GETTING TO GREENLAND

There are no flights from the US to Greenland. Getting there involves first going through Canada, Denmark, or Iceland. We choose Iceland. My journey begins with a midday flight from Fort Lauderdale to Baltimore-Washington International Airport.

BWI was then in a state of construction—or destruction—just which is not clear, but the place is a general mess. I arrive here from Florida late in the afternoon and meet Mark at the Air Iceland check-in counter. Mark's his usual calm self, betraying no trace of excitement for our adventure ahead.

Tickets for the Iceland-Greenland leg of my trip have been mistakenly issued for Kulusuk—a ski destination on the opposite side of Greenland, known for snow, but not fluorescent minerals, so some work at the counter is required. Corrected tickets issued, we join the long queue for a chance at a Burger King dinner. This day the terminal is filled with US serviceman on their way to Liberia (“shhh! It’s a secret”). Seats at the ‘King’ are scarce. These will be the only hamburgers of the trip.

Our red-eye flight for Iceland is finally ready to board around eight p.m. and we climb into the cheap seats for the flight across the Atlantic. Great. Finally on our way after, in my case, a year of planning and anticipation.

The transatlantic flight was short—only 5-1/2 hours, and with the time change we find ourselves deplaning into Iceland’s immaculate, modern Keflavik International airport at a jarring 6:30 a.m. this Tuesday morning.

Confusion suddenly overtakes Mark. Determined to exit the terminal and smoke a cigarette, he pushes past the currency exchange and hurries for the exit. But after clearing immigration he discovers he’s left all his duty-free goods back on the plane. Too late. So we head into Keflavik’s duty free shop to replace the missing items. While there, we meet up with another member of our party, Howie. Howie’s flight from New York has arrived only minutes before. Flights inbound from the US all seem to arrive in Iceland at around the same time.

On the way out of the terminal, I look back and see signs hung on the doors. Curious, I go back. Printed only in German, they say: “Kein Schlafen über Nacht in diesem Terminal” (no sleeping overnight in this terminal). I wonder why only Germans merit that message.

Iceland’s fresh, crisp morning air is a bracing change for visitors from Florida in mid-July. Jackets are quickly found. A motor coach idles outside, waiting to shuttle arriving passengers into Iceland’s capital city, Reykjavik.

Other than the international airport, there is only lava at Keflavik. It was built on a desolate expanse seemingly miles from anything else.

Our next flight, from Iceland to Narsarsuaq Greenland, will depart much later, late in the afternoon, from the ‘domestic’ airport over in Reykjavik. Reykjavik is just a 45-minute drive from Keflavik. But we board the shuttle bus as if there are only seconds to spare.

Even the bus ride to town proves scenic: inland, conical volcanoes dot the horizon; seaward, more fresh lava fields and blue ocean beyond. For reasons still obscure, at the bus’s first stop we transfer to a small van. From there we make the 3-minute final run to Reykjavik airport, and alight.

Reykjavik airport looks like a country airfield from the rural Midwest US. The airstrip is paved. There is a windsock. Two or three cement block structures complete the scene. A large model plane hangs from the lobby ceiling, adding some charm, perhaps. The canteen’s food will work hard to reclaim it.

We announce our arrival at Reykjavik's check-in counter and are met with deadpan suggestions to leave our luggage “elsewhere”. It seems luggage can only be checked-in an hour or so before takeoff—then some eight hours away. No idea what we’ll do with all our gear. We have a long time yet to wait. Howie proves his skill at interpersonal persuasion and manages to convince airline staff to keep our small mountain of gear behind their counter for the day.

Freshly unencumbered, we walk all 10 meters to the airport's canteen. Neither Mark nor I have any local currency, thanks to his hasty arrival, and the chef little English, or patience, for any stories from us. We drink coffee charged on VISA cards. Howie reads the newspaper. Rather, Howie looks at an Icelandic newspaper and imagines what it must say.

An hour into this routine and Mark produces a brand new pair of GPS-capable walkie-talkies. Neat. I’ve not used walkie-talkies since the mid-1960s, when they were the size of cinder blocks and made mostly noise. But these look like high-tech fun straight out of the ‘Jetsons’. We head out into the cold Icelandic drizzle this gray morning and try them out.

Talking is simple enough, but making good use of the navigation features proves a challenge. Confusion over the function ‘mark’ and the name ‘Mark’ eats up at least an hour. Good thing we both speak English. Maybe. Soon we're both at least able to view our present locations with some accuracy. Hours are spent toying with these until, amazingly enough, boarding time for the blessed final flight to Greenland arrives. It has already been a long day.. night.. and day again.

The ticket we’ve bought from Air Iceland says ‘Iceland Air’ on it. “Don’t be confused,” we're told, these are the international and domestic units of the same company. But the plane waiting on the tarmac is stenciled ‘Atlantic Air’ and just in from the Faeroe Islands. Whatever.

It's a shiny new turbofan 100+ seater, with friendly aircrew who all speak English and, best of all, three seats for us. Wonderful. Flying time is  just over 2 hours, and with the 2-hour time difference we’ll arrive at about the same time we left—three-thirty in the afternoon.

For those geographically challenged, Greenland lies due west of Iceland (yes, back towards the USA), and the city of Reykjavik is actually farther north than Narsarsuaq airport, in the southwest of Greenland, where we are now heading. I am looking forward to any added warmth. It has been cold in Reykjavik.

We fly out over the north Atlantic but its deep waters are obscured by cloud for most of the way. The flight plan calls for us to fly over the south of Greenland, from its easternmost shore to Narsarsuaq airport near its southwest coast.

About half an hour before landing, the skies suddenly clear, and the brilliant white glare of arctic Greenland comes into view for the first time.

Here and there rugged brown mountains poke through the whiteness, but it's obvious snow and ice have a firm hold over the surface of this land; as far as we can see stretches an endless expanse of it. Gradually, the ice lessens, and we can see mountains organized into long chains, running roughly northeast-southwest, with great glaciers nestling between ridge lines.

Glaciers become more and more fissured, and finally give way to deep blue fjords as we make our way towards the southwest coast. A minute or two after this abrupt change in scenery our descent into Narsarsuaq airport begins. I can see steep brown walls surrounded the famous fjord, Tunulliarfik, and a flush of green hugging shore.

Greenland reveals no trees to us though. Just sparse grass.

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