Still in Aappilattaq

The blustery wind is still howling at 20 knots or more, but the gusts are down to 25 and it is sunny and relatively warm, so we plan to leave later this afternoon, even though we know the wind may be stronger away from this remote town. I have done the most thorough cleaning of the boat that has been done since we were in Canada. The three men returned to the grocery store to get 3 more loaves of freshly baked bread, some pastries for breakfast, another package of grapes that need to be eaten today, and soft but green bananas. It's no longer a matter of going to the store to get what you need; it's go to the store and purchase what you can find. But we will not wait for the supply boat which is expected to arrive at 7 p.m. this evening because we do not expect a much better selection.

Using our one water jerry can, one borrowed from Michael on X-Trip, and two borrowed from someone in town, the men have been ferrying back and forth between our boat and the dock with fresh water from one of the town's spigots. We have collected about 100 gallons, so we feel better about our water supply. We now have 300 gallons. With other provisions running low, we may eventually be living on bread and water!

Peter rigging a lifting system

Enis and Peter raising a jerry can

Pouring in the water

The sun also made an appearance for a few hours yesterday afternoon. Peter, Enis and I went to town before 3 p.m. with the main purpose of getting a 6 kilo can of liquid propane at the store. There were more tortillas available, so we bought those along with a head of cabbage and pastries for afternoon tea. 

Then we took a walk through most of the town and to the other side of the small peninsula on which it is situated where we observed 3-4 foot waves on the fjord racing across the surface and crashing on the rocky coastline. 

Enis and Peter by the fjord

Wind producing waves on the water and causing the grasses on shore to bend

Waves breaking on the shore

Aappilattaq is surrounded by unglaciated peaks up to 2000 meters high as well as glaciated walls and cirques, with glaciers as well as winter snow still clinging to the steep slopes. Patches of wildflowers brighten the open areas between buildings, and most of the houses are brightly painted, although some could use a new coat. As in other towns, the Lutheran church and school buildings are well-maintained and are the center of the community. 

View in town

The church

Peter walking by an unpainted buildings and tundra wildflowers

One of the little blue water access buildings

However, the quaintness of the town and the grandeur of its surroundings is somewhat diminished in terms of scenic appeal by the frequent piles of heavy plastic white trash bags, discarded furniture, tires and outboard motors. There is no indoor plumbing, which means not only that the residents must go to the little blue buildings which house the water supply in all seasons, but that all gray water just comes out pipes from the indoor sinks and tubs onto the ground, and black water from the toilets exits through wide-diameter yellow hoses and goes untreated directly into the marine environment. All the infrastructure of electricity, sewage and other services lie along the exposed rock; there is no way to dig a trench here.

Heavy-duty trash bags dumped at the end of a dirt road

The store, shiny bicycles, trash and colorful houses

Trash, a boat with a large outboard engine and a forklift among the houses

Colorful houses amid wildflowers and a discarded tire

A view of town with a discarded sofa

Most people here seem to be shy around us, although I suspect that is because they have no way to communicate with us foreigners. A few of the kids, all who seem to have shiny new bicycles, do approach us to say "Hi!" and maybe exchange names. One petite older woman started talking and gesturing to Peter while we were in the store, and he thought that she was indicating that there was a coffee and tea shop down the dirt path. (There are no roads or cars, only a few forklifts and other machinery.) We didn't find any building that seemed open for commerce during our perambulation, but then one of the young boys who had introduced himself gestured for us to come into his house. We weren't sure what to do, but another older boy told us that it would be alright. 

Inside the cozy and warm home, there was the woman who had tried to communicate with Peter; she was smoking a cigarette, and Peter thought she might be slightly tipsy. We took off our shoes in the mudroom and walked down the hall to the room containing the kitchen and living area. No one was home other than the grandmother and the boy. The white walls, counter tops and cabinets as well as the engineered floor were immaculately clean. They lit a single candle at the table and the adults sat down. She offered us tea and coffee, which we declined, and hard candies. The boy sat at the small organ and played a few notes. I asked him (without words) to play a song, and he played from the one sheet of music I could see, a hymn in F major, perhaps something similar to "The Old Rugged Cross." 

We noticed that the temperature throughout the entire small house was probably about 20°C (Wonderful!) and the walls, at least 6 inches thick, totally eliminated the roaring of the wind. It was challenging to sit without any means of verbal communication, but the old woman seemed delighted with our company. She brought out a large plastic bag of crowberries, which grow in abundance and everyone collects easily. They are the size of blueberries and slightly darker, with tougher skins and a slightly less sweet taste, but they were a great treat, and she was thrilled that we liked them.

Lasnuka, Katerini, Peter and Enis in a Greenland home

It is time for me to get lunch on the table. Michael has just radioed that the supply boat is expected in an hour, so he is untying from the wharf and coming to raft up with us. Our departure is now tentative because of this and because the sun has disappeared and the wind has not abated.