Daniele Somenzi's Greenland

Trip to Greenland w One of the most interesting trips I have made is the one I undertook with my brother Vanni in December 2002. We set off by car from Italy to Munich in Germany for the SAS flight to Copenhagen, where we spend the night in the transit hotel, a hotel where rooms are rented by the hour. Then on to Greenland. On a brand-new Airbus 330 I arrive at Kangerlussuaq, where we slept 2 nights at the local hostel. Here, a magical feeling. To find yourself in that place where very few people go, partly because of the astronomical prices, partly because no one has ever been there and doesn't tell you to go. We, for example, went because I had 2 free tickets; otherwise, at the cost of them alone, I would have preferred to do a round-the-world trip.

Unfortunately, however, the return ticket from Kangerlussuaq to the capital Nuuk, a flight of about an hour, we paid at the price of a Milan-Los Angeles of 13 hours. Anyway, given how it then went, with hindsight we can say: money well spent. At Kangerlussuaq, where international flights land, from the hostel window I enjoyed dozens of take-offs and landings of red four-engine Dash De Havilland aircraft, Canadian-built. The airline, naturally Greenlandair, red, because in the event of an unplanned landing among the snow or ice they are then easily spotted; 4 engines rather than 2, because given the short runways you get better engine braking. The mobile phone works around all the villages (remember this is Denmark here). The tour with a Toyota off-road vehicle, organised by the hostel guy, lasted about 4 hours, certainly unique and unforgettable.

At midday, from the top of a hill, the guide showed us the sun on the horizon, then further on, on foot on the pack ice, ice for hundreds of kilometres to the east and north, blue ice and various colours, hills we climbed with great slips, made only of ice. A few km further inland there is a track where Volkswagen comes to test its cars. They come in summer, but during the winter 2 guys who live in heated containers have to stay there to keep the route passable. So these two poor wretches will die of loneliness, of cold, and who knows what the pay is. But who makes them do it? Certainly it's better than having the death penalty in the USA or life imprisonment. On the way back we stop beside a glacier with very suggestive colours, then at the wreckage of a small military jet that crashed. A small fragment is now in my display cabinet in Versilia where I live.

We spotted an Arctic fox, and the musk ox; Vanni says it belongs to the goat family, in fact it's as big as half a cow and with lots of hair for the cold. These often get trapped with their hooves in the ice and die there, no longer able to find food. Crows are in every part of the world I go, in Australia, in Inuvik in northern Canada, in Svalbard, in Tierra del Fuego, and naturally also in Greenland. At the expensive airport restaurant, after eating musk ox meat, Vanni decides to buy a bottle of wine (I don't drink) but, despite it being good, he regretted it bitterly afterwards given the price of about 100 euros. But he regretted it doubly when the next day he saw it at the duty free for 30 euros, just 50 metres from the restaurant.

Just outside the airport waiting room, large blocks of ice impressed us, a metre wide, three high and seven long; they were cut with ordinary chainsaws with a long blade, and since daylight in November lasts about 6 hours, the lighting came from spotlights aimed at the ice, which shortly afterwards would be used for the construction of a small hotel for tourists, complete with bedside tables, mattresses, glasses, little chairs and tables made of ice, just as they do in Lapland — then you shell out at least 200 euros to sleep there in the cold for one night. Oh, I forgot, we also tried the thrill of sitting on the roof of the Toyota and driving on the ice of a lake. What an impression, then, when in the silence you could hear the cracks stretching for hundreds of metres, producing a sound from beyond the grave.

Ha, naturally the guide warns us not to throw cigarette butts on the ground wherever we are, even though it doesn't concern us since we prefer to spend money on travel rather than drugs. He, yes, smoked, and keeping an eye on him we then saw that he really did deposit his cigarette corpse in his pocket. There's a village to the south with a nice name, Vanni and I always mentioned it, Quaqqortoqq, I would have liked to visit it just for the name. It didn't seem enough to visit (perhaps) the only time in my life Greenland and go to only one city, so with considerable emptying of my wallet we fly to the capital Nuuk, hoping there'll be sun and that we can do whale watching.

The red four-engine aircraft lands first on a runway that I think is as long as my home garden, naturally an icy runway; they make us get off for 20 minutes at Sisimiut and likewise at the next airport at Manitsoq before arriving in the dark at Nuuk. By taxi we cover the 5 km that separate us from the city. Here mobile phones can also be used on an FM frequency and therefore like CB radios, that is, you talk by pressing a key with another device but only if it has the exact frequency. The only low-price hotel is again the hostel, but this one has a peculiarity: it is occupied by a person who has made the large room with 7 bunk beds his own property, with clothes hung up to dry, his personal things everywhere, the smell of smoke and full ashtrays. Oh well, let's put up with it, says Vanni, we should only spend 2 nights there.

Surrounded by a metre of snow, the temperature the next day was about minus 15, not cold for the locals, used to minus 40; we, to go for a walk, wrapped up as you can imagine. The boat for whale watching that morning didn't leave because the minimum number wasn't reached. Damn. So we decide to take a walk to the port anyway. All the boats, large and small, were covered in snow and very colourful on the sides in Ferrari red; fortunately the sun and clear sky brightened our view. The only one who, with his dog, paid a visit to his boat, wasn't going out to sea — a shame, he could have given us a lift. Then, demoralised, we walk back along the pier towards the city when another man, this time an Eskimo, comes towards his snow-covered motorboat. I try with him too; he speaks little English, but we understand each other.

We'd like to take a boat trip with him and maybe see the whales, paying of course. The guy nods and takes us with him. At first we were happy, but then, thinking about it, going off with some random person who knows where, we might never have come back — 3 minutes in the water and you're dead. The guy gives us 2 orange survival suits, which we gladly put on; on the boat there's an icy wind, we're the only ones leaving the port that day. After filling up with petrol and with bullets for the 2 rifles (there too we thought, now this one will shoot us and throw us in the water), we set off at full throttle, and the scenery of the fjord mountains, with the colourful houses of the city, the flat water, is fantastic. At the cost of freezing my hands, I filmed everything with my Panasonic Mini DV. We go about 15 km into the north fjord.

What we see is unique, and gradually we realise that the Eskimo doesn't want to kill us, and is friendly and kind to us; it all seems magical. Mountains on the sides with immense glaciers lit by the sun and reflections of enchanting beauty, the water naturally pristine and blue, some icebergs around, and at a certain point the guy tells us to look for a red buoy he had placed the day before — found, s