Qaqortoq Part II

This is the second article about Qaqortoq. You can find the first article here.

The first day in Qaqortoq I woke up to see... well... not much. A heavy fog enveloped the town, and if I wanted to see anything, I had to go there. Instead of going for a walk in the hills that seemed to have disappeared in the fog, I went for a walk around town. A town that proved to be a lovely holiday destination.
    

A museum and town in one

The centre of town consists of old preserved houses. Nicely kept, they are as colourful and pleasant to the eye as they are crooked and boasting with character. The beautiful harbour houses vessels of all sorts and sizes – from small dinghies and fishing boats, through yachts to large ferries and in the summer this scenic harbour is frequented by large luxurious cruise liners.
Just across the road from the harbour, on the other side of the town’s little museum lies the pride of Qaqortoq ― Greenland’s only fountain, It is a very modest little fountain that dates roughly from the beginning of the last century, and at the time of my visit was as dry as a desert during a drought.

While walking around the streets of Qaqortoq one cannot miss seeing different figures carved in stone. Those carvings are the result of a several years old project called “Man and Stone” that gathered various artists from primarily Scandinavia to contribute with their talents to this unusual town’s face-lift. Due to its geographical location on the hills, exposed cliffs and rock formations are visible almost everywhere, and the aim of the project was to give those rocks a unique touch. The first stone carving I’ve noticed was a face staring at me from the rock. Then 1 saw another face just next to it. And another. And all of a sudden there was a whole family. A fairly large family, I must say. Maybe a tribe? Then at another place I saw whales on the rocks. And fish another place. And a deer another. And a rock in the shape of a gigantic bear’s footprint placed on the road just outside the supermarket. One can almost not help the feeling of going on carving spotting expedition every time one goes out of the house. I wonder how many carvings I haven’t seen. The town is in a sense like an open-air museum.

A bit to the west of town I saw some sort of flat surface lying between the hills. In the fog and from a distance it could have looked like water, but something undefined about it suggested otherwise. As calm as it was, it showed no reflection, and besides that, in the constant wind, that surface was definitely way too calm to be water. As I got closer I realised what it was – the  frozen surface of the lake Tasersuaq. Quite a few lakes in Greenland are called Tasersuaq, which simply means “Big Lake”.

On my second day in Qaqortoq the fog shifted a bit and only the hillsides were tucked in this misty blanket of clouds, whereas in the lower parts of town, as for example Tasersuaq and the harbour, visibility was perfect. From the kitchen window I could see the red and white helicopter taking off. I packed up some lunch, and went for a walk around Tasersuaq, starting off at the football field on the outskirts of town. A typical Greenlandic football field is more worthy of the name Football Gravel Yard than field. My knees hurt just from the thought of what it must be like being tackled on such a pebble-strewn surface.

On, around and through the lake

As soon as I left the football scare behind me I found myself in a completely different world – the frozen lake lied calmly on my left, the creek-scarred and snow-spotted hills were on my right and the sky... Yes, well the sky was not very high above me. The fog was so low that it seemed like the sky was closing down on me, floating about five meters above the ground. And on the hillsides short shrubberies of blackberries covered every visible piece of ground. Tasting a dozen blackberries on the way confirmed what I’ve been told already before leaving Nanortalik – that were last year’s berries and have gone bad by now. Neither were they much fun to walk on, since they covered the entire surface and I couldn’t escape from constantly sinking my feet in them, very much like walking on sand.

After no more than ten minutes I overtook another hiker who carried one large rug-sack on his back and dragged two little children at his sides. I asked him if he planned on walking the round trip, to which he replied negatively, but assured me that there was no problem whatsoever crossing the narrow stream at the opposite end of the lake, provided I stayed close to the lake and didn’t go too high up along the stream.

As I kept zigzagging my way alone the lakeside, the temptation of trying to walk on the frozen lake did not stop tickling my toes. Nevertheless, I let my inexperience talk sense into me and resisted the appealing idea. That is of course, until I saw a large dog walking just in the middle of the lake with his much larger owner. That did it. Why walk around the lake if I can take a short cut across it? I slowly put one foot down on the ice, shifted my weight gradually and moved my other foot, carefully placing it on the ice as well. And there I was! Standing on the frozen lake! I was so excited I wanted to hop and jump and dance, but voted against it. I would only push my luck this much. It felt awkward walking with regular shoes on what could just as well have been an ice-skating ring. I walked on the ice for a couple of minutes, but found walking on the hillsides more attractive, not to mention safe. And so I went back to the shrubbery-covered surface, climbing up and down on rocks and jumping over snow and ice-covered brooks. It proved to be a smart move, as it started raining shortly after and small puddles showed up on the ice. After nearly two hours of walking I arrived at the far end of the lake. The sun just came out through a hole in the clouds and washed everything with a bright warm light. The sudden brightness and warmth made me feel like everything was going my way. Well, maybe apart from the stream I was just about to cross.

Not that the water was threatening in any way. There were just no stepping-stones to be seen across the several-meters wide stream. The water was fairly calm, but seeing the unreachable thick layer of ice that lay about ten meters away from me on the lake, reminded me how much I didn’t feel like getting wet. I started looking for a clever way to cross the stream. I walked up along it - the higher I walked the narrower and deeper the stream became. But at no point was it narrow enough to jump over. And the narrower it became the more turbulent the water was. It all looked quite hopeless. Ten metres upstream I noticed a bridge of thick ice over the creek. It was covered with a fine layer of snow and seemed quite strong. But would it hold my weight? I decided to let the unknown stay unknown, and dropped my plans of crossing the water cleverly. Instead I chose to follow plan B. Plan B in a nutshell was about finding a not so clever way to cross the stream. That proved to be much easier.

The water was very clear and fairly shallow at the opening of the stream. I could clearly see the rocks at the bottom and decided that that was good enough. I took my shoes off and tied them on my rug-sack, folded my rain trousers, trousers and long-johns up over my knees and started crossing. As expected, the water was not even close to boiling. Unfortunately though, it wasn’t cold enough to make my legs go numb. I’m sure that half a degree colder, and I wouldn’t have been able to feel my legs. Sadly enough, I could still feel them. I could feel those poor freezing limbs of mine sending blue icy messages to my brain, demanding I get them out of the water straight away. I came to pay for my legs’ eagerness and impatience at once ― one careless step was all it took, and before I realized what had happened, I was standing on all four in water up to my elbows, watching my shoes dangling from my bag, soaking all the water that wasn’t already soaked in my sleeves and trousers. I got up as quickly as I could, which I have to admit was not very quick, and crossed over to the other side cursing loudly for each frozen muscle I had to move.

At the other side I found myself a snow-free piece of ground, where I laid my rain jacket and emptied my shoes from what seemed like gallons of water (Sometimes I wish I had smaller feet, so my shoes would soak less water...), and enjoyed the soothing sun. Sitting there half wet next to a beautiful stream of water and a lovely frozen lake, surrounded by hills, I felt there was nothing better to make this picture more perfect than to catch some fish for lunch! I opened my bag and fished out the vacuum-packed smoked mackerel I bought a couple of days earlier. Together with some crackers, warm tea and a cold coke ― I was in heaven. A very wet and fairly chilly heaven, but heaven nevertheless.

After thirty minutes in the soft sun I saw a woman arriving from the direction I came from. Using sign language she asked me where I crossed the stream. I pointed at the place where she stood and lifted my bare legs to explain her how. She replied by lifting a finger, pointing it to her temple and moving it circularly. In a lot of countries that would be considered relatively rude and mean to suggest that one’s partner must be out of his or her mind. But the circumstances here all suggested that in Greenland, this particular gesture is one of awe and admiration. That would also explain why she turned her back to me and disappeared the way she came.

When the sun started disappearing again behind the clouds half an hour later, some chocolate bars were gulped down, followed by a handful of raisins. Wet trousers and sleeves were pulled back over cold legs and arms and the great march back to Qaqortoq began. This time I chose to leave the waterline and to walk up on the hilltops where possible. The beautiful landscape that revealed itself to me was absolutely breathtaking.

The frozen Tasersuaq was on my left; picturesque Qaqortoq lay peacefully in front of me; hilltops towered on my right as far as the eye could see along and the coastline of Munkebugten (Bay of Monks); the surface beneath my feet was spotted with frozen lakes, snow drives and the unavoidable blackberry shrubs. Three hours later I was in bed after a warm shower. I had to spend the next couple of days in bed to get over a cold.

Munkebugten and back to Nanortalik

On my fifth and last day in Qaqortoq, on the way up from that very mysterious cold, I decided I was feeling well enough to go for one last walk before the next day’s trip home. The sun was out, the air stood still, and the electric sign outside the grill bar in town claimed that the temperature was a stable 10 degrees Celsius – a perfect day for a nice walk. I packed up my things and headed in the direction of Tasersuaq where I changed course towards Munkebugten. It was not a hard walk. but the terrain was very rocky, and when I wasn’t climbing up any large rocks, I was crawling down them. Countless small lakes were spread over the hilltops and all around me were different ice formations in water, often hidden from the sun in the shade of snow drives. As always, the ice and snow covered the familiar creeks and here and there the ice-free havens were covered with blackberries. A couple of gigantic icebergs floated peacefully on the horizon and down at the waterline two fishermen sat next to their boats, while being spied on by flocks of seagulls trying to nick a share of the day’s catch – all enjoying the cold Greenlandic spring sun. It was just one of those days where everything seems to come to life in the sun. Unfortunately, half way to the other side of the bay I could feel that I wasn’t quite up to making the whole round trip and decided to turn back as I came.

The next day, after a phone call from Poul who wanted to apologise for being too busy to come and see me to the dock, I found myself on-board “Najaaraq Ittuk” - the same ship that brought me to Qaqortoq ― this time heading back to Nanortalik. We sailed through the same route, which in the lovely sunny weather looked completely different – after keeping itself all mysterious and half hidden in haze on the way to Qaqortoq, it now stood there all clear and shiny and inviting.

Back in Nanortalik there was not much to tell about my holiday – Kurt had already heard all about it from Poul. Another acquaintance heard about it from Kurt, and from here it wasn’t long before people I hardly know could tell me stories about my own holiday, spiced up with details that I wasn’t even aware of myself. Good to be home again!