Sven

I travelled on with the ice wolves for another three days. On the morning of the fourth day we caught sight of a town in the distance, which I was to learn was Iggoqqortoormiit. I bade the tribe goodbye at the edge of the town, and courteously thanked them for their kindness and generosity. They shuffled around awkwardly, for in truth they were really only in it for the online publicity, and we both knew it. (I hate to think what would have happened to me in the blizzard if it hadn’t been for this blog.)

As I walked into the town I saw a shop in the distance, which I deduced was a supermarket. With joyful relief I quickened my step – there is only so long that a person can palate seal blubber and roots. In the supermarket I saw a variety of fruit and vegetables that I had never set eyes on before. At least, I thought that’s what I thought they were… until the strange brown litchis began to shuffle off of the scale as I tried to weigh them. I heard a chuckle behind me and quickly turned around. It was a tall Nordic man with a large blond beard and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“Can I help you?” he asked, laughing.

I blushed, and stammered some incoherent things about fruits, seal blubber and looking for a supermarket.

I soon learnt that what I had taken to be an extra prickly litchi was in fact a miniature arctic hedgehog, and instead of a supermarket this was in fact a novelty pet shop. Sven (good Nordic name, I thought) gladly told me where I would find the local supermarket in Iggoqqortoormiit and, as he was in no rush to get anywhere in particular, accompanied me there.

As I was paying for the food I suddenly realised that I had no idea where I was going to be staying that night. I had lost my tent and sleeping bag in the blizzard shortly before meeting the ice wolves, almost a week ago now. It turned out that luck was on my side, for Sven’s aunty’s second cousin twice removed’s son had just moved out, and so she had a spare room. Sven reckoned that she would happily put me up for the night – empty nest syndrome.

He then paused, and bashfully asked me what my plans were for the evening, and whether I would accompany him on a date. I quickly weighed up the situation (like a good South African): Nordic man asks solo woman newcomer to town on date; young woman knows no one in the town; what are the crime statistics in Greenland (probably practically non-existant, not sure they even have a word for crime in the local dialect in Iggoqqortoormiit); knife and pepper spray in my secret pocket – and came to the conclusion that sure, why not go on a date with tall, blond Sven with the crinkly eyes.

He took me to his aunt’s second cousin twice removed’s house, who, as Sven had predicted, was more than happy to have me stay. Sven and I agreed to meet at 7pm. He told me that he was excited to take me to visit one of his favourite hang outs.

At 7pm I was all ready – uncharacteristically punctual. (It wasn’t hard to decide what to wear – I only had 2 changes of clothes in my bag.)

I was expecting that we would be going to the local restaurant or bar, but it seemed that that wasn’t where he was taking me. He led me down the cobbled street, past the library, post office, supermarket, bakery and pet shop. Past the piano and tambourine shop and the shop that sold fur coats and snow cones. Past the bookshop, the garden shop and the shop that sold designer fishing rods. Suddenly Sven stopped outside a shop titled “Nunilloor u Pogriit”, which, I recalled from my crash course in Nordic languages on Duolingo, meant “Pens and Pencils”. He glanced up and down the street, and seeing it empty, rummaged in his beard and retrieved a paperclip. He crouched to pick the lock.

I felt intrigued, puzzled and a little uneasy. Who breaks into a stationery shop? I certainly didn’t expect this.

It was dark inside the shop. Staplers, rulers and ring binder files cast long shadows across the walls. I tapped Sven on the shoulder and pointed to the light switch. He gave me a firm shake of the head. Clearly we weren’t meant to be in here. Then, with grave sincerity Sven turned to me and informed me that we were each to select one pencil and one sharpener. He looked at his watch. 7.25pm. We had five minutes to make our selection.

Curious, I wandered around inspecting the shelves. Despite Iggoqqortoormiit being a small town, it boasted a very impressive array of stationery, pencils in particular. I finally settled for a 6B art pencil and a good, solid two holed metal sharpener. Sven clearly knew this place well, for it didn’t take him longer than 30 seconds to make his selection: a cheap HB and a large blue sharpener. At 7.30pm he informed me that we were going to have a pencil sharpening competition. Whoever finishes sharpening the entire pencil away first wins.

Having done a fair amount of drawing growing up I reckoned that I wouldn’t be too shabby at this. For a good while all that could be heard in the dark shop was “krrr…krrr…krrr” (me) and “krrrrrrrrrr…krrrrrrrrr…krrrrrrrr” (Sven). I glanced over at Sven, curious to find out how his “krrrrrrrr”s were so much longer than mine. It didn’t take me long to realise that despite sharpening many pencils as a child I had nothing on him. Instead of my 180 degree twists he seemed to be able to do the whole 360 degrees in one neat twist of the wrist. In addition, I was astounded to see that his pencil was already nearly half gone! Frustratingly, I seemed to have only gotten through about 1cm. Never one to lose a competition I doubled my efforts. My hands were getting sweaty and I felt conspicuously clumsy next to Sven.

Suddenly he stopped. He had finished. Triumphantly he turned to me, kissed me on the lips and then dashed out the shop and away down the street.

The moon came out from behind the clouds as I made my way back along the cobbled streets. I looked up into night sky and laughed, shaking my head. I guess dating is different out here in Iggoqqortoormiit.