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“It’s actually quite cold,” was my first thought on exiting the hotel the following morning, reminding myself of a small boy who I’d overheard by the Devon coast several summers ago complain to his mother of sunburn.
My intention, upon leaving the Hans Egede Hotel, was to divine, pedestrianly, the Hans Egede Church. Hans, if memory serves, was the first missionary who arrived in Greenland after the initial Norse colony failed and was the founder of a settlement called Godthab which we now call Nuuk.
I was wildly successful in my search. Yet, it turns out, the church I thought was the Hans Egede Church was actually the Church of Our Savior while Hans’ house (not to be confused with his actual house, or “haus,” which sits near the latter, elder church of Our Savior and Hans’ hilltop statue,) was a modern, cafeteria-like building that, upon inspection, was closed and devoid of all signs of lunch.
Ah well: onward! Down a few backroads and past a small, unassuming building that, had it not been vexillologically decked, I never would have realized was the Greenlandic parliament.
Eventually, I found the old red (and equally closed/lunchless) Church for which I searched and the nearby hill which hosted, alongside a shocking number of elderly Germans, a cross-wielding statue of Hans. Aloft between the glacial peaks and glass-like fjords crisscrossed by zippy boats, the town below untied its sooty gown for observation.
After a veggie-burger lunch near the Hans Egede aforementioned Haus, I walked along the raised wooden boardwalk that skirts the fjord, catching and hugging Nuuk. As I did, the mountains towering, the social housing perched on craggy cliffs, I listened to Eine Alpensinfonie. Because of course I did, dear reader. Know you me not?
Nacht returning, I tired. By an abandoned boat, I plotted my return to the hotel. Google Maps showed a path. Turns out: that path led through several private yards, and, though frightened someone would yell, no one seemed to notice or, at least, to care. At a beach-side cemetery, a young German couple, workers from the cruise ship that delivered the hill-climbing, trekking-pole-slinging, Hans-enamored Continentals to this blustery, buggy shore, kissed, imagined themselves unseen except, perhaps, by seagulls.
Warm, now, with walking, and almost returned, I passed, open-jacketed, a collection of red, green, and yellow buildings made from wood. At first, I considered whether this was some Lithuanian delegation and how odd that would be to find up here and how odder it would be to paint a building in the dilapidated colors of ones flag. But no, I was obviously wrong: it was Queen Ingrid’s Hospital.
Later, dinner was a baguette and ham bought from a supermarket, ate on a bench overlooking the fjord in the gloaming. Vicious for feeding, the mosquitoes returned. Night never came.
About Travels with Charlie
Name a country, city, island, restaurant or ballet performance and you can bet Charles Rudish has been there. Follow along as he documents his adventures around the world with this ongoing series. Charles offers a humorous and insightful perspective on travel, culture and exploring the world around you.
