Ikerasassuaq – Prins Christian Sund

In the thick fog, the entrance to Prins Christian Sund is barely discernible. We slowly approach the entrance to the fjord, only realising at the last moment the tall, dark rock faces to the right and left of the narrow passage. But then the fog suddenly clears and the sun shines – the warm rock burns away the fog and we have excellent visibility. ‘One of the world’s most magnificent passages’ awaits us, according to the otherwise rather sober and matter-of-fact nautical guide.

‘Ikerasassuaq’ – the Great Sound, as the locals call this passage, which connects the Irmingersee on the east coast with Baffin Bay on the west side of Greenland. A sound some 100 kilometres long, but in places only 500 metres wide, framed by high granite walls, massive glaciers and rugged mountains. The water is constantly filled with massive ice floes: huge icebergs sent on their way by the inland ice, but also Arctic pack ice from the Arctic Ocean. No wonder the Prins Christian Sound is considered a highlight of many Greenland cruises. However, cruise lines only venture on such a voyage in late summer, when there is slightly less ice. For the captains of these floating hotels, it remains an enormous challenge nonetheless: particularly in the extremely narrow sections, they have hardly any room to manoeuvre – and if an ice field blocks the passage, turning round is usually impossible.

Very beautiful, but also challenging

What’s more, the notorious winds and strong currents in the Sound demand a great deal of attention. The steep rock faces, over 1,000 metres high, act like a giant jet duct; the winds are forced through this narrow channel and reach high speeds from directions that are almost impossible to predict. The ship is constantly being buffeted by wind and currents. Or icebergs approach faster than the helmsman would like.

On top of that, you can run into very dense fog at any time here, for example when very cold polar water meets warm air masses that have been heated by the cliffs. This can lead to thick fog – and it takes a very long time to spot the ice. Despite all this: ‘Ikerasassaq’ is an incomparable experience; the nautical guidebook has not exaggerated.

Colourful houses beneath a cliff face

After a long journey through the sound, we spot some colourful houses below a mighty, almost vertical cliff face: Aappilattoq. One of Greenland’s smallest permanently inhabited villages, extremely isolated, easy to overlook. ‘Aappilattoq’ means ‘sea anemone’ in the Inuit language. A lovely name for this little spot, home to around 80 people. Like almost all settlements in Greenland, the village can only be reached by sea.

The people here have adapted perfectly to the conditions. They live almost entirely off seal hunting and fishing. Whatever is caught is shared amongst the village community. The colourful houses provide a cheerful contrast to the reddish-grey of the rocky landscape. In the past, the colours had a functional significance: for example, red stood for the school or the church, whilst yellow indicated the doctor’s house or – where one existed – the hospital.

Education can mean saying goodbye

As we moor in the settlement, our boat is quickly surrounded by curious children who smile at us and ask lots of questions. A foreign boat in the village is always quite an event. We learn that all the children from Aappilattoq are taught in a tiny school. And because there are so few children, pupils of different ages usually have lessons together.

At least, that’s how it works in primary and lower secondary school. Anyone who wants to go on to secondary school afterwards has to leave the village. For the children and young people, however, this represents a radical upheaval in their lives. They have to leave their home completely at the age of 15 or 16. This means being apart for months – the young people often only see their families and friends at Christmas or during the summer holidays. For the rest of the year, they are on their own. For most, this is no easy situation.

Loneliness and feeling overwhelmed

On the one hand, there is the culture shock of city life. Around 80 people live in Aappilattoq; here, everyone knows everyone else. In cities like Nuuk, by contrast, there are 20,000 people and it is much more anonymous. Instead of simple wooden houses, rubber dinghies and the local football pitch, the city has prefabricated blocks of flats, cars and huge shopping centres. For many young people from the remote world on the Sound, this is overwhelming.

On the other hand, the young people face lessons in a foreign language. In Aappilattoq, people speak West Greenlandic. In secondary schools, however, the language of instruction is Danish. Many children from the settlements, however, do not speak Danish and struggle with this language barrier in the first few months.

All of this leads to a very high drop-out rate among young people from remote settlements. Those who do manage to complete their schooling successfully almost always go to Denmark to continue their studies. A return to Aappilattoq at a later date is then virtually out of the question – there are hardly any suitable jobs for graduates amongst the hunters and fishermen. And, with their new experiences, these well-educated young people find it difficult to readjust to everyday life in their home village. Thus, for a village like Aappilattoq, higher education almost always means the loss of its young people.

Uli Weih