Driving in Greenland

The car rejected reverse in any kind of cold weather. And in the winter it snowed on the inside. It was the worst car in Nuuk and it would have been ours. But, perhaps fortunately, it died shortly before our friends – the owners – bequeathed it to us on leaving Greenland. So we remain carless. This is not such a big deal, despite our son’s protestations. Cars are expensive here – not only to buy, but also to drive. The cost of road tax alone is twice what it costs me to take the bus every day for a year. And there are certainly too many cars in Nuuk, and only a single road leading into the city. So peak hour can leave you inching along, past those three sets of traffic lights, although you are only likely to pass one or maybe two on any given route. On a very bad day, from the furthest point from the city centre, the fifteen minute commute might stretch to thirty.

Nuuk has only about five kilometres of road in any case. You can’t leave town. This is occassionally a rude surprise for visiting tourists who have booked a hire car in anticipation of driving along the coast, suddenly finding themselves in possession of a useless vehicle and a potential bill for a thousand dollars or more to fly or take the ferry.

But people do love their cars here. Huge stupid cars that they buy to pit themselves against the elements. Indeed, the elements can be formidable, but the enormity of your car is not likely to help much. Winter tyres – yes, enormous car – no. The winter storms that hit Nuuk will win no matter what. In one such storm, I left it too late to get home. The buses were cancelled, but by some miracle I found a taxi. Driving on the long stretch exposed to the wind hammering in from the sea, the air was white with snow. The taxi driver crept along, eyeing the railing to ensure he was still on the road. But suddenly there was a strange feeling of weight pressing against the front of the taxi. When the snow cleared momentarily, we saw the car was buried in a four foot snow drift in the middle of the road.

In the aftermath of these storms, snow machines tear around the streets, exuberantly scooping away and piling up the snow. These guys love their jobs a little too much. The roadside railing on our street is bent into a twisted spire, and the end of the wooden stairs leading down to a nearby street are torn away – both the result of removal of more than just snow. Observing a parked car completely buried under an artificial snow bank, I wondered if the snow machine driver knew it was there? More concerningly, one of my colleagues had her car completely flattened when one of these massive machines drove over it, only moments after she had stepped out of the vehicle.

But at least most people in Nuuk have a reasonable idea how to drive, which is not necessarily the case in other parts of Greenland. Often people in the coastal settlements don’t bother with licences. A friend who was the sole police officer for the tiny east coast settlement of Ittoqqorttoormiit took it upon himself to change this, insisting that all drivers take a test. They took it in their stride, did as they were told. But soon began asking him,

“When are you leaving?”

I got myself a Greenlandic licence last year, when my foreign licence finally expired. Having a Greenlandic driver’s licence is kind of cool, but not very useful. Outside Greenland they are generally not recognised, for obvious reasons – one is not likely to develop a depth of driving experience in Greenland. But they’re still worthwhile sometimes, as my husband discovered. He was driving us home one afternoon in the worst car in Nuuk – before its sad demise – when he was pulled over by the police.

“You were driving over the speed limit, Sir.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” he replied.

“And do you realise that your lights aren’t working?”

“Yes they are, see?” he replied happily, flicking them on and off, not realising that it is illegal to drive with your lights off in Greenland. This seemed to annoy the officer.

“Let me see your licence please.”

“Oh, I don’t have it. It’s at home,” he replied sheepishly.

“You realise that it’s an offence to drive without your licence?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t. I’m not from Greenland.”

“Well you are required to know the road rules,” he snapped. “I am going to let you off, but make sure you have your licence with you in future.”

As we drove away our son piped up cheerily from the back,

“Hey Dad, he didn’t notice you weren’t wearing your seatbelt!”