23 September: On the ferry north, as expected (or hoped after the relative disappointment of Greenland’s coast), it is mountains covered in trees and islands, inlets, islets, water cascading down from remnant snow, and communities and houses strung out irregularly. Words have become repetitive and inadequate, and it comes down to feeling and inner reaction and wonder. A measure of envy, also; I have the sense I ought to have been born, grown up and lived in places like these. There are more houses than I expected but it’s a tradition among Nordics to have summer places so I’m sure many are second homes.             Mile after mile, how can...

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