07-12-2026 Another Sea Day and ABBA

July 12 was the day the North Atlantic reminded everyone who was in charge.

I loved the ship locater map on our stateroom tv

We woke to the roughest seas of our journey, with sixteen-foot swells sending even seasoned cruisers weaving down the hallways. It was also our last full sea day before six straight days in Iceland, and neither of us realized just how quickly the rhythm of the voyage was about to change.

We spent the morning in the Explorer's Lounge watching northern fulmars gliding effortlessly over the tops of the swells. They hardly seemed to flap their wings at all, simply banking into the wind as though the rough seas existed for their enjoyment.

I had no clue these were 16 foot seas till the captain announced it

As Mo and I watched from our comfortable chairs, I suddenly caught sight of three quick blows. A moment later a small whale surfaced before disappearing beneath another swell. The naturalist identified it as a minke whale from the pattern of its blows and the shape of its back. Minke whales are the smallest of the great baleen whales, usually twenty-five to thirty-five feet long. They are curious, surprisingly fast, and common in the cold, productive waters of the North Atlantic, where they feed on schools of fish and krill.

By lunchtime, watching perfectly normal adults sway their way across the dining room had become unexpectedly entertaining. Then it was my turn.

The ship lurched just as I was trying to guide my walker through the buffet line. Instead of rolling forward, it insisted on heading sideways, and for one memorable moment I nearly lost my footing. Before I could recover, one of my now familiar Viking waitstaff appeared, steadied both me and the walker, and quietly took charge of helping me with my lunch.

That seemed like a good time for a meclizine. On an ocean like this, I wasn't interested in testing my luck. A healthy respect for the sea had replaced my curiosity about whatever might be swimming beneath it. The North Atlantic won a small battle that afternoon, but not the day.

A yummy Asian seafood salad

By dinner I had learned another lesson about cruising: there is no prize for doing everything yourself. Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is accept the kindness that's being offered. We made our way to the World Café, where I simply handed the waiter my list and let the crew bring everything to the table. No more trying to wrestle a walker, a plate of food, and a rolling ship all at the same time.

My Szechuan beef definitely needed a hit of sweet Thai chili sauce but it was good

Dinner was Asian-themed, with the usual assortment of seafood, sushi, and one of my favorites, Szechuan beef. Viking's idea of spicy and mine are apparently not the same thing, and although the waitress warned me it might be "hot," I found it rather tame. Seeing my disappointment, she disappeared for a few minutes and triumphantly returned with my favorite sweet Thai chili sauce. Crisis averted. Dinner was relaxed and surprisingly unstressful despite the rolling seas.

A large crowd waiting for the evening entertainment in the Star Theater

That evening we settled into the theater for a high-energy ABBA tribute, and before long I found myself smiling over one of my favorite travel memories with Mo.

Many years earlier, probably around 2004 or 2005, I was in Minneapolis on a work project. It was one of those unforgettable Minnesota afternoons when the temperature hovered around thirty-seven below zero. Bundled in heavy coats over sweatshirts after stopping at a local brewery, we wandered through downtown trying to stay warm.

The marquee that gave us hope in Minneapolis

Across the street stood one of the grand old theaters, with Mamma Mia! beginning in about an hour.

Mo looked at the marquee. "Why don't we go buy tickets?" I laughed. "We can't just walk up and get tickets for a show like that." "Let's try," she said. That's Mo.

Our view after dinner at the Radison in St Paul.  It was 37 F below zero actual temperature.

To our amazement, the box office had two wonderful seats in the second row of the front balcony. We hurried inside wearing our sweatshirts beneath our winter coats while everyone around us looked as though they had planned this elegant evening for months.

The show was pure joy. We laughed, sang along, and walked back into the freezing Minnesota night wondering how one completely spontaneous decision had become one of our favorite travel memories. Hearing ABBA again aboard Viking Neptune brought every bit of that evening rushing back.

As all the shows had been this one was excellent and energetic on Viking Neptune

One surprise during the performance was learning that ABBA had reunited decades after retiring to record Voyage, released in 2021. Even more remarkable, they created a London concert using motion-capture technology and astonishingly lifelike digital "ABBA-tars" based on their younger selves. It was a fascinating reminder that even legendary careers can begin entirely new chapters.

Proof we sailed above the Arctic Circle

Somewhere out there, in the gray North Atlantic, Viking Neptune quietly slipped across the Arctic Circle. There was no fanfare for us. We skipped the Blue Nose ceremony, choosing instead a leisurely dinner and an evening of music. When we returned to our stateroom, two Arctic Circle certificates were waiting on the bed.  It was a milestone for us since on our long motorhome trip to Alaska we turned around on the Dalton Highway before reaching the Arctic Circle.  The road was rough and we only had one spare tire.

Crossing the imaginary horizontal line on the Earth this time was much simpler. Somewhere between dinner and an ABBA tribute, we had quietly become Arctic Circle crossers.

07-11-2026 Cruising Through Prince Christian Sound

Sailing the Wild Coast of Greenland as we leave Nanortalik

There are moments when a landscape is so ancient that it seems to erase the modern world.

As Viking Neptune slipped into Prince Christian Sound, I found myself stepping back into the Pleistocene. Around us rose impossibly immense mountains, every surface polished and rounded by glaciers that had carved their way through this valley for countless millennia. Water was everywhere. Hundreds of waterfalls spilled down dark rock faces, glaciers clung to high cirques, and icebergs drifted silently past the ship.

Icebergs along the coast of Greenland

Yet none of this was expected.

Sitting quietly back at home now at my desk, the house cool and comfortable against Oregon's triple-digit summer heat, I find myself remembering. Outside, the sky is an impossible blue, unmarked by smoke for the moment. It is beautiful... but not quite as beautiful as the astonishing blue that glowed deep within the base of a floating iceberg off the wild coast of Greenland.

One of the greatest gifts of travel is still being surprised.

This was a journey I had researched thoroughly. I had studied maps, traced our route, and read everything I could find about the places we would visit. Yet nowhere…not once…had I come across a place called Prince Christian Sound.

So it was a thrill when I began hearing the words almost whispered around the ship.

"It doesn't happen often..."

"We never know until the last minute..."

"We won't know until we get there..."

See the little birds lined up on the iceberg?  Erin thought they might be kittewakes

As we sailed away from Nanortalik, Mo and I settled into our favorite seats in the Explorer Lounge toward the center of the room with full view of the huge windows. If we were fortunate enough to enter the Sound, this was where we wanted to be.

There was little announcement at first, but it hardly mattered. We were already captivated by the magical shapes of the icebergs drifting beside us. Greenland's rugged southern coastline slipped slowly past while the room itself grew unusually quiet. Conversations softened into whispers, broken only by an occasional gasp as another breathtaking iceberg came into view. I noticed one crowned with a line of tiny black-and-white birds. My photograph proved too grainy to identify them later, but for a moment they seemed like tiny sentinels perched atop floating mountains of ice.

That is th true color of that submerged portion of the iceberg

The icebergs became larger. Bluer. The cliffs rose steeper on either side until they seemed almost close enough to touch as the captain guided the ship through graceful turns that felt almost impossible for a vessel of this size.

Then came the announcement.

We were there.

Close to the entrance of Prince Christian Sound

The captain explained that passage through Prince Christian Sound is never taken for granted. Before entering, permission is granted only after satellite monitoring confirms that drifting icebergs leave a safe route. Even then, specially trained Greenland ice pilots come aboard to guide ships through these narrow waters.

Our captain navigates the narrow turns into the Sound

Yet even those reminders of modern technology quickly faded before the overwhelming age of the landscape.

As we glided silently among the glaciers and icebergs, I felt as though we had slipped backward a hundred thousand years. It was easy to imagine a woolly mammoth appearing on a distant slope or a cave bear emerging from the shadows of the cliffs. The modern world simply disappeared.

For me, the experience carried an even deeper layer of wonder.

During my years as a soil scientist, I spent decades studying landscapes shaped by the great Ice Ages. Across the western United States I had walked through U-shaped valleys, recognized glacial polish on granite, traced moraines, and understood how immense rivers of ice had sculpted mountains long before humans arrived. Those ancient glaciers had vanished thousands of years ago, leaving only their fingerprints behind.

Here, I was seeing the sculptor itself.

Glacial ice surrounded us. Towering valley walls, cirques still holding glaciers, waterfalls plunging from hanging valleys, and blue icebergs freshly released from the ice sheet suddenly transformed everything I had spent a lifetime studying. The landscapes I knew so well at home became vividly alive.

Then, delightfully, civilization intruded.

Somehow, in the middle of this Pleistocene world, tea time arrived with the quiet grace of Viking's remarkable crew. I decided such a moment deserved an espresso martini. Tiny tea sandwiches, delicate pastries, and elegant service against a backdrop of glaciers, waterfalls, thousand-foot cliffs, and floating icebergs felt wonderfully surreal. The contrast made me smile.

I loved every single minute.

I learned to press my camera lens against the window to eliminate the raindrops on the glass. I hurried from one side of the ship to the other just in time to watch a glacier calve into the sea. Everywhere I looked was another scene that hardly seemed real.

Sliding silently through Prince Christian Sound became one of the unforgettable moments of our entire voyage. It was unexpected. Magnificent. Unlike anything I have experienced in Alaska, the Canadian Rockies, or the Sierra Nevada.

Greenland. From the comfort of a ship. In the middle of an Ice Age.

With an espresso martini and tiny tea sandwiches.

Simply breathtaking.

 

07-11-2026 Another Greenland Port, Nanortalik

First view of Nanortalik through the fog

By the time we reached Nanortalik the next morning, we were beginning to settle into the rhythm of Greenland. The excitement of our first landing had given way to quiet anticipation as another small community emerged from the morning fog.

Our excursion was an early one. By the time we entered the Star Theater at 7:15 a.m., our room-service coffee had kicked in, and we were ready. By then I had learned not to attempt the stairs with my walker. Instead, I took the elevator down to Deck A, where our group was debarking.

We wore many layers. I hate being cold, and the foggy morning was a chilly 47 degrees. Long underwear, Cuddl Duds from Melody, WoolX tights and a long-sleeved shirt, my down jacket, and Melody's Lands' End raincoat. Of course, I added my REI rain pants. Our hats were still wet from the previous day's rain, so I wore a little fleece headband that I had tucked into my suitcase at the last minute.

Interior of the Viking tender

I decided to include a photo of the Viking tender.  Of all the cruises Mo and I have been onm, we have never been on a tender that was so clean and sparkly.  Everything was spotless, and just like the previous tender landing everyone made sure I got in without difficulty and my walker was tied down in the middle space so it wouldn't roll around in transit.  One of the nice little touches of this Viking Cruise.

I didn't keep good notes so I am not sure of the title of this group of buildings

Like so many places along Greenland's rugged coast, Nanortalik seemed to exist in harmony with the sea, surrounded by rock, water, and an immense sense of space. It was smaller than Qaqortoq and somehow even quieter. At least it wasn't raining. The fog made everything feel mysterious, almost magical.

I don't rememer the name of this church that was closed

The walk from the tender was easy enough, and the roads through the tiny community were mostly level, making it a little easier for me to manage the walker while dodging the occasional pothole and rock.

The tide was out, leaving seaweed draped along the little bay beside the harbor. We found the same thick, lush grass we had seen the day before, but this time there were even more tiny flowers. 

Buttercups seemed to be everywhere, and then, tucked among them, I spotted a small patch of Iceland poppies. Here? In Greenland? Blooming in July?

Nanotortalik felt quiet and mystical in the fog

Tiny saxifrage blossoms added splashes of color, along with little daisies whose petals looked as though they had been battered by the rain.

Once again we walked across smooth outcrops of glacier-polished bedrock, softened by mosses and lichens. Many of the older buildings appeared almost abandoned, and I found myself wondering whether anyone still lived in them.

As we walked along, a lovely couple was struggling to take a selfie, so I offered to take their picture. Of course they returned the favor, and Mo and I ended up with a photograph that made us laugh out loud. Bundled in all our layers, we looked like two Michelin doughboys...but we were warm. Well...mostly. Our hands were another matter. Something told me I might be shopping for gloves once we reached Iceland.

The face in the rock was instantly visible when we turned the right way

On the way back to the dock, we met a sweet older gentleman who pointed out a rock with a face hidden in it. After thanking him, I asked how to say "thank you" in Greenlandic. He laughed, said the word slowly, and then smiled. "Think of cognac...sort of." I gave it my best attempt, which made him laugh even harder. Our cruise director had specifically asked us not to photograph local people, so I simply carried away the memory instead.

We were fortunate. The rain held off until later that morning, while many of the passengers on the later excursions returned completely soaked.

Somehow I have forgotten many of the names of the buildings we saw, and much of the history.  My memory here is as blurry as the fog that enveloped the tiny town.  

Someone actually used to live in this turf house

But I haven't forgotten what it felt like to walk there, the chill, the freshness of the damp air, the colorful flowers.  I can always go back and look up the "stuff" about Nanortalik, but what I want to remember is how it felt to walk there.

Back aboard Viking Neptune, we peeled off a few layers, settled into the Explorer's Lounge with cappuccinos, and enjoyed a little quiet time before walking back to the pool deck to pick up some lunch from the Pool Grill.  

The cheese steak sandwich was huge and delicious, and the french fries were perfect almost as good as what we remember from chips in Ireland.  We split the sandwich and wandered the ship awhile before settling in at the Explorer's Lounge. 

Heavy rain on the roof of the Pool Bar as we begin sailing toward Iceland

Here we waited for the magical experience we still were not sure would happen, hopefully we would transit the wild and beautiful Prince Christian Sound. 

Our last view of Nanortalik, Greenland, as we sail for Iceland

 

07-10-2026 We Land at Qaqortoq and Walk on Greenland

Several times we had been warned that weather or too much ice in the harbor might prevent us from going ashore at either scheduled port in Greenland. Other people we know who had taken similar cruises had sadly never set foot on Greenland at all. We knew it was a bit of a crapshoot.

Our first view of the Greenland coast

Imagine waking that morning, pulling back the curtains, and seeing the wild coast of Greenland. The first icebergs were especially exciting, even though they appeared only as ghostly shapes through the rain and fog.

But rain, fog, and icebergs were no match for Viking Neptune.

She sailed into the anchorage without difficulty as mountains gradually emerged all around us.

Approaching the anchorage near the Qaqortoq harbor

Qaqortoq (something like ka-KOR-tok) is the largest town in southern Greenland, although only about 3,000 people live there. Its name means "the white place." Eric the Red settled Greenland in the late 900s and named it to attract settlers. Norse communities formed along the southwest coast, and nearby are the ruins of Hvalsey Church, one of the best-preserved Norse sites. Today the town is known for its brightly painted houses, Inuit and Norse history, outdoor stone carvings, and the beautiful fjords surrounding it.

Learning to pronounce Qaqortoq was almost as much fun as learning to spell it.

We gathered in the theater to wait for our excursion, and surprisingly, the process wasn't difficult. Within minutes we were led downstairs to Deck A to leave the ship. I hadn't realized that, with my walker, I should have found the elevator instead of following everyone toward the stairs. That made for a few interesting moments.

Wonderful people immediately stepped in, picked up my walker, and carried it down for me. Cruise passengers help one another all the time, and this was just another example. I held tightly to both railings and made my way down to the tender platform.

Boarding the tender was surprisingly easy, and I was thrilled to learn that I could take my walker ashore. The crew parked it in the center of the tender, set the brake, and I sat down without feeling even the tiniest bit seasick.

In fact, it has been incredible that I haven't had any real motion sickness during this entire cruise. On the first day I became nervous and took a meclizine tablet. The medicine made me feel terrible, although I never actually became seasick. Once it wore off, I never took another one. For someone who has worried about motion sickness all her life, especially on tenders, that was a very big deal.

When we reached shore, the ramp was manageable with help from Mo and a few other people. Together we lifted the walker over the rough spots between the boards, and suddenly we were there, standing in Greenland.

Our first view of Quaqortoq from the pier

What struck us first, even through the clouds, fog, and steady rain, were the incredible colors of the houses. People talk about Greenland's colorful houses all the time, but seeing them in person was something else entirely. Reds, blues, yellows, and greens glowed against the gray rock and sky.

My daughter once suggested that perhaps Greenlanders painted their houses such bright colors because, surrounded by gray rock, snow, and fog, the easiest way to find your own home would be to remember its color. After seeing Qaqortoq, I think she may have been onto something.

Managing the walker on this rough road was a bit challenging

We walked as far as I could comfortably manage. Qaqortoq is not flat, and its partly paved streets climb steadily uphill. We could see a white church high above town, but I decided it wasn't worth trying to reach. Instead, we wandered the lower streets, photographing colorful houses across the harbor, the cemetery in the distance, and Viking Neptune quietly waiting at anchor.

Looks like an organic soil profile but it is actually just a stacked peat wall

Eventually we reached the Qaqortoq Museum. It was packed with visitors, so we didn't even try to go inside. For me, though, the outside was almost more interesting. Beside the museum stood a reconstruction of a traditional Greenlandic turf house, built with thick blocks of peat and sod.

Can you imagine living in this space in winter?

Traditional turf houses used stone and sod walls around a framework of wood or driftwood. Thick turf insulated against bitter winter winds, and much of the house was tucked partly into the ground to conserve precious warmth. They looked simple, but they were remarkably practical in a land where building materials were scarce.

trees and lots of buttercups

There were even a few small green trees, which surprised us. We hadn't expected trees at all. Blue lupines bloomed everywhere, reminding us that Iceland wasn't far away. Introduced lupines help stabilize bare soil but can also crowd out native plants.

Dark metamorphic rock was no match for the plants taking hold on this cliff

Qaqortoq itself was much greener than I had expected. Grass, moss, and leafy plants found a foothold in every crack among the ancient rocks.

Those rocks fascinated me. One especially dramatic outcrop reminded me immediately of the Laurentian Shield we had seen in Ontario. Later I learned the resemblance was no coincidence. Greenland and the Canadian Shield share some of the oldest rocks on Earth, once connected within the ancient core of North America.

A classic glacial feature, a roche moutonnée

The bedrock had been polished smooth by glaciers. One rounded outcrop was a classic roche moutonnée, shaped as moving ice ground across it and plucked rock from its downstream side. I may travel more slowly these days, but I'm apparently still incapable of walking past a beautifully glacially polished rock without taking its picture.

We eventually reached a small red church where drumming, singing, and dancing were supposed to be taking place. Unfortunately, the church was packed shoulder to shoulder, and there were stairs besides. We decided it wasn't worth fighting the crowd and simply continued enjoying our walk through town.

The local people sometimes watched the cruise passengers with understandable curiosity, and perhaps a little wariness. We smiled. They smiled back. Everyone seemed quietly friendly. We were specifically asked prior to landing to refrain from taking photos of the residents.  They didn't really appreciate the intrusion of so many tourist in their town.

Viking Neptune anchored offshore with an approaching tender

After an hour and a half or so, we wandered back toward the tender dock just as our boat approached. We had done it. We had walked in Greenland. The Greenlandic people have learned to live among ancient rock, ocean, ice, and long winters. I am so grateful we were able to experience it.

Greenland is not technically a continent. It is the world's largest island and geographically part of North America, although politically it is a self-governing territory within the Kingdom of Denmark. Continent or island, standing there felt momentous.

Looking back, what surprised me most was what we didn't see. There were no sled dogs wandering through town, very few birds, and almost no wildlife at all. Then again, life in this environment can't be easy for anything, including humans.

 A portion of the Sone and Man art project

One thing we did miss was the outdoor art project called Stone & Man, more than forty carvings created directly in the rock by Nordic artists beginning in the 1990s. Apparently we walked right past some of them without realizing it. I even have a photograph of one, although I still have no idea where it was in town.

Before leaving home, Viking had sent us a list of books and movies that might help us appreciate the places we would visit. One of them was The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. We watched it before the trip and thoroughly enjoyed it, so when the Viking Daily announced Movie Under the Stars featuring Walter Mitty, we knew exactly where we'd be after dinner.

Back to The Restaurant for what we hoped was a great dinner of fresh halibut.

Before the movie, dinner in the dining room had featured a rather forgettable halibut. We actually left in search of French fries, convinced they had to exist somewhere on the ship. They didn't.  So we headed to the pool deck for the movie.

Learning to use the earphones took a bit of concentration

That decision, however, required surviving what may be the least comfortable lounge chairs ever designed. They looked sleek and Scandinavian, but apparently no one involved had actually tried sitting in one for the length of a movie. The backs were too upright, the seats too short, and they were hard!  After a while every muscle in my body was negotiating with the furniture. Viking thoughtfully supplied warm blankets. I found myself wishing they'd supplied comfortable chairs instead.

Making the best of an extremely uncomfortable lounge chair

However it was fascinating watching the crew prepare the pool deck for the evening under the stars.  All the pool loungers were repositioned facing the movie screen, ear phones were added by each chair and lovely wool woven blankets were draped over the back of each. We watched a single crew member walking behind each chair with a two sided comb and brush. He was carefully brushing and combing each fringe lining every single strand perfectly. Blankets were lying ruler straight on each chair. Viking attention to the tiniest details.  The final touch was paper bags of fresh hot popcorn were placed on each table adjacent to a lounger.

Eventually we surrendered, wrapped ourselves in Viking blankets, balanced popcorn on our laps, and watched Walter Mitty anyway. And you know what? It was worth it. By the time the movie ended, the air had turned chilly and I was getting stiff, so we escaped to our favorite place on the ship, the Explorer's Lounge.

the guitarist Jobe was superb

The difference was immediate. Warm, comfortable chairs. A guitarist entertaining a room full of smiling passengers. A few people dancing. Others clapping along. Those wonderful constellation lights sparkled across the ceiling while the sea slipped silently past outside the windows. We settled in with cappuccinos and simply enjoyed the moment. It was the perfect ending to a very good day.

The best part of the day, though, had happened earlier. For the second day in a row I soaked in the hot tub and then swam gentle laps in the pool for about twenty minutes. As I swam, one thought kept returning. I love that my arms still work. I can swim and I can paddle my kayak. IBM has taken strength from my legs, but in the water I can still move freely. For twenty minutes I wasn't thinking about weakness or balance. I was simply swimming.

Sometimes the best travel days aren't the ones with the biggest excursions. Sometimes they're the ones where you finally reach Greenland, laugh about impossible lounge chairs, search unsuccessfully for French fries, listen to music with strangers, sip a late-night cappuccino, and realize that, despite everything, your body can still surprise you in wonderful ways. 

walking on Greenland on a very chilly wet day