5th July 2022

Despite being the capital of Greenland, Nuuk, like every other settlement we have visited on this trip, has an urban sprawl confined to a narrow, barely sufficient strip of sloping terrain between mountainside and sea. Blocks of community buildings cling to the rocky face of some unpronounceable mountain range encircling the port, where roads, already busy with early morning traffic, welcomed Ambience as she moored alongside the jetty at 7 a.m. It looked set to be another glorious, sunny day.

By 8.30 a.m., Sue and I were on one of the first shuttle buses into the Old Port area. Our first task was to climb a small hillock overlooking a pretty red and white church, situated above a quiet inlet. At the summit stood a rather grand statue of a former Greenlandic dignitary; he looked distinctly Danish and appeared unbothered by his eternal gaze out to sea, as if forever scanning the waves for whales or dolphins.

Descending to the rocky shoreline, we stopped to take more photos, this time of a sculpture group featuring two scantily clad women and several sea creatures. It likely depicted an Old Norse saga, but we were unable to read the inscription to confirm. Just a few steps further on, we arrived at the National Museum of Greenland, only to discover it wouldn’t open until 10 a.m.

Noticing a wooden coastal walkway (Greenlanders seem fond of building these), we decided to while away the time by exploring its many charms.

To our left stretched row upon row of long, red, five-storey apartment blocks rising up the hillside. To the right of our winding wooden trail lay the rocky shoreline, where groups of large fish could be seen clearly, swimming lazily over vast submerged boulders. We watched, fascinated, as small flocks of snow buntings, chirping melodiously, chased one another from rock to handrail and back again. Though it would be considered late in the season for birds in the UK, we assumed they were engaged in some form of mating ritual.

For a while, we were joined by birds resembling black crows, though their harsh, unfamiliar calls suggested they were speaking in a heavy Greenlandic accent.

After around a kilometre, the walkway came to an end on a platform overlooking a gravelled road that led to a scattering of single houses. A mist began to descend, the views disappeared, and the air turned damp and chilly. Wrapping ourselves tightly against the cold, we stretched our legs on the return walk to the museum.

After paying the 100 krone entry fee, we stepped into the first of four buildings housing the exhibits and artefacts. Though the rooms were far too dimly lit for our liking, if you want to understand Greenland’s history, its people, and its culture, this is certainly the place to go. The relics, reconstructions, and photographs tell the island’s story with clarity and sensitivity, and a few interactive sections cater for those who prefer to ‘experience’ rather than simply observe.

I found the display of three graves, containing the remains of a small Inuit family who had succumbed to the unforgiving climate, particularly moving.

We left the museum to find the mist had lifted, replaced by warm, bright sunshine. Making our way towards the main shopping centre, we joined a dozen or so others on the steps of the city library and took advantage of the free Wi-Fi. I do have internet access on the ship, but at £9.95 an hour, a bit of complimentary downloading never goes amiss.

The shops were bustling, doing brisk business with passengers from Ambience and a Norwegian cruise ship that had docked a couple of hours after us. We browsed the contents of several establishments, coming close to buying a few unnecessary items. However, on each occasion, the long queues at the tills were enough to change our minds. Life, and certainly this cruise, is far too short to spend it shuffling forward in frustration for the sake of something we don’t really need.

Leaving the retail frustrations behind, we made our way to the city’s highest point and a stark, white-block church, designed by the same architect responsible for a similar, albeit smaller, version at our first port of call. It’s meant to resemble an iceberg, but it rather misses the mark. The interior is equally uninspiring.

Back in retail territory, we discovered a supermarket inside the appropriately named Nuuk Centre. As it was a Tuesday and not a Sunday (when alcohol sales are restricted), I seized the opportunity to buy five different bottles of Greenlandic ale. Hurrah!

We returned to the ship in time for a late lunch and, unusually for us, spent the rest of the afternoon basking in the sun on the pool deck with the other beached whales.

That evening’s show in the theatre was a classical concert performed by identical twins, Alina and Marina from Kazakhstan, on piano and violin. They had been scheduled to perform nightly in the Botanical Lounge, but after two appearances had vanished—presumably due to illness (Covid-19, perhaps?)—and hadn’t been seen again until tonight. As expected, they proved to be exceptionally talented musicians, and we’ll look forward to seeing them again in the days that remain of our cruise.

6th July 2022: Sea Day

Onboard, the clocks went forward an hour, which meant one less hour in our snug little bed. On sea days, we usually try to be at breakfast by 8 am, giving our cabin steward enough time to make the beds, clean the bathroom, and change the towels, but today, it was gone 9 am before we emerged.

It was a cold, miserable morning. The sea was choppy, but thanks to the ship’s stabilisers, we felt little of its rising mood.

On a day when Conservative MPs were resigning their cabinet posts en masse, and backbenchers were calling for the Prime Minister to step down, the phrase ‘rats leaving a sinking ship’ sprang to mind. Boris needs to calm the chaos around him and quietly go. Ships that head into a storm risk vanishing without a trace; those that steer to port seldom do.

Our usual sea-day routine began after breakfast with a bracing couple of laps around the deck, battling a gale on the climb towards the bow and resisting the urge to sprint on the wind-assisted return. Afterwards came a rather disappointing presentation on Kirkwall from our Destination Experience Director, who, mistakenly thinking the talk was scheduled for the next day, arrived fifteen minutes late.

Before lunch, Sue joined a backstage tour of the Palladium Theatre while I watched a light-hearted drama in the Centre Court, a classic ‘whodunnit’, set on board, featuring a bungling detective and a female cabin steward unravelling the mystery. It was an enjoyable performance and helped lift the spirits on an otherwise grey and gusty morning.

After lunch, we began the afternoon with a second lecture by Ann Daniels, the Guinness World Record-holding polar explorer, who spoke about her many Arctic escapades. This was followed by another walk around the deck, this time into an increasingly blustery wind.

Sue rounded off her afternoon with a talk by Chris Baines, naturalist, writer, and broadcaster, on how climate change is affecting the frozen planet. I, on the other hand, opted for some cabin-based relaxation, sampling the first of my Greenlandic ales while watching the latest political debacle unfold in Westminster via Sky News.

Though we were now well below the Arctic Circle, we were surprised to still see icebergs drifting past the dining room window. Dinner was followed by a cleverly staged performance inspired by The Picture of Dorian Gray, a thoroughly enjoyable show with a neat twist at the end.

As it had started, the day ended in a similar fashion: wet, windy, and thoroughly miserable, with Boris still clinging on in Number 10. Here’s hoping tomorrow brings better weather for both the Ambience and the United Kingdom.