Christoffer Petersen Blog 00679

This was where I slept while staying in the fictive settlement of Inussuk, looking south along the peninsular, back towards Uummannaq. The beach to the left of my tent – out of shot – was mostly pebbles, before the black sands. I heard and glimpsed fin whales while sleeping here. But the real finds were on the beach and in the house to the right of Maratse’s. I thought I’d take you inside.

The tide was out when Maratse arrived at his new home. Karl powered the fibreglass dinghy up the beach, cut the engine, and lifted the propeller shaft clear of the water and the lumps of ice in the shallow surf. He climbed over the side and helped Maratse out of the dinghy. Maratse took a deep breath and caught the whiff of dried fish lingering between the houses, salt and seaweed exposed on the rocks, together with a variety of cooking smells. Karl picked up Maratse’s book, touched his elbow and pointed up the beach in the direction of the general store.
“Your house is over there. The dark blue one between the store, and the green house to the right.”
“Who lives in the green house?”
“At the moment? A lesbian couple and their daughter.” Karl waited for Maratse to react, and, when he didn’t, he shrugged and said, “Follow me.”

I wouldn’t know if the two Danes I met in that house were lesbian, and what does it matter, anyway? Well, in the story it matters as Maratse has no prejudices to speak of. He might have some aversions to mass tourism hidden deep, but he wouldn’t mention it either way. But the occupants of the house when I was there were artists. They were also incredibly welcoming, and I enjoyed my visit, the coffee, and their art. They were staying in a house owned by… yeah, my memory fails me at this point, but I think it belonged to the nature commission, and artists could apply to stay there for a period of time. You can see some of their work above – making gourds out of dried seaweed – and the materials they collected from the beach (below).

My photos don’t do their work justice, but you can get an idea of the time and care and love they put into their work. I was, obviously, quite impressed in the short time I spent with the artists, so much so they inspired characters in Seven Graves, One Winter.

But the artists weren’t the only ones to leave a deep impression upon me in “Inussuk”. You only have to take a short walk around the settlement to see so many things that could easily be in a museum, including the skull of a musk ox – Umimmak, in Greenlandic – drying on a rack. And I think this is one of the reasons why, when cruise ships disgorge their passengers to descend upon a Greenlandic village or settlement, it’s easy for the tourists to think they are in a museum, albeit one in which people live. I’ve thrown cruise ship tourists out of school when they blundered in because “the door was open” as if it was one more building in the museum to be visited. It’s a tricky balance, and it’s an issue and a problem for many Arctic communities, one they have to deal with, especially as cruise ship tourism is on the increase.

In 2023, according to this article from KNR (in Danish), 480 cruise ships plan to visit Greenland, 100 more than the previous year. The article goes on to mention that 60 of those ships will dock in Qaqortoq, in the south, meaning that over 68,000 tourists will come to just that one town during the year.

Greenland has a population of roughly 56,000.

Qaqortoq, the fifth largest town in Greenland, has a population of a little over 3,000.

I remember the concerns regarding potential massive strain on health services in Greenland when faced with overwhelming numbers – especially older tourists with the money to travel – when visiting small towns, villages, and tiny settlements.

Maratse might hide such aversions deep inside him.

The author? Not so much.