Tiny, idyllic-looking settlements are sparsely scattered along the coast and fjords of west Greenland. They’re beautiful, but there’s not much work. One of the few jobs is working as an attendant at the local shop.
We visited a settlement at the head of a long fjord, small colourful houses dotting the hills, looking down to a rocky bay surrounded by mountains, and with easy access to fishing and reindeer hunting grounds.
“This place is gorgeous,” said my husband, “Can we live here instead of in Nuuk?”
After a stroll we stopped in at the only shop to buy fuel for our boat. I paid the man at the counter an advance for 70 litres and took my receipt out to the garage where the pump was switched on. After filling up, I received another receipt, for a total of 130 litres, to take back to the shop for payment.
When I returned, the girl serving at the counter looked at the two receipts, as I explained that we had already paid for 70 litres. She nodded and rung up a bill for 130 litres.
“No, no”, I explained “we’ve already paid for 70 litres”. The man who had initially taken the payment for 70 litres nodded in agreement and explained in Greenlandic.
She looked bewildered and called on the phone to the manager…who was in the next room. This older lady joined the others behind the counter. She looked at the two receipts and listened to the explanation from me and the original shop attendant.
“Ok” she replied, knowingly, and rung up a bill for 200 litres.
“No” I said, exasperated, “it should be 60 litres.” The original attendant reiterated my explanation in Greenlandic. All three stood behind the counter, looking at the receipts, counting aloud on their fingers.
Eventually we paid for 60 litres. As we left, I turned to my husband,
“Still want to live here?”
“No” he replied.
