Greenland has intrigued me since I was a kid—its icy landscapes, towering icebergs, and snow-covered mountains always seemed so far away. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get there, but the idea stuck with me.
Most of Greenland is covered in ice, with only a narrow strip of coastal land available for settlement. East Greenland, in particular, is incredibly remote, with small villages often only accessible by boat or helicopter. Life here is closely tied to nature, and tourism is still growing. It offers unspoiled landscapes and a way of life that feels far removed from modern life.
I had the chance to explore East Greenland over 10 days, flying in from Iceland and staying in small villages along the way. Each day brought something new—from breathtaking scenery to the unique pace of life in this remote part of the world. Here’s a look at my journey through Tasiilaq, Tiniteqilaaq, Kuummiit, and Kulusuk.
Before heading to Greenland, I spent a few days in Reykjavik. On departure day, a short cab ride took me to Reykjavik Airport, where I boarded a two-hour flight to Kulusuk. As we descended, the excitement on the plane was palpable. Passengers were glued to their windows, taking in views of snow-covered mountains and chunks of ice floating in the water below. It was stunning.
(Note to self: next time, sit on the right side of the plane for better views during landing. Lesson learned!)
Stepping off the plane, I was greeted by Marco, our guide for the trip. Originally from Argentina, Marco worked with Arctic Hiking and Expeditions, the company I found during my research. Our group of 13 was a fun mix of adventurers: a girl from Canada, two sisters from Norway, five friends from France, a family of three from Germany, and yours truly from the U.S. It didn’t take long for us to connect. Alex, the girl from Canada who’s about the same age as one of my daughters, ended up becoming my trip bestie. We had a similar sense of humor and were roommates in most places, which gave us plenty of opportunities to bond and keep the laughs going.
The baggage claim in Kulusuk was unlike anything I’d experienced. Instead of heading inside, we waited outside as a tractor pulled a cart loaded with luggage. It was certainly memorable! With our bags in tow, we walked to a nearby dock to board motorboats for Tasiilaq, the largest settlement in East Greenland, home to about 2,000 residents.
The boat ride was breathtaking. Snow-dusted cliffs met the clear blue sea, and massive icebergs, each unique in shape and texture, floated by. Occasionally, we heard the thunderous sound of ice collapsing into the water—a reminder of how alive this landscape is.
Not everything floating in the water was technically an iceberg, though. To qualify, it has to stand at least 16 feet above the water and cover more than 5,000 square feet. Smaller pieces, called “growlers” or “bergy bits,” dotted the sea as well. Regardless of size, the sight of these icy giants up close was mesmerizing.
Every now and then, the thunderous sound of ice collapsing into the sea—known as calving—echoed through the air. It was a powerful reminder of how alive and ever-changing this part of the Arctic really is.
At one point, the captain had to adjust our route because the ice had blocked the way. It added an unexpected twist to the ride and made the trip feel even more like an adventure.
After about an hour on the water, we arrived in Tasiilaq. As we approached, the view was picture-perfect, with colorful little houses scattered across the hillside. It felt like stepping right into a postcard.
When we pulled up to the dock, we deboarded the boat and began unloading our bags along with the large bins of supplies and food items that Marco had brought. Reaching Tasiilaq felt like arriving at the edge of the world—there are no roads connecting it to other towns, so everything and everyone arrives by boat, helicopter, or, in the winter, by dogsled.
Once everything was unloaded, Marco led us to a nearby house where we’d be staying for the next few days. It was simple but clean, with a large table that could fit all of us—a perfect setup for meals and group gatherings.
Later, Marco headed to the supermarket to pick up more supplies for dinner and the days ahead. Tasiilaq has two supermarkets. The larger one, Pilersuisoq, is a modern, Walmart-like store selling everything from rifles to carrots. The smaller one, near the harbor, has a more limited selection. Since everything in Greenland is imported, prices are high, and the variety of fresh fruit and vegetables is slim—mostly apples, potatoes, onions, and carrots. But one thing they did have was wine, which we always made sure to have plenty of for the trip.
On our first full day in Tasiilaq, we set out to hike Sailor’s Mountain, which started right behind the village. The climb was steep but steady, taking us up the ridge and eventually to the lower summit before continuing to the higher one. The view from the top was incredible. The hike itself took about four hours, covering a distance of about five kilometers (three miles) and gaining around 1,000 meters (3,280 feet).
The lakes we passed looked unreal, with vivid shades of blue, which I later learned can vary depending on factors like size, depth, location, and minerals in the water.
After lunch and taking in the scenery, we made our way down the mountain’s north side to a valley full of purple flowers known as harebells. These flowers added a beautiful touch of color to the landscape.
At the end of the trail, we came across a cemetery with hundreds of white crosses, many of which were decorated with artificial flowers. The bright flowers added color to the otherwise stark surroundings— much like the colorful houses.
It’s worth mentioning that Marco always carried a shotgun in a case strapped to his back during our hikes. While polar bear encounters in East Greenland are rare, they do happen occasionally, so the gun was a precaution. It was a reminder that we were exploring an untamed wilderness, and it certainly added an element of excitement to our adventures.
On our third morning, we said goodbye to Tasiilaq and started our hike across Ammassalik Island, heading out along the coastline. Since we weren’t going back to Tasiilaq, our bags were sent by boat to Tiniteqilaaq, our next stop.
The hike was long— 14 miles and taking most of the day. But the views were unreal. Snow-capped mountains, six lakes with the most beautiful shades of aqua, rocky terrain, and patches of wildflowers everywhere.
Once we reached Tiniteqilaaq, we waited about 2 ½ hours for the boat to arrive. It was chilly and windy, but there was a small fishing cabin nearby with an enclosed porch. The door was unlocked, so I stepped inside for a bit to get out of the cold and warm up. In Greenland, time definitely doesn’t rush—you learn to go with the flow. But honestly, with such amazing surroundings, it didn’t matter much.
Finally, the boat showed up, and the wait was behind us. The ride was just as amazing as the last, with iceberg after iceberg drifting by. It never got old—each one was like a unique piece of art, and I could’ve spent hours just watching them pass.
Tiniteqilaaq is a tiny (and I mean tiny—home to only about 100 people) village primarily inhabited by hunters and fishermen. This place was stunning, and its coastline provided the most breathtaking views of the Sermick Icefjord—like unbelievable!
Upon arrival, we followed Marco to our lodging for the night—a small, very modest house. Upstairs were three bedrooms, each with thin mats laid out on the floor. Our French friends grabbed the room with four mats, and the Norwegian sisters took the one with two. The rest of us ended up in the larger room with six or seven mats.
Alex and I were about to claim two mats for ourselves when one of our new French friends had a suggestion. He recommended we use the downstairs wrap-around leather couch instead. So, we went downstairs to check it out. As he’d wisely pointed out, it was the perfect spot for a comfortable night’s sleep. Why settle for a thin mat on the floor when we could enjoy the luxury of a couch?
As Alex and I walked around the house, we stumbled upon the bathroom. There was a sink, but it only had cold water.
Then came the real surprise: the house had neither a shower nor a flush toilet. Instead, we found a portable, waterless toilet lined with a large black plastic bag. Yes, you read that right—a single bag to hold the waste of thirteen people for the next three days! Alex and I were stunned. Horrified as we were, we couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Oh, and if we wanted to take a shower, we had to walk to a building in the middle of town where the communal showers were located. They were divided by gender, but there were only two in total.
Who would have thought we’d end up having this unique bathroom experience with our newfound travel companions? OMG, indeed! Things got even scarier as the days went on because that bag was filling up fast! But honestly, after the first time using the toilet, the shock wore off. I don’t think the other travelers were as freaked out as Alex and I had been at first.
Once we adjusted to the oddities of the house, we took in the village’s sights, and I found myself loving the colorful homes we passed—often in shades of blue, red, green, or yellow. It felt like these bright bursts of color reflected the resilient spirit of the Inuit community. Some of the buildings followed specific color codes—grocery stores and churches were red, medical facilities were yellow, and most fish factories were blue. The homes, on the other hand, came in a variety of colors, offering a lively contrast.
One morning while out walking, I came across two Inuit fishermen, a father and son, rolling out a gillnet. These large, vertical nets are designed to capture fish by their gills as they swim through the mesh. The net hangs in the water, and fish get trapped as they try to pass through.
The father seemed to be working on the net forever, carefully laying it out, while the son helped alongside him. It was a traditional fishing method that’s been passed down through generations. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see the method in action, but it was fascinating to watch them prepare the net together.
From Tasiilaq, we headed to Kuummiit, a quiet community of around 350 people—known for its rugged coastline, towering mountains, and glaciers. The village relies on fishing and hunting, offering an authentic taste of Greenlandic culture and the wilderness.
Upon arrival at Kuummiit harbor, the captain docked at the bottom of the ramp. After we all exited the boat, we formed a human chain to pass our luggage and essential supplies from the boat to the shore—a perfect display of teamwork.
With our bags in hand, we made our way to our next place, curious about what we’d find. The accommodations were pretty much what we’d come to expect—simple and modest. There were thirteen of us, split between two homes. I stayed in the bigger house, which had a kitchen. Alex and I shared one bedroom, while the German family took the other rooms. The rest of the group stayed in a much smaller house next door.
When Alex and I walked into our bedroom, we were greeted with a bit of chaos—plastic garbage bags, probably used for packing, were scattered on and around the mattresses. A cardboard box labeled “Product of Greenland” sat on the floor, filled with what looked like photographs or papers. Just another day in Greenland, right? As for the mattresses—they definitely had seen better days.
Alex and I decided to share the one bed that had the cleanest mattress—though we still lined it with large garbage bags before setting out our sleeping bags—hers at one end, mine at the other. We made it work!
There was a large table in the dining area (or at least, that’s what I’m calling it). The table extension was apparently missing, so they used a piece of plywood to cover the open space instead. What a sight! Alex and I decided to head to the grocery store to see if we could find something to use as a makeshift tablecloth. Luckily, we had success. We covered the table, making it look a little more presentable—though it was still a bit uneven.
We continued to embrace the slower pace of life that Greenland epitomizes.
Marco once again grabbed what we needed from the village’s small markets. As a vegetarian, most days I ate cheese sandwiches made with this amazing bread Marco had brought a big supply of. But for dinner, he always made us hearty, satisfying meals. Honestly, with the stunning surroundings, even a simple meal felt special. And I wasn’t in Greenland for the food anyway.
It was so funny—every time I was wandering around one of the villages, I always seemed to pass Marco, either heading to the grocery store or returning with bags—three in each hand!
Here’s a more personal part of my trip that really captures the realities and challenges of any adventure—because, let’s face it, shit happens.
On the second day in Kuummiit, I felt an all-too-familiar, uncomfortable sensation—a sign that I might be getting a bladder infection. The timing couldn’t have been worse with half of the trip still ahead of me. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.
I had no choice but to tell Marco about my concern. He reassured me not to worry—there was a clinic just a short walk away. He even walked me there himself. The local doctor ran a urine test, and my suspicions were confirmed—it was a bladder infection.
The doctor prescribed me a five-day course of antibiotics, and to my surprise, she said there wouldn’t be any charge for the medical care. The medication started working its magic in no time, and within a couple of hours of taking the first pill, I could already feel the improvement. Yay!
I was so thankful for that clinic because a full-blown bladder infection could have potentially ruined the rest of my trip. It wasn’t the first time I had to seek medical care when traveling in another country, and it probably will not be the last. Fortunately, I’ve always received excellent care, just like I did here once again.
Later in the day, while Alex and I were wandering through Kuummiit, we ran into a local Inuit man who spoke a bit of English. After chatting for a few minutes, he offered to take us on a hike to one of his favorite spots. We agreed to meet in an hour, giving us time to head back to the house, grab what we needed, and invite the rest of our group to join us. Only the Norwegian sisters decided to come along.
When we met back up with him, he led us along a path behind the village at an easy, unhurried pace. He often paused to take in the surroundings, quietly offering thanks for the beauty of the land. Along the way, he stopped at a stretch of water and explained it was sacred—a place meant for reflection, not fishing. Nearby, a cluster of carefully arranged rocks caught our attention, and he told us they also held spiritual meaning. He paused for a moment to say a few words before we continued.
Eventually, we reached his fishing spot, a secluded and peaceful area surrounded by gorgeous mountains. The peaks seemed to cradle the spot, giving it a sense of calm and isolation. Smiling, he handed us his fishing pole and showed us how to cast a line, making it look effortless.
We each took a turn, laughing as we tried to master the technique. As we fished, he shared stories about his ancestors and his deep connection to the land.
To our surprise, Alex was the only one to catch a fish—and on her first try, no less! It was pretty impressive.
What really surprised me was how our Inuit friend handled the fish after catching it. He struck its head against a rock—a method that was both unexpected and a bit shocking to witness. Apparently, it’s a quick and humane way to kill the fish, something I’d never seen before—but why would I? I’m not a fisherman.
Back at the house, one of the Norwegian sisters cleaned and cooked the fish, and Alex generously shared a piece of her catch with everyone.
From Kuummiit, we made our way to our final stop—the village of Kulusuk. Perched on a rocky island off East Greenland, it’s a tiny community of about 300 people, surrounded by glaciers, mountains, and fjords. Its wild, isolated landscape makes it feel like a world entirely its own.
Docking in Kulusuk wasn’t exactly smooth—there was no dock, just a jagged, rocky coastline. It was raining, and the rocks were super slippery as we carefully stepped off the boat. Like in Kuummiit, we formed a human chain to pass our luggage and supplies from the boat to the shore.
Then, it was off to find the house where we’d be staying for the next few days.
The house was a step up—it had a shower, a sink, and even a flush toilet (hot water, woohoo!)—luxuries we definitely didn’t take for granted. It also had a small but functional kitchen, a cozy living area, and a dining table big enough for all of us to gather around.
We all slept upstairs in an open room lined with thin mattresses. By this point in the trip, the sleeping arrangement didn’t bother me at all. After surviving a black garbage bag toilet earlier, sharing a floor with a few thin mats felt like no big deal.
As we settled in, we noticed the house next door had a Greenlandic husky that had clearly just had puppies—three or four little ones were running around. It made me feel sad to see the dog chained up, but in Greenland, dogs aren’t treated as pets—they’re working animals. Greenland Huskies are essential to life here, especially in winter, when snowmobiles can’t always reach remote villages. Built for strength and endurance, these dogs help with everything from pulling sleds to hunting and transporting supplies. Puppies aren’t chained until they’re about six months old, giving them time to run free and grow. It’s just one of those realities of life here—survival comes first in this tough environment.
Our evenings were all about fun and relaxation! After one of Marco’s amazing meals, we’d gather to play cards, chat, read, and enjoy a glass of wine—always a treat after a day of adventures. We’d often put out some peanuts or cheese and crackers to snack on. And if someone had any special treats of their own, they’d usually share them with the group!
One hilarious moment was when one of the Norwegian sisters (I wish I’d written down their names) brought out what looked like Cheese Doodles to share. To my surprise, she called it “Angel’s Shit.” I couldn’t help but crack up when I heard that—and honestly, I think her name for it is way better.
One evening, Kristinn, the owner of Arctic Hiking and Expeditions, invited us to his home for dinner. He and his wife had recently bought a house on Kulusuk Island, which they were in the process of renovating.
As soon as we walked in, the delicious aromas from the kitchen hit us. And guess what? The dining table was huge, with fancy silver candelabras that added a touch of elegance to the paper tablecloth. Dinner was a real treat—loads of fresh veggies, pasta for the vegetarians, and a chicken dish for the meat lovers. And for dessert? A chocolate cake topped with pomegranate seeds. It was a lovely evening!
On our final day, we hiked around Kulusuk Island, soaking in its stunning beauty. Greenland exceeded my expectations, and the breathtaking views left me constantly in awe, wanting more. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Greenland exceeded my expectations in every way. From the awe-inspiring landscapes to the warmth of the people, every moment felt like a gift. Traveling with a small group turned strangers into friends, and the shared experiences—both challenging and joyful—made the journey unforgettable.
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