfather I ever knew, all that was on my mind was concern for THEM, for my family, when I couldn't be there for them and to be a rock.

The hardest part about losing someone you love while being so far from home isn't being alone, or not being there. It's not being able to be there for your family, at least for me. Knowing that even if I were to return it would be over $2500 for plane tickets, require me to have the very least two to three layovers (there are no Iceland or Canada flights left before the funeral as they run from Nuuk only twice a week, and no direct flights to the US, so it would need to be through Kangerlussuaq and Copenhagen) and take me at least 24 hours (though days is a better estimate).

It comes down to trust; trusting that my family will be there for my grandmother and for my mother when I cannot be.

I suppose this is the hardest part about living abroad...

8/7/2012- Defining Home (Tasiilaq, East Greenland)

Home…

                The hardest question I’ve been asked living in Greenland is the one everyone first asks— “where is home for you?”

Luckily the Danish to English translation puts it is ‘where are you from’, which is easier to answer, though not by much. Were I to give the long answer to a non-American—I was born in Connecticut (then have to clarify by saying the area between New York and Boston when the inevitable blank stares follow), moved to Washington, DC for university and the first few years of my career, moved to Copenhagen, Denmark for work in April and now am residing in Nuuk—they would be confused.

However, this discounts a few facts; namely, that I’ve lived in Virginia the past 3 years, and DC the 2 before that. That even my permanent residence is a big question mark—with my passport based in and my mail forwarded to my parents’ address in Connecticut, my driver’s license and voter registration at an occupied house I once rented in Virginia, and my visa paperwork for Greenland and Denmark claiming I reside at my work address in Nuuk, there is no actual legal answer.

While traveling in Greenland, I answer that my home is in Nuuk, as that lends credibility to my working for another country’s representation, particularly while surveying visitors from around the world who may not be as open to Americans representing another country’s boards and interests. Technically, this is true, as I am paying taxes built into my salary here and have a residence within the city.

Home, though, to me? Home is tangible. If I had to choose a place, it would be DC and the DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia) area as a whole as it is where my friends are. Yet, at least for now, home is in the Arctic where I don’t speak the official language and my residence card is still held up by embassy paperwork. 

-Small house in Tasiilaq, East Greenland

8/01/2012- Failed Attempt to Fly (Kulusuk?, Greenland)

Greenland is dictated by the weather—and in over two months living here, I have seen many examples of this firsthand. Sure, you can cite examples of going on the sledges when the ice is thickest or good shipments to the settlements and towns being contingent on the ice situation in the fjords. Even working in tourism it's evident as there are a lot of peoblems with operators cancelling excursions on days with good fishing, or cruise ships changing calls or berthing due to icebergs in the harbors year round.

So I'm writing this, not surprised in the least, on a flight from Kulusuk in East Greenland to Nuuk—except we left Nuuk at 0600 this morning.

After waking up at 0430 to be at the airport by 0515 to check into my flight (without even needing to show an ID or receipt to get my boarding pass this time, just provide my name), taking off at 0600 and arriving to the edge of the east coast by 0730, the 20 of so of us on the flight realized the odds were not in our favor. As we descended below the cloud cover and East Greenland's signature snowcapped mountains came into view, so did a solid layer of white fog just below the peaks. Although a stunning visual to see mountains fighting through a flowing sea of white, it did not bode well for landing.

As expected, the pilot announced a few minutes later (although I'm not sure why he didn't simply turn around and tell us as the door to the cockpit had been open the entire flight) to tell us in Greenlandic and Danish (and a quick version in English after the flight attendent made note there was an 'English talker' onboard) that we were in (admittedly the world's most beautiful) holding pattern.

((Yes, I just broke the world record for using the most parenthesis in a single sentence))

The calm I was feeling promptly broke when, a moment later, the pilot told us 'we are going to try and land through it, and will pull up if we see something that shouldn't be there' and put he wheels of our Dash-8 down. All the while, we couldn't see more than five feet through the fog.

At this point I should mention that just this week I sat in on an interview a German journalist was conducting with an Air Greenland pilot—who did not seem to grasp the idea of too much information and happily told us not only about why there had been accidents in the past, but how he 'longed for a challenge while flying' because the routes here apparently bore the pilots. The comments seemed amusing at the time—but not while attempting to land in no visibility while replaying his comments about landing in no visibility in Greenland being vastly more difficult than anywhere else in the world as the angles and mountains leave a smaller margin of error than the instruments allow for.

Luckily (though not so much for my nerves and stomach), the pilots decided last second to pull up hard, giving me a great sideways view of a mountaintop. They then let us know they weren't going to try again and that we needed to go to the nearest airport in the country with an airstrip to land—which happened to be back to Nuuk, on the other side of the country, as all other towns and settlements on the east coast only have heliports.

Strangely (to me as an American), the 20 or so other passengers (17 native Greenlandic and a 3 person Danish party) all smiled and laughed, before simply asking the flight attendent for more coffee. She wasn't asked about alternate flights or times or compensation—and she seemed genuinely surprised when I asked her how often our flight ran weeky (twice). 'They'll arrange something for you all; maybe tonight, or tomorrow possibly' she said calmly before walking back to the front to take pictures out one of the windows herself.

*

After landing two hours later, I was informed by the agents at the desk that they would call me at 1900 that night and they had booked me a hotel, sending me on my way back to my apartment in a taxi (with, I kid you not, a piece of paper from the airline to give to the driver saying 'we owe you ___' for him to fill in later and collect from them) after finding out I lived in Nuuk. Hours later, I got a call from operations letting me know they couldn't arrange another flight until Friday morning—two days after my original flight.

That flight, however, made it in record time.  

7/11/2012- 'Nothing More than an Airport' (Kangerlussuaq, Greenland)

Much like coming into Kulusuk back in May, flying into Kangerlussuaq through bad weather in our bright red Dash 8 Air Greenland plane was a feast for the eyes.

After leaving Nuuk (no wrong boarding passes or security this time—in fact, no ID check or security at all, just me handing them a receipt and them handing me a pass to get on the plane and choose a seat) and getting above the clouds which had been causing major storms for days, the flight passed quickly. After less than an hour seeing nothing but white, we dipped below the grey and were treated with our first views above the arctic circle and of a landscape vastly different from what was seen either in East Greenland or the Capital Region. Immediately below us was a snaking river through green mountains, followed by glowing blue glacial water feeding off a glacier and ice cap through the fjord. The plane banked and we seemingly fell downwards towards the glacier, making me realize why so many people spent large sums of money to take helicopter or small plane tours of the area.

Kangerlussuaq is the former Sondrestrom US Air Force Base from World War II. It's built in an estuary and has steep mountains on either side, and is divided by the airport and runway running parallel the two mountians in the middle. This means that you will either be on one side of the runway (with the airport itself, the main hotel, and the two hostels I'm residing in) or the other (with the post office and grocery store, or the other side with residential housing, the sled dog kennel, and the old air force base equipment and buildings), with no way to cross unless you go all the way around.

After arriving and putting my things into a hostel near to the airport owned by World of Greenland (a tour agency), I went to the store for food and settled into the airport in hopes of getting one or two surveys to start the trip off on a good note. As my job the five days in Kangerlussuaq was to survey visitors (both land and cruise based) to assess a number of things for the strategic plan, I would be based at the airport for the time there in order to try and catch people are they were leaving the country; as Kangerlussuaq is the only airport in the country which can accommodate jets, it's the only airport which has flights into Copenhagen. The airport at Kangerlussuaq is made up of the main room with two gates (one for domestic flights that you simply walk onto the tarmac and onto your flight from, and one for Copenhagen flights that contains security, duty free, and a separate sitting area), the entrance to Hotel Kangerlussuaq in the middle room with couches for waiting guests, and a cafeteria on the other end.

Almost immediately I noticed that the only flight left for the day was a delayed flight to Sisimiut, and there were only perhaps ten people heading to that destination. All appeared to be local (thus could not participate in the survey) except one; a bored looking man who took me up on my offer for a beer and survey to pass the time until his late flight would leave. Although the bar wasn'et yet open we sat in the cafeteria, and he spent a good hour talking to me about his life in Lithuania and his obsession with fly fishing, which had brought him to Greenland as a chartered guide for other Europeans.

By the time we were finished speaking the flight was soon to leave and the airport empty. I decided to go on a long walk down to the other side of town, and meandered down the sandy edge of the estuary past the abandoned military buildings and signs warning of arrest if one were to pass. I stopped for a bit by the water's edge; around me was beige sand, purple flowers jutting between white cotton grass and green mountains, with a gray river of glacial water rushing before me. Colors beyond anything I would see at home, let alone what I would expect to see in Greenland, surrounded me.

For a while there laying in the sand with the midnight sun beating down on me, I pondered reality—I kept saying to myself aloud, 'this cannot be real. This is not reality', and in fact, it seemed as though it could not be. Everything looked just like a painting rather than scenery, in ways that I cannot describe them because they would simply seem fake or false.

The next morning I awoke early and began talking to guests, gaining a few interesting conversations and a notice from Jørgen at World of Greenland to be awake early and meet with the company on the other side of town where they would be bringing the guests from the Fram ship of Hurtigruten, which would end their voyage that morning and would be waiting until their flight at 2100. When I arrived the next day I met with Sofia, a woman from Grenada, Spain who had recently moved to Greenland with her Danish husband, who was a tour guide with WoG. After enjoying a cup of coffee the busses started to arrive, filled to the brim with older Northern European guests off the Fram who looked exhausted and not at all thrilled to then sit in a modified old set of barracks for more than twelve hours with only a few tours running.

As the time passed and the guests got more bored, they began to catch my eye and speak English (despite an hour or so before when they claimed they spoke none). By the end of the day, nine hours later, I'd spoken with twelve couples/individuals about their time in Greenland, and was invited to join the group at a barbeque at Restaurant Roklubben, a restarurant a few kilometers from the airport in the moutains, at the head of Lake Fergusson, where Kangerlussuaq gets its water supply from. After enjoying some reindeer and musk ox, I heard American English coming from the dock outside and followed it down to meet six scientists from the US. I had a beer with them and caught a ride back in their work van, enjoying being around people my age who spoke my language who were also living far from home.

The next day I again woke early to speak to guests off the ship Clipper Adventurer, contracted by the Danish company Albatross Travel. I spoke for a while with a travel agent off the ship who refused to do a survey—however overhearing us and then asking if I would interview her was a 92 year old grandmother, who was wheelchair bound. Surprised, I sat on the gravel next to her chair as she talked happily to me about her trip and reasons for coming. Goosebumps appeared on my arm as she told me outright she didn't have many years left or long to live, so she sold her flat and wanted to spend all her money before she died by traveling with her family to places she wanted to go and wanted them to see. Later another couple I was interviewing told me that the entire ship called her 'grandma' and that they would carry her when she could not get somewhere; renewing my hope that, in fact, people are good if given the chance to be such.

Time flew by and before I knew it I was at the end of this trip—I had been told before my departure that it was foolish to get my hopes up, and that I would be extremely bored while in Kangerlussuaq because its 'nothing more than an airport'. Funnily enough, it ended the exact opposite for me; even after traveling to more touristy deastinations such as Tasiilaq or Ilulissat, Kangerlussuaq remains a haven for me because it's nothing more than an airport. The absolute silence and peace, framed by unreal sights, away from life—to me, that's what I enjoy most about Greenland; experiencing a place which most people land into and fly from without more than a cursory glance or camera snap.

6/26/2012- National Day (Nuuk, Greenland)

Thursday, June 21 was Greenland’s 4^th National Day (essentially an independence day, like our July 4)—meaning although we had no work, I was awake an hour before normal to make it to town and experience the celebrations firsthand.

At 7am Roar and I raced down the hill and caught a cab to take us to City Hall, where about a thousand people were waiting for 7:30 to hit. A band began to play and a number of people in Greenland’s national costumes (see the picture below) held flags proudly, and started a parade down the main street of town. As they proceeded to play and march, people flooded from the Bloks and their homes to join in the parade of people, with no distinction between those who were joining in and those who had initially been there other than the band itself. Cheering and laughing, the mob made its way down to the Colonial Harbor right near my office, where more people were waiting and standing on all available surfaces to hear the speeches and music. For the next hour or so a chorus sang traditional music and the mayor spoke to the people about... well I’m not quite sure, because she spoke in Greenlandic mainly, with tiny bits in Danish that I could pick up on. During the speeches I looked around the waiting crowd in interest—for a day which celebrates Greenland’s independence from Denmark, there were a lot of Danish people cheering and smiling, holding Danish and Greenlandic flags. The entire concept of the day still a lot of the people I have spoken with, as often do the social dynamics of the two cultures within the country.

Here is an explaination I found online which details exactly what happened four years ago:

'On 21 June 2009, Greenland assumed self-determination with responsibility for self-government of judicial affairs, policing, and natural resources. Also, Greenlanders were recognized as a separate people under international law. Denmark maintains control of foreign affairs and defence matters. Denmark upholds the annual block grant of 3.2 billion Danish kroner, but as Greenland begins to collect revenues of its natural resources the grant will gradually be diminished. It is a step toward full independence from Danish rule. Greenlandic became the sole official language of Greenland at the historic ceremony.'

After a while the canons were fired, scaring the wits out of everyone waiting in the crowd (and the few kayakers who had decided they would get a better view from the water looked as though they were about to leap in themselves), and the crowd of a few thousand started winding back up the road towards town. Although a chunk split off at the church, the majority walked back up to City Hall, where the municipality had set up thousands of tables and chairs and had people manning tables with coffee, tea, bread, cheese, and butter for everyone. People walked all about eating breakfast and shaking strangers’ hands with a sturdy ‘Congratulations’, from the heart. I spent a while watching everyone interacting before wandering back down to port to see if I could catch a few of the visitors from the cruise ship which was due to come in that day (a German Hapag-Lloyd Kreuzfahrten ship, the Bremen) and see how the logistics of a ship being in the Atlantic Harbor would work.

The first visitors I passed seemed a bit shellshocked over everything that was happening, as they were being offered free food and access to free entertainment with music and cultural as well as sporting events which were planned throughout the day by the municipality. As they wandered towards City Hall, I noticed the jewelry vendor (Anne) who was normally outside my work had opened and was looking quite bored, so I engaged her in conversation about the National Day as well as cruise visitors.

We spoke for a few hours as cruise visitors passed by from the shuttles to the tour operators and barely gave her a glance. She explained how her operations existed—she would spend the winter months having stones shipped from the northernmost world settlement that her mother had been from to Nuuk, where her friend would polish them, and then she and her husband would carve and create pieces from those stones. I listened as she told me the stories of each piece—the stone it was from, the settlement she had collected it in, how she had designed it, where the proceeds would go and to whom, and how long it took to create. All the while, she made only two sales—to a local Danish woman, and to a local couple who had recently moved to Nuuk from Burundi and Denmark, and told stories about adapting from African life to European, to now Greenlandic.

After discussing how I could best talk to visitors and how she could better sell her product, I purchased two pieces she had created—agate stone from the north settlement, with four stones fashioned into a necklace and three into a matching bracelet. She refused to take the full amount she had originally quoted as it was ‘National Day’ and I had spent time chatting, which isn’t a common thing in Greenland—unlike a lot of ports, the price here is the price, and that doesn’t really change. Later it was commented that I had to have spent at least 800 kroner ($160) on the pieces, whereas she only charged me 100.- total ($20). I look forward to picking out more of her pieces later in the summer.

As I wandered back towards home, I noticed a giant crowd surrounding the field outside the Bloks. As I got closer I realized it was a football (soccer) match between two older teams who didn’t seem to adept at sport. Curiously, I joined in the crowd standing along the perimeter and smiled at the people who had climbed on top of almost all the surrounding buildings and structures to watch—and were getting very into the game, cheering as a pass was completed or a person ran ahead. I later found out it was the Alzheimer’s Society against the local sports club—and the Alzheimer’s Society won the game, much to everyone’s excitement.

After spending a while at a cross street where a local artist played on his guitar and people danced uninhibited, I headed back towards the house, stopping for a long while to sit in the grass at the top of the mountain pass and look out over the harbor. Around me were thousands of dandelions on the steep hill leading down to the port, and I laughed that this was perhaps the last image that anyone would have had of Greenland, this close to the arctic circle—laying on a hill, yellow dandelions all around, in 60 degree weather...

...with hundreds of mosquitoes deciding to attack me.

Guess you can’t have it all.

6/26/2012- Weak Excuses & Travel Corkboard (Nuuk, Greenland)

Suppose I should explain the lack of an update. So here goes—the misadventure week that is now (thankfully) over, and can be laughed at in retrospect and added to my travel corkboard.

This tale of insanity starts last Tuesday, when Sarah was traveling to Ilulissat from Nuuk for surveying and Taste of Greenland filming. I reserved the company car to drive her to the airport, half to be nice and half as an excuse to drive and be out for a bit. Excited and nervous to be driving in a foreign country the first time, I pulled out of the parking lot with the words of assurance from Anne Mette and the others at work that the police in Nuuk didn’t pull anyone over and were rarely even out, and that if they did they would just stare at your license and wave you on.

I’ll bet you can see exactly where this is headed.

I took the single road that runs from one end of the city (work) to the other (Qinngorput)where Sarah lives. As I crossed into Qinngorput from Nuussuaq, my heart stopped—the police had the road blocked off, and were checking every car that went by for paperwork and to ensure the winter chains were off the tires. As I pulled off the road and waited I reassured myself that the police station in Nuuk wasn’t too bad, nor was the prison.

A younger male policeman came up and I sheepishly lowered my window and cut off his Danish, stating I only spoke English. He grinned and said he spoke a little, and to provide to him my license and paperwork. After a second’s hesitation, I handed him my US license—which he stared at, as Anne Mette had predicted, quite blankly. I then figured it was best to get the awkward comments out of the way, so I quickly followed up with the fact that the car was not mine and belonged to the company, and I did not off the top of my head know the phone number to verify this. He slowly took the information and walked around the car, checking it and writing information down on his pad of paper—while I debated whether or not to call Sarah and tell her I would not be able to get her as I would be detained in Greenlandic prison, and to call a cab so she would not miss her flight.

He walked back up to the window and very sternly reported to me that it was illegal to drive on a US license in Greenland. I told him quietly I’d just moved to the country a few weeks ago and had not had time to have it switched over yet, and it would be high on my priority list. He stared at me for a few seconds while my heart beat a bit quicker, then—he shrugged, said to go to the station when I had a chance to get my license switched over, and to have a great day. Before he could change his mind I sped off to Sarah’s house, trying to map in my head how the back road from the airport got to the city center so I wouldn’t be pressing my luck.

Although my coworkers had a great laugh over this when I got back, they did not laugh as much on Friday when I accidentally had security show up at work because I’d managed to set off the alarm in the morning by not turning it off correctly. Anders LC called me downstairs where security was waiting some ten minutes later, where security happily informed me they’d be billing us for coming out, and Anders LC made sure to reiterate to call them if the alarm went off, no matter for how long (it had gone off once before when I input my code incorrectly and security hadn’t come out, so I figured it would be fine this time as well).

Similarly, Sarah was not too happy with me when on Saturday while I had put my Greenlandic phone (which is about as basic a brick phone as you can get) in my bag while walking from town, and it decided to call her for 45 minutes straight, killing her battery while she was up north for work.

To finish the misadventures of the week, I decided I needed to replace my shoes as the bottoms had literally fallen out from walking through the mountain pass daily to and from work. While in Brugseni, I managed not only to lose my balance, but spectacularly pull down an entire shelf of shoes and boots with me, while a mother and her little girl laughed hysterically and a shop keeper tried to help me hang it back up.

All in all, I look back now and laugh—but last week was not one in which I felt any iota of an interest to write, and now you know why. Even if now it's just amusing as hell.

6/10/2012- Nightlife (Nuuk, Greenland)

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to go out and experience the nightlife of Greenland firsthand.

…boy, that was NOT what I was expecting.

I’d been told before arriving in Nuuk that Greenland has an alcohol issue, stemming from fairly recent cultural shifts which changed family and power dynamics. I’d assumed this would mean that I would experience something along the lines of Adams Morgan in DC on a Thursday night—lots of laughing, drunk youths stumbling around from bar to bar.

My first week here, I was warned again against going into the bars. I was told that if I were to go in I wouldn’t be in danger necessarily, but would be harassed by many drunk older men. As I had been asked to go out with a Greenlandic girl from Ilulissat, Ivalu, I felt relatively safe—she was from Nuuk originally, and we were meeting up with her friends, so it was worth seeing what the nightlife was all about. After getting back from the pool (yup, did not think I would be swimming twice in two and a half weeks in Iceland and Greenland after once in two years living in the US) and having some coffee, we took off for the strip of bars in downtown Nuuk at 12:30am (which apparently is early to start the night—despite the bars closing at 3—and the sun just having ‘gone down’ for its three hour below-the-horizon dip, leaving essential daylight behind still).

The first bar, a long yellow building next to the grocery stores and hotel on the main street, had three or four rooms in it which were packed to the brim. We checked our coats there for the evening as it was more than warm enough even during the ‘night’ to walk around without a jacket. The first room was similar to an American bar, with lots of booths and tables and chairs, and a large bar lining the back wall. It was fairly crowded already, and the majority of people were already fairly sloshed. We sat in a corner near the bar with Ivalu’s old boss and three of his friends—all older gentlemen who spoke little English, argued about who was the most perverted, and made lewd comments about the girls around. Despite this they were nice guys, buying me a drink (which I promptly chugged down to feel more comfortable) and trying to ask about my work. After a bit we wandered into the next room, which had a dance floor and very American music playing, with the floor crowded full with drunk people of all ages, both Greenlandic and Danish. At this point I looked around, intrigued by the mix—not only was the crowd spread equally in age from about 16 to 80 and from both ethnicities, but the dress of the people was astounding. I saw everything from a t-shirt and jeans to miniskirts and tube tops to prom dresses (and I’m not kidding or exaggerating on this last one—I saw two girls in sorter prom gowns and one in a long version).

At this point I’d been groped by passerbys about ten or so times, and had a drunk boy grab my arm trying to drag me to the dance floor as his girlfriend yelled at him, before handing me his beer. As we made our way across the street to another set of bars (a karaoke in one, again with terrible American music; a concert in another which you had to pay to get into; and band in the last which sang an extremely odd mix of old American music including what I think was supposed to be Mambo #5 with only knowing the chorus and mumbling during the rest while everyone formed a sort of mosh pit), I decided that there was no way I was remotely prepared to drink in a scene like this without getting killed or ending up sleeping in a gutter, so stuck to following Ivalu around while watching everyone.

Every few feet she’d let out a ‘what the fuckkkk’ and hug another person, who she knew from growing up in Nuuk—and we’d chat with them for a bit.

Trying to avoid the need to have people speak in English for my benefit I would try and give space to the friends, which worked well when I heard New Zealand accented English come from a man standing next to one of the guys she was talking to. Quickly I started a conversation with the man, who actually was German but had lived in New Zealand for a few years before moving to Nuuk while working for Air Greenland. Excited to find another foreigner, though admittedly not from my country (there are only two Americans living in Nuuk that anyone can remember—an older gentleman and a ‘pianist named Jim’ who everyone seems to know but can identify nothing about besides the fact that he is, in fact, American. And a pianist. From America. Named Jim. So I doubted very much I’d run into anyone outside the Danes), I spoke to him for a while before he headed out with some friends. I found Ivalu and we met up with some more of her friends, and luck with me, there was a man there from the UK who worked for the European Union looking into Arctic policies, and was extremely excited to find a place which was ‘very much like a pub at home!’ (which he repeated quite a bit). As we spoke a Greenlander plopped down next to me with beers, hit the top of one, and demanded I drink it down. After a few pathetic sips and much laughter, he showed us his tattoos—which were representative of Greenland, and the folklore that he believed in, including the Maiden in the Sea and an outline of the country.

It wasn’t until a drunk (and that’s putting it lightly) younger man literally fell on top of the table and spilled beer everywhere that I got up and wandered outside, where it seemed there were hundreds of Greenlanders smoking and throwing bottles at the street. I’d spent the past few hours literally needing to push people to move, so it was nice when I was able to get off the patio and into the street, though glass crunched unhappily beneath my feet with each step. Drenched in beer and exhausted, I called Ivalu and she came out so we could go back to the first bar and get our coats (it was now about 3am, so the music was shut off and bouncers stood outside with plastic cups to force people to put their drinks into when they went to the streets, as you can drink anywhere in Nuuk aside from a block or two in the city center and they didn’t want more broken glass everywhere). She was able to get in the first door as three boys followed her and grabbed her, but the bouncer told me I wasn’t allowed in, and that I’d need to find another entrance to the bar to get my coat. Intimidated by the sight outside of hundreds if not thousands of drunken Greenlanders throwing bottles around, I made my way to another door, where I was able to retrieve my coat—and then we were stuck as the bouncer at the door had to go break up a fight, so you couldn’t exit the building without his key (talk about a fire hazard).

Eventually I said goodnight to Ivalu and made my way out at about 330am, weaving through taxis and bottles up to the mountain split that separates town from the residential areas that I live in. There, I came across the most beautiful sight I have seen in years, if ever.

Through the mountain split I saw the sun rising on a crimson sky, the colorful houses at the base partially clouded in a low mist, with the cloud cover low itself, framing the snowy mountain behind the houses and the ground with the sunrise and its colors between. Behind me a few drunk teens laughed and fell over as taxis rushed by through the split, unaware of the sight before them.   

6/1/2012- Work Life (Nuuk, Greenland)

Since a lot of people have asked and I’ve confused the living daylights out of most, I figured I should attempt to put down in writing what exactly it is I’m doing in Greenland, working for the national tourism board.

First, an anecdote to set the scene.

*

One of the most amusing memories I have of my time at GWU while working on my masters was at orientation, when one of the other four students accepted into the Sustainable Destination Management concentration asked the panel of professors what, exactly, sustainable destination management meant. Dr. Donald Hawkins, the founder of our program and head of our concentration (as well as one of the leading destination management experts worldwide) took the question, smiled, and said it was the hardest question we would have to answer for our entire lives carrying that title—because there was no solid answer.

This proved true time and time again as over the past three years I have attempted to explain what exactly it is I study and practice to family, friends, acquaintances, and the occasional curious person on the street. Usually it started with me stating that I was working on my Masters in Tourism Administration with a concentration in Sustainable Destination Management—though inevitably somewhere around ‘sustainable’ their eyes would glaze over, they would think a second, and their eyes would brighten as they went back to ‘tourism’ and ask if I knew of a cheap way to get to Australia or how many tours I booked this year. Depending on how I felt I would explain that my life goal was not in fact to own a tour company, and that what I studied was more based around the concept of managing a destination’s tourism—how to gauge if a destination is in fact ready for tourists (you’d be shocked at how many think they are when in fact, tourism is a horrible idea for the community), how to plan the infrastructure needed, financing and managing the economics of tourism, planning policies for each level in the destination, marketing and managing every aspect of business that relates on any tier to tourism, etc.

At this point I’ve usually lost them for good, as their eyes have once again glazed over and they are staring out at a floating plastic bag which has caught their attention over me. And I cannot blame them; outside of those of us who are in the industry, tourism may sound intriguing, but when it comes to the details, it isn’t nearly as golden as it sounds. The conversation ends with a ‘that sounds amazing, you’re so lucky’ and a change in conversation to the most exotic destination they have been to, trying to relate.

*

This pattern has proven the same as the pattern when I attempt to explain to people what it is I do with Visit Greenland. Everyone asks out of politeness (or in the case of when I’m in DC, the immediate and automatic networking assessment out whether a person is of value to your career) what it is I do, and the vast majorities give the same glassy-eyed stare detailed above. At this point I’ve gotten used to it and have a simplified answer for my degree (I work with destinations to ensure the development of tourism is sustainable to the environment and culture), for work, it comes down to what day someone asks me as to which answer I give.

Best answer? I work for the national tourism board for the country of Greenland as an intern, on a variety of projects. Technically I’m the cruise and coastal sailings intern, meaning that the majority of my work is based around preparations for, management of, and marketing towards cruises coming into the country (cruises in Greenland being anything from a 50 person sailing ship wandering up the coast to the 3,000 person ships making a transatlantic repositioning voyage and stopping over for a day). Being that the industry is relatively young in Greenland and there are very few people who are involved in the process, we are shaping how operations occur each day and attempting to find better ways of managing cruise tourism for the country.

So far between my month in Denmark and few days here in Greenland, some of what I have done includes the following:

*Updated our calling list for 2012, and created word and excel files with all pertinent information so we have backups and up-to-date information on each port of call and the ships arriving this year,

*Benchmarked our new site for cruise professionals, cruisegreenland.gl, with other B2B (business to business) sites from our competition and market baskets to gain insight on what more should be added,

*Helped campaign in the closing hours for greenland.com to win the Webby Award for best tourism website worldwide,

*Conducted an assessment on our Webby Award-winning website greenland.com in relation to cruises and coastal sailings; mapped changes to be made and where to improve,

*Completed a keyword analysis which details how each client (cruise company) brands Greenland, and mapped which could benefit from additional information. Later I will attempt to create materials or send them information which could be useful which is tailored to their specific needs or brand of the country,

*Edited and changed a legal safety document necessary to have in order for ports to provide shore excursions, and

*Written an edited press releases for Visit Greenland.

Of course there has been and will be much more than this, but it gives a good example of the projects I work on here and what it is I do in tangible concepts. Hopefully that helps =)  

5/30/2012- Language (Nuuk, Greenland)

One of the things which has had the biggest impact on my short time in Greenland so far is the concept of language. As I had mentioned before Greenlandic is one of the most complicated languages in the world—but, in my opinion, the most beautiful. Concepts and ideas form words, combining them into long stretches of consonants often starting with or ending with the guttural, soft q. Pauses in speech and intonation alterations pull you in, and as I hear people speaking I feel almost as though they have a secret—even if they are simply speaking about the weather or groceries. The most beautiful speaking I have heard was from a Greenlandic girl about my own age while filming a short video to promote tourism to the country- http://bit.ly/JPerNW starting at 2:45 in (and Tupaarnaq, if you’re reading this, sorry for being awkward!) After hearing her speak, and the others in the video afterwards, I was drawn in by the soul behind the words and have strived to listen to anyone possible speaking Greenlandic just to capture the essence of the linguistics.

Danish is widely spoken in our office as it is the common language known by everyone in our two locations (Copenhagen and Nuuk)—not everyone working at Visit Greenland speaks Greenlandic or even is from here. In fact, a lot of the business people from Greenland are Danish by descent and have come here for the opportunities the country affords. Even those growing up in Greenland now often speak Danish but not Greenlandic, showcasing the change in culture happening right before our eyes. The majority of signs are in both languages, and businesses often have their information in three—English, Danish, and Greenlandic. After being in Copenhagen the last month I can pick up on and read more Danish than I was thinking I would be able to at this point, making life a bit easier as there is no feasible way to even start learning Greenlandic for an English speaker.

Faroese—the language of my host—is one I have not yet gotten used to hearing. As Roar plays traditional folk songs and sings in his powerful deep voice, I have learned to focus on the music itself and the meaning behind it rather than the words. His obsession with music from his homeland has been comforting in a lot of ways my first few days here, providing me with a songtrack to my own journey far from home in a land vastly different from my own.

And, of course, English. The language I hear while speaking with Sarah, when the office is talking to either of us or feeling kind and speaking in our presence, and on a scarce few programs on one of the four channels available on our TV in Nuuk. The Danes in Greenland are almost all fluent in English in a way that puts our language skills to shame—however the people who work in everyday places, who have deep roots to Greenland, often cannot understand a word I am saying. My first trip to the grocery store ended in mass confusion for the girl taking my money as she could not convey to me the reason why she had her hand out still after I had handed her 350 kroner for a 335 bill—and to this point, I still do not know what she wanted or why she stared so blankly at me.

I had thought I would feel partially helpless knowing limited Danish only and with a lot of the population not speaking English at all or, if they do, as a third language—especially after living in Denmark where as soon as I smiled and said ‘hello’ everyone and anyone would change tone and switch languages as though it were nothing—however, the lifestyle here has culminated in such a kind and relaxed atmosphere that the differences in understanding one another are nothing to be concerned about, and are not taken as a problem. The fact that outsiders so rarely come, especially Americans—everyone I have spoken to can identify only two Americans living in Nuuk in total—not speaking the language or being confused in a situation hasn’t resulted in shame or embarrassment as it would in another country where people would roll their eyes and think to themselves ‘stupid American’ (as at least the scene plays out in my own head), but a genuine curiosity and kindness exists. Here, speaking English and being American doesn’t bring the exasperated sighs or the immediate stereotyping (that I can see outright as in many other places), but in fact gives the opposite—a simple acceptance and aid if necessary, a symbol of the people in the Pioneering Nation that is Greenland.

5/28/2012- Musings from Greenland (Nuuk, Greenland)

Two things said by Anne Mette caught me off guard and made me think.

“If you’re sick just go to the hospital, and don’t even bother trying to show them insurance—they wouldn’t know what to do with it and it would just complicated the matters. Simply give them your address in Nuuk, and you’ll get all the medication and service you need for free.”

“Feel free to sign out the company car and drive anywhere. You don’t need an international driver’s license; the police if you were stopped wouldn’t know the difference between your US license and the international, so you’ll be fine. Oh, and be careful at the two traffic lights—they’re the only two in all Greenland, and often people from the settlements driving here will stop in the middle of the road confused at what to do when they see it or not stop at all because they have no idea what it is.”

I’m making a point to not be political in any conversation I am having while here but rather to simply listen in, and this blog will be no different. What I took away from these two statements wasn’t an idea of one government system being superior or inferior to another, but a representation of how simple and pure life can be here. Hearing these comments made me realize what I had heard about hiking was correct—you can hike anywhere in the country outside the national park as no one owns any of the land, not even what your house is on. Land belongs to the people, and anyone can enjoy it.

My second day in Greenland after a morning chatting with the man I am staying with, Roar (and this is not an alias; he is from the Faroe Islands—though his name is quite possibly one of the coolest in the world,) I walked from my home in Nuussuaq to work on the coast, about a 30-40 minute trip. It took longer than that, about an hour, since everyone was outside to enjoy the weather on the holiday and would stop to greet everyone passing them on the street. Nuuk has a population of around 15,000 people, making it one of the smallest capital cities in the world, and unlike in the US when you’re often asked ‘you’re from Brookfield? Oh, do you know so-and-so’ when you know for a fact that no one will ever know who is being spoken about—here, the answer is generally yes. For example, to explain where we are living to the office Sarah and I gave our host family’s first names, and everyone immediately knew who they were and what they did. Even when I remembered nothing about the man I spoke to on the plane at Kulusuk, everyone I have spoken to here about him could infer who I was speaking about by knowing that he owned a business in Paamiut and lived in Nuuk.

After arriving at the office I sat on the rocks outside which separate the ocean from the road. Boats of all sizes shot by while families gathered to have a smoke and watch for whales nearby, and I enjoyed watching the contrast of people out on the water to the colored houses outlined by snowcapped mountains behind them for a good while. Ever since Semester at Sea I have found myself calmest and most at peace when I am looking out over the ocean, hearing the waves and knowing the power of what is before me—sitting on the rocks rivaled being in the middle of the ocean under the stars for me. I could only imagine sitting there in the dead of winter during the three month darkness that envelops the Arctic region, watching the sky light up and dance.

I’d wondered how I would enjoy being in a place where internet is so costly its prohibiting, grocery stores stock what can be shipped in from abroad and are subject to the weather, and few people speak my language. Admittedly, my opinions could possibly change in the coming months. However this move has already clearly been the best thing for me at this point in my life. The purity of the air and the break from ‘reality’ are saving me from the neurotic, dependent, type-A personality I had slowly been becoming while working full time and working on my Masters. My days these past few years had consisted of waking early to sit at a desk for a job that I had no passion for, not moving until it was time to ‘go home’, when I would walk a few buildings over and sit another few hours for class. I’m eternally grateful for the opportunities the job and degree have afforded me, and always will be—however, I could see myself becoming comfortable.

Comfortable... that is the word I’ve avoided like the plague. In my opinion, when you become comfortable, it’s time to move on, try something new, jump off a new cliff into a new ocean, lest you become stoic and settled.

I truly hope that I’m never comfortable in my life.

…and that, my friends, is how you skip conversation topics and write what’s on your soul.

5/27/2012- Second Impressions (Nuuk, Greenland)

I’d heard the two former interns from Visit Greenland, SungHa and Natasha, say countless times how beautiful Greenland is and how much of an effect it has on you being there. I believed them to an extent—believed that it was in fact beautiful, but that it would compare to other destinations I had been to previously, such as Alaska.

It took me two minutes, a thousand feet above the ice pack and mountains outside Kulusuk, to understand what they were talking about.

Silently and in awe I watched out the tiny window as we passed over the receding ice pack, putting all stories, pictures, and BBC specials I’d seen about it to shame. It went on for miles upon miles, with icebergs and sheets flowing out and away from the mountains inland. It looked something like a puzzle of white ice among a dark blue background, with the pieces of differing sizes and shapes. The mountains in the background framed the picture, jutting out from the coast and covered in snow, like something out of an apocalyptic end-of-the-world image. As we maneuvered around and through the mountains to land in Kulusuk, I thought to myself calmly that if I died, if the worst case scenario happened and our tiny plane hit a bad wind and crashed into the side of one of the majestic mountains, I would be okay with it because I had seen something so otherworldly. The tight grasp I had had on the seatback in front of me out of fear was loosened and my entire body relaxed.

After landing we exited the plane so they could refuel, and laughed at four foreign men who fell to their knees and prayed that we had landed safely (which made me feel better than I was not the only one bothered by the turbulence and the impact it had on our tiny plane). The six or so of us continuing on to Nuuk waited in the airport, which consisted of two rooms separated by a small shop. I spoke with one of the Danish visitors, who has been working in Greenland for years and has been asked to run tourism in one of the settlements, Paamiut. He told me a few stories about his settlement and we relaxed until the plane was ready to take off once more.

Upon boarding the plane again, we were surprised to note that it was now full with East Greenlanders, mostly natives who were boisterous and had moved our things about the plane to sit together. I ended up in back next to an older Inuit woman, who didn’t speak a single word of English yet took great glee in pointing at things out the window and sharing the Greenlandic names with me. When I pulled out a map to continue memorizing the names of all settlements, she got even more excited and grabbed my arm, pointing to herself and then pointing at a city wildly, giving me a toothy grin as her family sitting around us all laughed. After a few minutes of me looking around her she gave me her seat so I could watch out the window, though due to wind issues, after a short time we ascended above the cloud cover. For the entire two hour flight I watched out, excited to see through breaks in the clouds and catch glimpses of the endless snow and mountains below.

When we descended below the cloud cover, winds overtook the plane and we started to be thrown about. Despite the beautiful scenery outside I grasped the armrests and the woman beside me rubbed my back, trying to comfort me. I was amused at the scene—a native Greenlander wearing traditional jewelry and clothing, who did not look as though she traveled much from home, and she was comforting someone who had flown over ten thousand miles the previous year on varying flights.

There was no customs and baggage claim consisted of a single looped conveyor belt which whipped bags out at a speed I thought impossible, flinging a bag out at one point and into the waiting crowd of children and adults crowded into the tiny room. Anne Mette then took me from the one roomed airport and to my home for the next four months—a beautiful light wood apartment with white walls to capture as much light as possible during the endless night winter months (as the sun does not rise for about three months in Nuuk). What enticed me most were the views—mountains reaching into the clouds surround the ‘city’ (and I put that word lightly, as Nuuk is one of the smallest capitals of the world by population at just around 15,000), capped in snow, while each building is painted brightly in colors spanning beyond the rainbow. My room looks out directly to the mountains with houses decked in colors at the base, with snow banks melting into rivers below. Although it is not yet summer, the snow is melting and the sun is out for twenty or so hours a day, giving precious little time to sleep in darkness before the sun comes up over the horizon once again at around 0200.  

Time to enjoy for that 'precious little'. Night!

5/26/2012- First Impressions (Kulusuk, Greenland)

I suppose the ‘proper’ way to start (or in this case, restart) a blog is to introduce the situation I’m in, and what reason I have for starting a blog when there are oh so many ranging all topics from what to do if your cat decides to start barking like a dog to steps in adopting a pet zebra. So, here goes.

My name is Sharon Clay Testor, and I’m 24 years old. I’ve spent the past two and a half years working full time while taking night and weekend graduate school classes. I graduated with a Masters in Tourism Administration and a concentration in Sustainable Destination Management from The George Washington University one week ago, and am currently on a flight from Keflavik Airport in Iceland to Nuuk, Greenland, where I will be living for the next four months and working as an intern with Visit Greenland—the national tourist board for the country. I spent the month of April and the start of May in Copenhagen, Denmark while working in the Visit Greenland representation office to train for and prepare for these next four months. While in Greenland, I’ll be working on a variety of projects, mainly focusing on the cruise and coastal sailings sector—i.e., how to plan for, market for, and manage ships from less than 100 passengers up to large cruise ships which call on Greenland in a sustainable manner.

I’m currently on my flight- a Dash 8-200 Air Greenland plane which holds 37 passengers and has only 14 of us onboard. It’s stopping in Kulusuk in eastern Greenland, then taking off again to bring the rest of us to Nuuk, the capital city. The door to the cockpit has been open the entire flight and security in Reykjavik, Iceland didn’t notice Visit Greenland had reserved my ticket under Sharon Clay while my passport said Sharon Testor—and somehow, on top of all else, they gave me a boarding pass for Mr. Richard Travis. Compounding my confusion was the fact that security checked my documents, and had no problem believing that I was Mr. Travis (with a passport clearly stating I was American and female—only Sarah—the other intern for Visit Greenland—and I are American on this flight).

I don’t know what to expect when we get to Nuuk, Greenland. I know nothing about the person I am living with other than his name, and have met only Anne Mette and Anders S. from the Visit Greenland office (Anne Mette while recruiting for the office in Washington, DC and Anders S. while working in Copenhagen when he flew in to celebrate Visit Greenland’s website, visitgreenland.com, winning the Webby Award- People’s Choice for best tourism website in the world). I speak very little Danish which I picked up while in Denmark and promptly butchered by adding a Puerto Rican accent (my father is from Puerto Rico and always added that accent when teaching my Spanish, so I unconsciously add that accent onto any languages I learn—Russian with that accent was particularly exasperating for my professors), and no Greenlandic whatsoever, though that will not change as the language is one of the most difficult worldwide. (Try Uummannaq on for size).

If anyone has any questions, comments, rants, whatever—please feel free to comment. As we pay per usage in Greenland for internet I may not respond instantly, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

However, we’re just starting to fly over Greenland for the first time and so I can see the pack ice and mountains, so I’m heading to stare out the window in wonder! Until next time!

Tak!

Sharon