I Spent 5 Days Teetering on the Edge of the World in Tasiilaq
Going way off-grid in East Greenland, I regretted ever skipping leg day. But it was gorgeous and practically empty there.
It was mid- September, though the chill in the air made it feel more like early winter when we arrived in the settlement of Kulusuk, home to a population of fewer than 300 people. We were only a couple of hours away from Iceland—where a wild autumn storm had caused me and my partner a three-day travel delay—but it felt like we were in a whole different world. Apparently, the main travel hub to East Greenland was a two-room airport where “baggage claim” consisted of a pile of bags and the best-looking food option was a hot dog in a baguette. I decided to pass on this culinary delicacy due to the impending short helicopter ride we’d need to reach our final destination. Deciding to spend the better part of a week in one of the most remote towns in the world felt daring enough as is.
But once we got back up in the air, and the clouds finally parted to reveal a massive iceberg floating in the dark ocean waters, it seemed like traveling to Tasiilaq might be worth the hassle.
I lost track of my iceberg tally almost immediately. And as we soared over snow-capped mountains and hostile waves slammed the craggy fjord coastline, I spied our home base: a colorful collection of homes scattered on the hill below. As we exited onto the heliport, my eyes watered from the brisk wind while a pack of sled dogs bellowed from the rocks; a true Greenlandic welcome.
Aside from a small red guesthouse, there was one main hotel in Tasiilaq that sat like a hat atop town. It was only on the van ride up to Hotel Angmagssalik that I realized just how steep this hill was. The views were magnificent at the end of the road, sure, but with no car and all of our activities departing from the harbor dock, I wondered if I should’ve spent more leg days at the gym in preparation for all the climbing I was going to do over the next five days.
As it turned out, our hotel room was basic at best, though the vista was predictably stunning with unobstructed views of the King Oscar Fjord, the jagged peaks of Polheim’s Mountain and Pyramid Mountain, and the rainbow of houses below. Meanwhile, the layout of the room prevented the twin beds from being anywhere near each other, so my partner and I resigned to sleep dorm-room style in lieu of blocking the bathroom door. But we weren’t here to hang out in our room—we were here to explore the isolated wilderness and rich culture of East Greenland.
Our first order of business was to explore town, which is to say, get our steps in. We popped into the historic church turned museum, as well as the local art workshop, where we watched expert carvers transform bones and tusks into protective carvings of spirits they call Tupilaks. Trudging back up the hill past brightly hued wooden homes—many with freshly caught fish hung to dry like laundry—I pretended to take extra photos in order to catch my breath. No wonder there were multiple benches strewn about the settlement. Sled dogs howled in broken harmony from their chains, with an occasional fluffball puppy bounding over to say hello, something they only have the freedom to do until six months old.
After all, these were working dogs, not pets.
Our second day took us, thankfully, only halfway down the town hill, past the local cemetery, and along a path leading into the Flower Valley for a hike that was rumored to contain a waterfall, lakes, and towering mountains galore. Thick fog hid the vista and then snow started to fall despite it being September. We pressed on in hopes the winter weather was just a fluke, and by the time we began our return trip, what seemed like an endless array of mountain giants appeared as if magic. We hadn’t seen another person for the entire three-hour mission; exploring a mostly trail-free wilderness area had us feeling like pioneers.
Eventually, we planned our days around trekking the hill the least amount of times possible—it was that steep. I imagined a harsh, wintry day with ice on the road during which my options would likely be to either slide down on my butt or stay home. But as we would soon discover, the adventures were plentiful while good food was scarce. After two nights of eating the pricey but lackluster hotel buffet dinner, we opted to check out the grocery store. Produce was hard to come by, though candy was plentiful, and rifles were sold next to shampoo. With limited facilities and budget, dinner ended up being ramen noodles and Pringles consumed hastily in our dorm room. I found myself thinking of the airport hot dog baguette.
Funnily enough, our best meal was eaten on a rock.
We were on a full-day endeavor with Sermilik Adventures, which typically runs between $237 and $389 per person. And in the span of the morning, we weaved through an iceberg lagoon, hopped onto land for a quick hike, went deep sea fishing for cod, and watched our guides Tobias and Line hunt seals with a rifle. Only the bobbing of the anchored boat and the occasional clank of Tobias’ meal prep broke the silence of our marveling at Mother Nature’s artwork. Glacial arms draped over mountains like a cloak, with patterns of electric blue and ashy black reflecting in the water of our little sheltered corner cove. Tobias dumped the contents of the large silver pot straight onto a large flat rock with a satisfied smile.
“This is our lunch restaurant,” he declared.
We sat in the sun, eating chunks of perfectly cooked fish with our hands, and sampled some of the other Greenlandic specialties like salted cod and the notoriously chewy Mattak (whale blubber and skin). Post-lunch, we made a stop at Íkátek, a settlement that became a ghost town in the 1980s after residents fled the harsh conditions there. Its vulnerable position exposed the settlement to the infamously strong katabatic winds from the ice cap—piteraq— evident in the worn buildings. To my right, a stone foundation stood, stripped of everything else; a victim of a previous storm. We learned that this place was once home to 60 residents, but the remains of seven homes, a workshop, and a church were all that lingered.
We wandered around, peering in the windows of the homes which appeared frozen in time. It felt like a portal to the past and a glimpse into the resilient spirit of a community that once thrived here in the face of Mother Nature's fury.
For the rest of our trip, most of our activities were boat-based, which meant more steep treks to and from the harbor. My legs protested with each descent and eventual ascent. On our fourth day, we hit the open seas to explore the fjords, gawking at the most colossal icebergs I’ve ever seen—some with grand arches, sheer cliffs, mysterious holes, and pointy peaks to match the mountains. Although differently shaped, each one was an icy masterpiece that gave my camera's shutter button a serious workout. We were out with Arctic Dream, one of the local tour operators, getting up close and personal with the Knud Rasmussen glacier and wandering around Bluie East Two, the abandoned US Air Force Base from World War II. Here, we walked around the rusty ruins against an epic backdrop, taking photos of old vehicles, military equipment, and fuel drums. Although we customized our experience, most eight-hour day tours start at $230 per person.
On our last day, we booked a backcountry wellness experience with Tasiilaq Tours; a reprieve for my sore legs. For approximately $72 per person, a ten-minute boat ride dropped us in solitude, with town completely out of view. Our guide showed us to the remote, wood-fired sauna and left us to enjoy for the next hour and a half. It was frigid outside, the temperature hovering somewhere around 20 degrees. Normally, these wouldn’t be the ideal conditions for wearing a bathing suit, but the steamy little red sauna felt amazing. Situated next to a small lake, it wasn’t just ridiculously picturesque, but also offered brave souls the opportunity to alternate between a cold dip and the hot sauna. I waded waist deep into the icy-cold water because when else would I be at a sauna at the edge of the world?
Finally, after five days, I was ready to return to civilization, eat a solid meal, and not walk up and down that hill. That being said, our adventure cups were full, knowing we had seen nooks and crannies of the world that many would never set eyes on. In classic Greenlandic fashion, our flight out was delayed 5 hours. I ended up eating two of those airport hot dog baguettes, and you know what? They were pretty darn tasty.