Morning dawned a bit bleary in Nuuk; thanks to finishing off my illicit stash of South African red wine last night. But there was lots to do once the second cup of coffee cleared the fog. I walked to the dock where I'd left the boat last night after nearly 100 miles of cruising in the rain. It was a lovely day, in a dismal sort of way, but I made my way down the steps one more time to the dock, pulled the boat out of the water, draining the evening's accumulated rainfall and leakage out, detached the motor and quickly deflated the tubes and rolled the boat into a tight if soggy package.
I hauled the gas tanks up, left the boat and outboard by the road and checked out of the hotel, dragging my bags outside. I loaded the mess into a cab, went down to the dock to load the rest and offhandedly asked if the driver knew anyone who needed an outboard. Turns out he did.
As three fishermen walked past, one asked what I wanted.
Four hundred. They came back with three. Three and a half? We settled on three. A wad of bills was produced, and I got half my money back on the motor. He carried the motor off and I felt a little pang for my reliable, if underpowered, outboard.
I carried the remaining bags it to the crowded airport, surrounded by hyperactive children and clots of Inuit and Danish idlers, waiting. And waiting. Three hours later the clouds parted enough for planes to roll in, and we hustled ourselves out of Nuuk in short order.
I read the entire hour and a half down the coast, oblivious to where I was. We landed, and I performed my ritual rounding up of bags, carrying of bags, moving of bags, loading and unloading and checking into overpriced hotel for the night, I want to savor this place for a little longer, but I also want a beer, a nice dinner, a decent night’s sleep.