Pixel Narrations

Day 12: Goodbye Greenland

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 17:37:00 GMT

I was up early and finished packing before we headed off to the airport for our last flight within Greenland, flying over most of the distance we had covered during the trip. Upon reaching Kangerlussuaq, we dashed off to Meet Nini, JP’s wife. Taking us to her comfy workshop, where she carves design expressions out of animal horns, she explained the process of carving animal bone jewelry.

Greenlandic by birth, Nini left Greenland when she was a year old and was brought up in Denmark. Before her marriage, I considered myself Danish, she added, her big brown eyes sparkling tenderly. The urban exiles we undertake for work and opportunities don’t always leave us content and she shifted back to Greenland bidding her high profile Media coverage life with MTV farewell.

Sharing her designs with us, Nini, added, ‘I have started liking circles and smooth curves more, since the past few weeks. Earlier I loved sharp triangles.’ She had a Caribou horn elegantly knotting her hair in place, piece she had first crafted on a vacation, something that got her interested in the art, something confirming to what her initial design preferences were.

We did a round of filming outside, our last take for the series and headed for the airport. Soon we were bidding a great friend Apu goodbye who was off to Nuuk to meet his girlfriend. We had almost managed to miss our flight, boarding at the last minute. We reached Copenhagen by night and everyone was tired, but our spirits were still high.

We went to Tivoli’s, gallivanted the streets; pub hopped, soaked in Copenhagen craziness, and marveled at the trip. Few hours, and I’d have to catch my morning flight back, bidding adieu to a great mentor and amazing friends.

Dan was heading off to Berlin, and Rich was staying back in Copenhagen. Simon and Jas were leaving the next day. I was devastated at having to say goodbye to my friends. I was grateful for their company and all that I learnt from them.

Each time I’d see a documentary, I’d see a Dan at work, with or without a bruised ankle. Single handed content production is tough, and Rich and Dan were amazing with working on their feet, adapting to situations as they came and striving constantly to share what they saw. The final documentaries we see on television is a lot of grit and hard work. I am going to miss them both, and Rich saying, ‘On top of the World’.

Simon has been my friend philosopher throughout this trip, and he truly is the original nomad. I was grateful to him for founding World Nomads and giving so many dreamers a chance to go and explore. I was going to miss him and his stories.

Being a part of the National Geographic team was intense, a waking dream of sorts, something which has changed me as a person, giving me a new perspective for my own work as a photographer, inching me closer to my dream. I am going to miss Jason’s guidance immensely, and wish we were going for another assignment.

I had met some great people on this trip, many of who I will stay in touch with, many of whom I was grateful to for their time. The trip had been rough for sure, but everything else will seem easy by comparison.

Greenland was tough, brutal but beautiful beyond belief. Its coldness compensated by the warmth of the people I met there.

Goodbye Greenland, you were amazing.

Day 11: Eternity Fjord

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 17:36:00 GMT

I was still packing when our Komatsu Wheel Loader came to the front door to cargo luggage to the dock, and I was late. I ended up carrying all my bags in three flights of walking back and forth, had missed breakfast and worse, we were leaving Kangamuit after having spent the three loveliest days. With a heavy heart, and a promise to be back someday, I waved our friends goodbye and boarded the Taga 37, all aboard for Eternity Fjord, the most beautiful one on the West Coast of Greenland.

The boat ride through the meandering fjord was surrounded by some of the highest mountains in West Greenland, rising vertically to a height of over 5000 feet. Dark brooding clouds hovered over the glaciers that seemed to be tumbling out of the mountainsides. Inquisitive birds flew back and forth, while some lazy ones sat perched on taupe cliffs we passed.

The Boat speeded through the Fjord, it was tough to balance and shoot the first when we took a ride like this, but now, despite the icy coldness, there was a sense of friendliness in familiarity, the fjords like you better as you adapt. I had come to know the boat movements better. The sea spray had a wild foam glee about itself, and wearing gloves was passé. My fingers felt like claws of a dead bird, but gloves inhibited shooting especially when there was so much around, and so much excitement from the sheer speed. The cold icy wind was enough to freeze your bones, and if that wasn’t enough, we were nearing the Glacier, where it pushes water and chunks of fallen ice forward, creating a U-shaped body in the sea, Fjord.

Water stretched for ends starting with shades of bluish-green turning coal grey in the distance from the brooding clouds hovering above. As if dissatisfied with this curtain of ripples, a mountain lurked in the distance breaking the horizon. Its melancholy beauty and whites of fresh snow on its dull brown peaks; enticing you to come, come closer, if you dared.

The closer we went to the Glacier, the bigger the ice floating around grew- grease ice, chunks of ice, iceberg- adding to the mist and mystery. It looked like chinaware thrown on floor, after a heated altercation, its pieces in various sizes scattered around when the Glacier was unhappy with all the global warming, and was chucking off its blocks, throwing them on its floor, in a muffled rage.

Greenland is losing two billion tons of ice every year. Our Skipper pointed out that few months back, the Glacier was closer and pointed to a mountain, now brown in color with rocks bulging out, wasn’t visible the last time he was here. The Glaciers were receding.

The nearer we went to the Glacier, the more we anticipated its movements. Small chunks of ice were falling off, our Skipper wasn’t happy with the idea, the propeller could get stuck in an iceberg or worse, get broken. It was dangerous, but Jason was eager. And, the Skipper was skilled. So slowly, turning the boat and inching closer, he got us to the spots Jason thought had better angles. I was hoping to capture the ongoing action closer, to create images that were powerful and showed the phenomena in its intensity. Jason and I had a long conversation on National Geographic and how it stands for Communication, always. He suggested that I take shots that convey my thoughts on what I feel and something that captures the essence in the same frame, and the complexity of it. Getting shots like that wasn’t easy.

We were close to the Glacier, waiting, shooting, and talking. Gulls flew over and a colony of sea birds hovered over an iceberg in the distance, adding life to a place unimaginably inhospitable. I had moved to the back of the boat, I was waiting for activity and my fingers and head were numb from the cold. I wanted to step inside for a minute to warm my hands inside the boat’s cozy confines, and the minute I turned to go, there, a large chunk of the Glacier came tumbling off, like the ones we were waiting for. I cursed my luck. Waited for more, and disheartened, gave up. Everyone else was in the front deck; I walked towards, thinking they must have gotten some great footage and shots from the action, I was eager to see. Instead, I saw Jason using extremely intriguing language and everyone else laughing his anger off. He had missed the action battling with his GoPro menus whilst setting up for under water shots. Oops.

We spent some more time and headed back to Maniitsoq, passing breathtaking sights along the way. It started to snow and the clouds added to many a moody shots. Simon had promised his Mamiya to me once we reached Maniitsoq, to shoot at a cemetery we had passed on the way from the airport. The weather was going worse from bad when nearing Maniitsoq. The boat ride was one bumpy roller coaster jostling the few of us trying to take a nap, wide-awake. One wave rocked the boat so hard that Dan hit his head against the ceiling.

We reached Maniitsoq and checked into our hotel, hurried off to the cemetery. I was looking forward to shooting with the Mamiya, and had just made my first two shots when the guys said they wanted to film me. When we started the light was dying, and poor Simon had to stand holding an LED to my face while I recollected bits from the amazing trip getting overtly nostalgic that it was nearing its end. By the time we were done, the light was gone, and with it, my Mamiya shots.

Day 10: Hunt. Dance. Eat.

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:59:00 GMT

This morning the sky was clear and I was up at 7 am, to see an already ready Simon walking out with his camera bag for a morning stroll around the village. Quick shower and packing later, we met our hunters, Peter and Betalt, at Breakfast. Quick loading of our gear into their respective boats and we set off for the controversial but essential to life in Greenland, Seal Hunting.

Jetting through the open seas, we were greeted by now familiar landscapes. Peter, our skipper, shoots seals with a rifle from his open boat when the day is good. Jason was with Aputsiaq and Betalt on the other boat. We spent over three hours in the hope of catching something, and I was getting disappointed with nothing much happening. As if in answer to my disappointment, Jason mocked a shot of the hunter on his boat shooting a seal (for reference purposes) and then did a crazy stunt. Standing at the bow with arms stretched out (Picture Kate Winslet from Titanic minus Leonardo) and shouting in an adrenaline rush as the boat gushed past. The guys got it on film, perfectly.

Another half hour of hoping for a catch, or just spotting a seal, we decided to have Lunch and our boats pulled up close near one of the many islands and we chatted munching on food thoughtful Apu had packed for us. Some great music (Our Skipper had an interesting collection of local artists with nice notes), sunlight and food, the day felt warm and wonderful.

The minute we reached back, we headed off to the local school where Kristeen teaches. The school was a colorful and soulful place, but sadly the school time was over and the kids were back home. The guys wanted to interview Kristeen for the series and I wandered around the place. I bumped into Kasper and he shared his apprehensions about his upcoming trip to Iceland, his first time out of Greenland. An adventure in the unknown keeps us all going, I told him, and he became eager to discuss more.

The guys came back and our next stop was community seal skin workshop where women were making beautiful designs from leather, some of which takes almost two years to complete. All of us bought brooches and bookmarks that were for sale- the funds supporting the women and their families. Happy with our new souvenirs, we headed to Peter’s house for kaffemik-Coffee and Cake; it was his Son’s Birthday. We had bought candies for the birthday boy assuming him to be 6-8 years old, but we’re sure a 29 year old won’t mind candies either, as we found out later.

Finally, we settled for dinner at Kristeen’s place with a sumptuous spread of Musk Ox meatballs, roast bacon, and suaasat- soup with rice and tuttu. Making our way through our plates we heard faint music playing in the background. Kristen had left a little before, and suddenly she came back to tell us what that music was- the weekly community dance! We did not need to hear more and ran to the village hall, abandoning our forks and knives, grabbing the nearest camera body.

The place was abuzz with everyone from the village as an old friendly face changed music from a podium; a couple swayed by, three girls twirled to the next track and with every song, the number of people kept increasing. The carefree laughter, general cheer and catchy music, I wanted to dance. I asked Dan, and he chickened out saying he did not want to dance in front of so many people, so in turn he framed Richard saying, and she wants to dance with you. Richard agreed thinking obviously that Dan was joking but when I nodded in agreement, he suddenly got up, saying he needs a lens, and bolted out!

However hard we tried to evade dancing, all of us did when towards the end, one of the locals grabbed us by our hands for the last dance and we partnered with our Greenlandic friends. And we swayed left at every right turn. A giggle of girls was snorting their heads off at a video they had made of us ‘dancing’. We’d be laughing stock for this village for weeks to come.

We got back and over drinks, Jason screened ‘The Edwards go to Africa’, his personal video from his last trip, and an excellent compilation by his assistant Katie. Tired from the day and lulled by our daily supplies, I dozed off dreaming of this adventure and the next one to come, sometime Africa.

Day 9: Welcome to my Village

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:52:00 GMT

Arriving into a new city by the sea in a chartered boat is more fun when you are placed in it after a bone-jarring hike. You feel glad that movement is through the power of a propeller and not from pushing your paining limbs. Riding the Taga 12 seat-er across choppy waters was a blast. As the sea waves splashed and the boat rushed through, the afternoon had a heady start to it.

We chalked out of Polar Lodge in the morning, checked our gear into the airport and dashed off to a nearby site before boarding the Dash 57 to Maniitsoq. We spent close to two hours shooting buildings and a school in Kangerlussuaq, pretty much our last day with the town. On our way back to the airport, we found out that the city had only two taxis, and the one that had dropped us off was off to polar ice cap, and the other was busy. While the town is not huge, it is definitely not walking distance, and with time a major constraint, we got onto a local bus (the only bus in the town!). The small bus ambled around the same curve twice, picking and dropping curious kids and women, as we waited anxiously not to miss the flight.

We managed to reach in time, and a hurried chips and sausages gorging later, were sitting in an ATR for a 45-minute hop to Maniitsoq. In Maniitsoq, the weather received us at its worst and it was raining. The authorities at the airport also updated us with bad weather predictions for the next two days. Few taxi trips back and forth, all our gear was secure and we boarded our Charter Taga to take us to Kangamuit, in a 3-hour ride across some gorgeous fjords.

Kangamuit is a tiny village with a population of 300 South of Kangerlussuaq. Low flying seagulls greet you upfront, followed by boats of different shapes and sizes and finally the colourful houses that dot this fishing village. All in shades of red, blue, yellow, and green, making you wonder why city landscape is always so awfully boring in contrast.

Our new friends, Kristeen and her shy daughter greeted us at the dock. We exchanged pleasantries as we unloaded our gear from our boat. Now, all of us combined had tons of gear and Jason’s gear alone weighs in excess of 100kgs with two hard cases and numerous bags. And throughout the trip, we have taken several trips in sometimes the same vehicle and at times multiple, to transport all the equipment. But never before in our lifetimes, any one of us would have moved luggage on a JCB! At first when the slow but sturdy heavy construction machine approached the dock, none of us had thought it was to cargo our luggage! Jason jumped on to it for a little while and it was hilarious to watching him ascend the hill with all those bags.

Our bags were going, but I did not know where. I had arrived to Kangamuit knowing that there were no hotels. I knew we were to homestay, but who’s home and where, I had no inkling.

Travelers often bank on the kindness of strangers. Sometimes many provide shelter, often food and conversations, and if you are lucky and have patience, some great stories. Hospitality and generosity of people you meet is what keeps you going. Unheard of elsewhere and never encountered in our combined travel experiences, does one host give her house to a gang of strangers and goes to live in their parent’s house. Kristen and her family did exactly that! While we were apologetic at putting them in discomfort, we were grateful as we relaxed in their beautiful house. Soon a delicious dinner of Tuttu-reindeer and Halibut warmed the cockles of our heart and stomach, our first proper meal in Greenland and such delicious delicacies.

Fed and happy, I enjoyed the sea view from the French float glasses as I observed Kasper’s Greenland collection- seal skin, polar goggles – solid bone rectangles with slits in between to prevent snow blindness, miniature dolls, and a clock as if it was part of the wall and not put on it. The guys filmed the house and we had a round of interviews.

I walked around the area, and was mystified by the unpretentious life that existed. The colorful houses and nice breeze made me nostalgic for a time that wasn’t even mine. I wanted to be a part of this village. Grow up there, and learn how to hunt. I was overjoyed at the simplicity and when I ended up finding a swing, I spent close to half an hour singing and swinging.

Back at the house, I asked Jason and he quickly explained the functioning of a flash to me, and how he uses TTL with Rear Sync for freezing motion. Part of it was difficult to understand, but I grasped all that I could and wanted to put my flash to some good use.

Towards evening, which is very late in Greenland, we ventured for a stroll and got some great light over the town. We all walked our separate ways and Jason got a mindboggling picture of a kid shooting hoops. I spent some time by the docks, catching the last bits of the golden glow from the setting sun. I had almost lost the guys, but Kangamuit is so small that the entire village can be walked from end to end in 15 minutes and I soon found Simon nodding to a lady with a black puppy frolicking around her. I went up to him, and greeted the lady, who did not speak any English and our two words of Greenlandic was not enough to continue a conversation. But signs and smiles can break all language barriers, and when I told her I am from India, she beamed and did a Namaste (Indian Greeting equivalent of a handshake) to me. Soon we were chatting about India and Greenland, without understanding what was being said but quite getting the emotion conveyed. She invited us into her house, and we were more than grateful.

Once inside, our camera lenses fogged out from the change in temperature and despite rubbing the glass clean, the fog wouldn’t come off easy. We let it thaw, and indulged in animated conversations with Zenobia, our new friend. The 50-something lady was happier to have us at her place than we were excited at having a chance to explore another house from such close proximity. She showed us her family photographs, paintings and knitting, as she served us tea in span cutlery while a TV blared news about the weather from all over. I discovered this trend later, but all houses, like Zenobia’s place in Kangamuit were warmly done. The heating provides instant warmth from the chill outside, and inside, it is complete with neatly arranged souvenirs- most carved by the people themselves, candles, and photographs of family members in various stages of their development. Greenlanders are also very proud of the degrees they obtain and most homes had certificates laminated and promptly displayed.

Soon the crew and Jason joined us, and when Zenobia requested for a photograph, several cameras started firing away simultaneously. One look from Jason, and we all had to stop. He made a portrait of her and we spent some time chatting.

She gifted me a set of blue dollies she had knit herself. It is difficult to create photos when there is a language barrier, but I had made a new friend and the only one with that name in the whole of Greenland, Zenobia.

Day 7: Myths and Mountains

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:51:00 GMT

I have no clue what day or date it is today, not that it matters in the mountains. What matters is that I have woken up with a terrible body ache. Our tent is pitched right on top of stones and uneven ground, a discomfort we (Lykke and I) discovered after retiring last night and once it was too late to shift.

Everyone else today has gone looking for Musk Ox herds over the mountains and to make good use of Jason’s 800mm. Devoid of a super telephoto and lured by the option of not hiking, Simon and I are staying back to ponder and observe the surrounding beauty at leisure. A little more relaxed and far less brutal pace from our hectic hiking yesterday should be welcome.

Jason disheartened me when he first suggested the idea to me, I wasn’t sure if I should stay with Simon or hike with the guys, after all I am here to learn from Jason, but then he surprised me with the ‘gift’ of Hasselblad. With 19 shots left on his XPAN2, he told me to go and explore and shoot panorama. Not every day you get to play with toys like these! I was elated. He quickly explained rules to me, and left in search of our wooly friends.

Simon and I started walking towards the valley at the end of the lake. The wind was strong and light was flat. I was overjoyed at having the Rolls Royce of a camera all by myself, but taking shots on it was tougher than I had imagined. A strong wind was raging, and the stalks in the foreground swayed, making focusing an interesting challenge. Shooting digital, you tend to snap away, having the luxury of chucking a bad frame. Shooting on film, you suddenly are overly cautious as you weigh every frame. I shot 9 from my stock of 19.

In between Simon explained the workings of a Mamiya to me, promising me an entire roll soon. Could life get any better! Photographically tougher for sure, but so great!

After ambling around the valley for hours in search of some interesting frames, we walked back towards the campsite, and settled inside a tent for some snacks and conversations. It started to rain. We were glad to be snug inside the tent and with nothing much to do, travelled the world with personal anecdotes and stories, as it rained outside a great travel location. The rain turned into hail and sleet and the other guys were surely getting slammed!

Lykke and the team were back and it was raining cats and dogs. They waited for the rains to stop and dry themselves before being comfortable inside the tent. Once the rains stopped, Lykke settled in.

The Greenlanders have hiking in their blood, and when she told me about her 80 year old grandmother, who still hikes, I had no reason to doubt. Lykke herself is very interesting as an individual and embraces the tough Greenlandic roots with a more upbeat Danish upbringing. Quite like a rock chic that can bake.

A violent storm brewed outside, amidst harsh nature and darkness; there was little sleep and plenty to talk. Huddled inside the tent to the glow of a flashlight, we warmed up by sharing personal stories and soupy noodles. A strong wind howled outside, providing soul music. And Lykke unfolded stories about her eclectic lifestyle and Greenlandic culture.

Much like Hindu mythology, where everything has a soul, Greenlandic or Inuit myths are based on the idea of an all-pervasive spirit and the sea is held in high regard. Like most regional tribes, the nomadic Inuit were shamanistic and worshipped nature, carrying fascinating tales of power and myth you’d love listening to on a cold night like this one. Probably unimpressed by engrossing tales, sometime around the 18^th century, when Missionaries first came to Greenland, they tried converting the locals to Catholicism. They brought with them the idea of heaven. The Catholic notions of heaven and hell did not appeal to the locals, and the missionaries had a tough time. For Greenlanders, Heaven is where all their food and livelihood comes from, the sea. What would they do in the sky after they died?

One famous legend Lykke told me about was of the sea mother who controls the success of seal and whale hunts. In ‘olden’ days, every time the catch was bad, Angakooq (a Shaman) would go under the sea and in an attempt to pacify the sea mother, comb her hair, and smoothen her tresses. Delighted, she would release the animals trapped, making the sea once again bountiful.

There are different versions to the Sassuma Arnaa or Setsui-anna tale and I was itching to listen to more. But Jason called me from outside; I poked my head out of the tent, and could almost see the cold. Nobody in his or her senses would want to step out. He sensed that, and called me a ‘softy’. That flared me up enough. I pulled my pants, tied my shoes and stepped out to Lykke’s amazement. Outside, it was cold as an ice slab in a morgue, and the grim dark clouds in the distance only added to the gloom.

Low light and extreme weather conditions are hazardous for comfort, but Jason taught me, how brilliant they are for photography. Our current obsession was a Caribou head we had discovered earlier, but had not made good use of. In that blasting weather, the little skull conformed to what the arctic can be like when it is dark, portraying the idea in one frame. We spent a lot of time, with Dan helping us with light and angles, and despite the cold, it was great to work and see Jason work so intently.

Way past everyone’s bedtime, crazy people spent time around a skull, dancing with light, playing with an LED, and making magic without sound, just some chatter and shutter.

Day 8: March Back to Civilization

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:51:00 GMT

I have a perennial blue line across my lips. I am cold.

This place looks like heaven. It feels like hell.

In a place like this, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs is at its lowest- food, shelter and survival. As you go up in the ladder, self-expression, self-esteem and other things in between start to sort of matter. But here, none of it does. You are one with nature, battering your right of survival, and trusting that you don’t get wiped out.

I was glad at having survived the arctic blast so far, and in a moment of victory and self-expression, made little voice notes for friends and family as I hiked back. The day had started early, and after a quick breakfast of cold oats, we were heading back towards civilization.

Every day on this trip has been testing my limits. Stretching the band to see how far it goes before it snaps. Jet Lag. Hypothermia. Ice. Nausea.

The Musk Ox Camp was closest to me snapping with its twin confronts of exhaustion and cold. I was glad we were heading back. A little part of me wanted to stay back, but a bigger part was combating a bad stomach. The novelty of a shower was inviting.

The last few kilometers were walking agony. Walking alone for a long stretch. Getting abandoned.

At times, without the familiarity of my herd, I was a little calf, lost, walking in a circle, going over on knoll and emerging back at what looked like the same spot. The team was spread out, and we kept losing sight of each other.

The sun beat us down. The wind did not aid our movement. The holes en route swallowed us up to our waists.

The descent off the plateau was a different experience all together. My pack was relatively lighter; the slope made walking easier but at times tougher with higher chances of me rolling off; but there was no promise of an undiscovered pristine landscape and that made walking back extremely uninspiring, boring and dull.

Day 6: Why are Musk Oxen so Cool

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:50:00 GMT

I am getting my bum frozen in the Tundra. My hands are numb; my fingers, struggling to stay five intact inside a glove; my back hurts like it has never hurt before. Carrying a 60-litre backpack loaded to the brim, I have been hiking for what seems like forever. We hiked today, like I have never hiked before. Compared to this, a few hours’ strolling jaunts on a mountain don’t count as your standard hiking ritual.

Propped against this very backpack, I am trying to write. That slight slit between my pants and jacket is open, letting the Arctic wind caress my skin, freezing my backside. I can barely move so I let the wind chill my back. Every other part is cold anyways. Everyone else is setting up tents. An icy cold wind is flowing. It is colder than it was at Russell Glacier. In retrospect, Russell Glacier looks like a picnic. The temperature must be below freezing point, and everything, everything here is beautiful beyond belief.

It aches to write. It aches to be here. I can’t feel my nose. I want a nose cap maybe like Piglet’s. I might die of hypothermia or exhaustion; I am not quite sure which one of these would claim me. It is 6.30 in the evening, and we left our Hostel before nine. In half an hour, the Arctic Circle 4WD van had dropped us at the base of the hiking trail. So, I reckon we hiked uphill for more than nine hours.

We met our hiking guide Jeans Pavia en route, and since then, it has been many, many hours of unbearable physical torture leaving me breathless in breathtaking views of Arctic beauty.

The first stretch to conquer was next to a beautiful lake. A 7km stretch of plain, marshy trails of walking on heather and myriad hues of Greenlandic grass. We stopped when we saw a Musk Ox carcass. JP - short for Jeans Pavia, our guide - discovered two horns lying with abandon, a prized possession for someone whose wife excels at the art of making jewelry out of it and anyone who would like a souvenir back. I approached the scenario with caution wishing I had a handkerchief, I was apprehensive of the smell that would waft from a carcass that had been lying there rotting, for God knows how long. Surprisingly, it did not smell even a bit. The cold insect free atmosphere of Greenland lets an animal rot in peace. After our first acquaintance of the Musk Ox, we hiked on. We were hiking to spot some more, alive and gallivanting on a mountainside.

Musk Oxen are large beasts with layers and layers of wool that keeps them warm. The Greenland cold, which is too much for the rest of us to bear, is too ‘warm’ for them, and as a result, they are found only at high altitudes. We were hiking to greet them in their territory.

On a map, the stretches looked conquer ably small. In reality, I was tired sooner than I had thought. We stopped for some breakfast next to the lake, and Jason went ahead, and hunching on all fours, drank water out of it. We all followed suit, re-filled our bottles which were already getting low early in the hike.

Balancing on stones and pebbles, you gingerly step from one small boulder to another and realize the water layer forms a clear sheen between you and the lake surface below, making everything from the small stones, to the algae to the sand gleaming below, crystal clear. Fresh lake water, not packaged in a bottle with a fancy label, but right here, at the top of the world, cleanest and ready to drink.

Renewed with more energy, I continued the march. The crew filmed in between, and I struggled to take shots, and my laces came undone many a times. Each time you bent or sat down, the weight of your backpack bogged you from getting up. Befriending gravity, it wanted you to stay put unless someone came and gave you a hand, unless you figured it out in due course of falls.

There was a pair of Musk Ox we spotted just 100 meters away, a small climb from our next stop, the leeward side of a mountain encapsulated on another by a small waterfall, the most gorgeous I have ever seen. Crawling on all fours, we approached our Musk Ox pair with discretion. Jason has been carrying his 800mm on the hike. I resorted to my 70-200, this time armed with a 2x tele convertor. They moved off quickly as they are very timid. Glad with the acquaintance, we came back to the spot where our backpacks were enjoying some sunshine and waterfall views. We munched on crackers with cheese, some chocolates, and cookies; a hiking feast.

I took some shots of the waterfall and Simon asked me to compare the view with his Mamiya, a square format range finder. Suddenly, I wanted to snatch it from him and run back to Kangerlussuaq. The compositions on a 4X6 and 4x4 are very different, and suddenly the Mamiya’s square format was my answer to the compositions I was imagining and not getting. He sensed that greed shining in my eyes and promised me he’d soon let me use it.

We continued the drill. A never-ending march on hole-ridden terrain, many of which claimed us, many a times. A strong gale force wind blew, making us feel cold, while we sweated inside from the hiking exercise, making us feel unbearably hot and cold at the same time. It was a hypothermic death march.

We hiked, enticed by JP that at the end of one stretch, and the start of a lake, he’d canoe our luggage in his boat which he keeps there, hidden in an enclave between some rocks and we’d be able to walk the last stretch free from our bags, as free beasts without burden of baggage.

We reached a gorgeous lake, its water bluer than the deepest blue, shining. The wind howled at gale force directly in my face, making hiking an even tougher enterprise. In that weather, canoeing meant getting the boat capsized, so we marched ahead, beaten by the weather, like packed mules.

I hiked the shoreline, while the alpine lake spread on my right. Its name- Taserssuatsiaup Qalia- tougher to pronounce than it was tougher to reach there.

It would soon be dark, so we were forced to set up camp in an area exposed to the severe elements.

******

The tents have been set up and dinner is served. Add hot water, boiled over a makeshift fire from twigs collected with team effort, to potato and beef casserole. The water was hot when it was boiling, lukewarm as it heated the powder in our food packets, and cold by the time we spooned the mixture into our mouths. It’s a struggle to eat. It is cold. I am freezing like death despite huddled next to the water-boiling pan. I am even up for setting myself on fire and getting roasted in turn. We sit and chat, and plan our next day while cleaning our ‘utensils’ and ready ourselves to retire for the day. If we leave ‘stuff’ (pans, clothes, equipment) outside (of our tent), JP says, ‘the fox might come and pee on it’. Arctic Foxes can sure get very getting territorial. This was a territory worth getting territorial for.

I haven’t shot anything substantial today. I can hardly think of shooting and photographs. The chill is too much to bear. 80% of my brain is not working from the cold and the remaining 20%, working overtime to fight it. It’s a dichotomy that you wind your way up struggling for that pristine landscape and beauty and the struggle leaves you so exhausted that you can barely think of what you hiked all the way up for.

Before retiring for bed and planning the next day, JP asked as all, ‘what would you like to see tomorrow?’ and Jason replied, “another day of my life!”

It was jovial, but you can surely imagine.

Day 5: The view from the top

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:48:00 GMT

Sleep, food, and the comforts of a bed have never been so welcome before. After the past few days’ adventures, the day started on a much-needed relaxed note. I had a renewed sense of gratitude towards comforts and technological innovations over time- mattress-soft, food-cooked and Internet. I managed to get a voucher from the Souvenir Shop at the hostel (every other time, it was closed by the time we got back and not open when we left). Half an hour worth Internet for 30 DKK, and tiny optical fibers over the great Arctic Ocean carried news for me all the way from Cambodia. I had received news about a photo opportunity in November, and excited at the news, I ran over to tell Dan (everyone else was out), and who was backing up footage from the previous day. He was excited and my excitement knew no bounds.

Others came back with news of better weather, and it was time to fly. We headed to the Airport where our Pilot from Air Zafari discussed the areas we would fly over. After a mandatory introduction on flying rules, he added, with mischievous eyes, that in case the plane crashes, the life jacket under our seats would be useful in finding our bodies. Eep.

Jason, Richard and Daniel took the first flight with our dimple cheeked Danish pilot, while Simon and I spent time exploring the area nearby the airport. While I was itching to be on that flight, and saw the guys take off, I had time to shoot by myself. I got some shots of kids playing blocks outside a shop with its shutters down, another kid was giving the swings and slides in the playing area next to the airport a good go. I captured that happily while chatting with them in animated little gestures.

The flight was back and it was our turn to fly. The six seat-er had only one shooting window- a tiny hole through the glass - which Jason took. Simon and I sat in the back and were to shoot through the glass. Our pilot cautioned us to be careful with our lenses when shooting and not accidently scratch the 'glass, window glass'. Before the trip I had imagined a plane with open windows and more area to shoot from. This one was a closed cabin and with very little space for movement. But nonetheless, this flight was nothing short of stellar. The ice cap we had hiked on yesterday, spread for kilometers at a stretch. Our skilled pilot did some interesting maneuvers in the sky and we got really close to it.

On one hand, my heart was marveling at the sight below and on another my mind was trying to balance this excitement with my body’s urge to chuck my innards out from all the nausea I was experiencing with every twist the plane took and its constant turning. My head was spinning, and I kept trying to shoot.

Thankfully Jason was ready with his advice on photo flights like these, the depth of field can be shallow and the image can still be sharp. I opened up the aperture letting more buckets of light flow in. With headsets propped on, we chatted and we clicked, while the transmission station ad-libbed. Our Pilot shared his experiences from his previous photo flights, funny encounters with other Photo enthusiasts where he was blamed for bad photos and finally declared that we were the best bunch he had ever flown with!

A stellar flight later, everyone was back at the airport cafeteria sharing stories and I was in the washroom trying to throw my intestines out from all the nausea. It wasn’t much, but it was like that little bit of air trapped in your ears and you are not at ease until it’s out. My stomach did not part with anything except that feeling of uneasiness. I dragged myself to the cafeteria table and just like all other previous bodily discomforts; this one soon mingled with the general cheer and laughter around, making me feeling better again.

Back at the camp, Simon and I had a long talk about my misadventures and his adventures in Kyoto. His eagerness to listen to my stories and ramblings makes me want to narrate them to him even more. He wanted to know more about Cambodia after Dan had declared it to everyone over dinner, and I was only happy to oblige. He also suggested some good books to read with high recommendations for ‘On being a Photographer’.

Afterwards, Simon saw me ogling at the window in our dining area, and I told him about the red cabin outside and how it might make a nice frame. Some fiddling with the reflection on the glass later, we rushed to grab our cameras. Enthusiasm has a way of rubbing off, and I was happy for the company and great Greenlandic after-dinner light. We both got some interesting shots of the window.

Soon it was time to prepare for the next day’s adventure and Jas helped me pick and sort my gear. Lykke was at the camp too and was joining us for the next day’s trip. Once again, her Greenlandic hospitality and warmth had humbled everyone else’s. She had offered to carry my extra gear and was up for sharing her extra clothes to keep me warm, fussing over which beanie colour might look better.

Towards the night, when everyone else had retired, Jason and I started talking about the next day’s trip and the journey so far. A drink later, Apu joined us and we chatted the night away as an icy wind buffeted the window fame.

Jason and I shared stories about a project he was meant to be involved in, I was coincidentally shortlisted for, and we both had interesting memories about. How serendipitous, that one mentor and mentee who had not met each other until this trip, would have something from their past, to pull to pieces. And, just like that, we bonded more.

Day 4: Snowflakes on Snow Slabs

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:47:00 GMT

Snowflakes greeted me first thing this morning when Jason’s voice probed me to jut my head out of the tent. Soft flakes of white floated around as a very sleepy me looked on with wonder. I spotted a couple of curious mountain hares. The sun wasn’t out, the snow stopped falling and Adam was back with the 4WD. He brought hot chocolate and bagels along with generator power to charge our dead batteries whilst Jason and Dan watched a piece of ice, for hours, which never fell. We packed our tents and gear, and headed off for another great adventure.

We filmed the 4WD maneuvering over the hilly sand banks and headed off towards the polar ice cap. En route we passed two long lakes and a small settlement, which looked like a picture perfect tourist site. Adam remarked that the first Inuit to come to Greenland had settled here. Hunting has always formed a major part of survival, and the Inuit relied on their instincts to hunt. There were no guns in those days though, and reindeers were the easiest prey and the tastiest meat. Adam elaborated, the Inuit used to drive reindeers to the top of a mountain, corner them, and make them jump off by forcing them to commit ‘suicide’.

We spotted a reindeer grazing away lazily, and Jason wanted to shoot it in action. Adam is not just an amazing driver but great with animals and nature. He made some deer ‘calls’- deep guttural high-pitched sounds- and true to his claims, the reindeer responded by jumping. The reindeer frolicked around either probably alarmed or overjoyed and balancing the 800mm against a rock, Jason got some shots of it. Without a long lens, I enjoyed the moment and looked around, taking shots of the area. There was a group of Musk Ox on the other side of a lake, on our next stop. I had a 70-200 on, but with the distance between us, it wasn’t much use, and I resorted to shooting landscape.

After a 30-minute drive from the last lake, Aujuitsup Tasia (imagine having to write its correct spelling in a geography exam!), we reached the base of our hiking trail. Adam parked the 4WD and we headed off for our great polar ice cap trek. I was quite excited about the idea of hiking on rock solid ice. Reaching the ice cap was not easy, involving kilometers of hiking through rolling hills where grass grew in all shades of red, yellow and green - sinking my feet a little, making walking painfully slow but pleasurably lovely. After the tiring but beautiful heather walk, the site of the Glacier flanked by a huge lake greeted me, renewing me with determination to go on further. The next stretch of walk involved braving loose sand, scree, uneven terrain, and boulders ready to leap off. And I soon had my first tumble.

A while later, I saw Simon, who always managed to reach ahead of all of us, waiting for us as he feverously dug onto a rock. Presenting me with a small stone he smiled, the little rock was Garnet. Greenland’s souvenir, out in the open! It was incredulous to look at the two Greenlanders, looking at the stone with nonchalance. Rocks like this elsewhere would have been swiped off clean.

Few mountainsides later, we stopped for a while, filming Jason as it started to snow again. I took a moment’s rest as it snowed. Hiking through lateral moraines, debris deposited along the side of the glacier, - the path was incredibly slippery and after crossing a small stream, we reached the base of the polar ice cap.

After the Antarctic Ice Sheet, Greenland Ice sheet is the second largest in the world and covers 80% of the country’s region. Without sampling this vastness up close, my Greenland adventure would not be complete, and I was naturally excited.

Aputsiaq and Adam helped me put crampons, which was like wearing six tiny pointed heels underneath your shoe. Each metal ‘heel’ helped scrape off the ice, aiding walk, where otherwise we would have been sliding from the lack of friction. Hiking on ice was a great adrenaline rush.

The vast expanses of ice, stretching on for miles, met the horizon. I was reminded of sea and its flowing vastness. Here, solid water also flowed, in frozen stretches. The whites from snow and ice had a false sense of softness to it. Looking in the distance, it felt like a spread of white fluffy cotton. Up close, walking in a file, we had to check its solidness with our walking stick before every step. I checked one landing ice, over which two others had already passed, but what seemed solid to my stick, hardly contained the weight of my left foot, and cracked. With one shoe immersed in icy cold water, I lost my balance and had my second treacherous fall, to which several cameras fired simultaneously. My socks were wet, it was cold outside, and now, and I felt miserable but we couldn’t help laughing.

Walking on ice and shooting did not go well together. Stopping for a shot meant holding up everyone behind you waiting; digressing from the trail meant, not knowing which crevasse you might end up in. Adam was infuriated, and at one point asked me to pick between my life and photography.

Maneuvering deep crevasses and pressure ridges, I was tired, and my back was painfully sore but I wanted to see more. Adam alarmed us with bad weather warnings from the hissing sounds of a howling wind in the distance. We had to stay put. But Jason with his insatiable urge for better, went on ahead with Adam for more, disappearing across the ice cap as we waited filming the area.

A while later, we hiked back. It was like a forced march in the darkening and worsening weather. Hiking back meant walking like a Cowboy, without a Cowboy’s élan, battling cold, bending your knees to maintain balance. On the walking trail back, I was eager to stop and take photographs. But it the end it was either I reach the 4WD back in time, or by take photographs and get left behind. Sometimes, you wish you had longer legs and stronger stamina.

We hiked out of the darkness and raced back along tundra tracks to town where a café had stayed open to feed the crew, we were VERY grateful. With pizzas parceled, back at the hostel, we sat eating and drinking. And just like that, one petite woman and four Aussie men, toasted to a great day and its heightened adventures.

Day 3: Living in a Refrigerator

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:46:00 GMT

We are camped bang opposite the mighty Russell Glacier. The wind hitting the glacier comes back and chills our bones to the last ligament. Last night, bunking in the tent, I couldn’t sleep well. The wind kept howling and there was activity in the Glacier. Jas told me in the morning that a flap in my tent was open, small enough to not let anyone pass through, but big enough for why I was freezing despite the sleeping bag. I wonder what the temperature must be like. Surely well below freezing point.

Jason gave me his 105mm to shoot macro and explained the flash system - two flash guns and a wireless commander unit - mounted on the lens. The two flashes on the lens made it look like Sputnik, only ready to orbit the world of macroscopic splendor. Macro lenses are fast and delicate, and focusing can give the uninitiated a tough time. The depth of field works half and half, unlike other lenses where it is two-thirds backward and one-third forward. It is amazing that there is so much on either extreme of the nature spectrum. The fine lichens and moss to the majestic glacier across us. So, layered like a wooly mammoth, I set around looking for details in the finer form.

Wandering, I also found an abandoned cabin nearby which was airlifted here to be used as an emergency hospital and to rescue lost travelers stuck at the site when floods broke out in the area some years back. Inside, there was a lot of graffiti. Mostly people’s names and hearts scribbled on its rusting walls. Which the survivor’s and which from tourists and locals camping in the area, one couldn’t tell.

After lunch, we headed to the Glacier edge. From up close, the Glacier looked even bigger. A stream gurgled and ice blocks and stone boulders speckled around. Jason surprised me by lending me a 200-400mm, and helped me mount it onto a tripod, to look for the ‘finer details in the bigger picture’. After he left, and each time I loosened the ball-head on the tripod, the lens became free to move and with its each wobble, my heart skipped a beat. The weight of the lens alone was so much that I did not want it crashing itself from a slip fall. Once I got the hang of it, and was reassured that the lens was steady on the tripod, I loved shooting the abstract in the detailing. Before the trip, super telephotos and zooms were never on my gear lust list, reserving it for sports or wildlife photography. Jason introduced me to lens versatility.

Some shots later, the sun came out and beamed at us. I rushed with my other body, which was mounted with a 24-70 on my DX frame, towards the edge of the glacier. The light glowed amber in the magical evening elegance, glowing the icecaps a warm shade of yellow. As I ambled around shooting landscapes, there was activity in the glacier; small pieces would let go, and the crash, even if minor, roared. I suddenly remembered Adam’s warnings on how a flood could materialize in the area any moment and that we were camping in high alert season. We were asked not to venture close. I was way beyond the prescribed territory. I looked at the glacier, smiled and took a few more shots. A sense of quest rushing through my veins!

The sun was shining longer than usual today, and just when I thought the light would be gone, it came out stronger and glowed the mountain behind the glacier in a hue of orange. I packed the tripod and lens, I was eager to reach back up, and take some landscape shots, but the equipment was too heavy for my tiny frame to maneuver fast. By the time I made it back, the light was gone.

We’d been here for over two days, and I needed to take back-ups. I tried taking backup on my laptop, and after one card, it gave up to the cold, which depletes charge even without usage. My camera batteries were also dying despite hugging them close between jackets and my body throughout the day, and when sleeping at night, making sleep very, very uncomfortable. I should have provided the laptop a fair share of my sleeping bag space, and probably slept snuggling with it. I put the balance on Jason’s laptop as he always sleeps with his.

After the mellow golden glow, with passing hours, the cold started setting in. It was mind-bogglingly cold. I couldn’t feel my hands, the nerve numbing winds made you wish you were elsewhere, the warm Bahamas perhaps. I still had to write my journal entries. Sitting outside my tent, my hands numb, I scribbled on in an incorrigible hand. Today is our last night here and despite this very testing alliance, I am going to miss Mighty Russell.

We waited for some northern lights to come with some music and thankfully a small fire to warm our freezing bones. As if to test the cold and tease us further, Dan went ahead and got a small ice block from the glacier as we joked about melting it and drinking a thousand year old protozoa embedded somewhere between its layers and mutating ourselves. The next morning, that slab would be sitting on the table, just as we left it, without melting.

Day 2: Hello Russell!

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:45:00 GMT

Last night, after the sugarloaf experience, we finally managed to reach the camp and crashed soon after dinner was over. Jason acquainted me with all his camera gear, which alone weighs 100kgs! With so many carry-ons exceeding the prescribed weight limit of 7kgs, we sure had had trouble loading parts of it on board for the many flights. Flying with so much equipment is never easy. His bumblebee backpack and my camera bag each weighed over 10kgs, and not to mention his 800mm and 400mm beasts of lenses. Gear lust always makes one drool, and I was quite enchanted by the variety of lenses to experiment with, and I wondered which one of those I might get to use. Thankfully I was a Nikon user as well, so lens compatibility issues were sorted straight away.

Quick breakfast, and we set off to see Kangerlussuaq, stopping around its lakes and intense lichen patterns on rocks – riot of colours just sitting idle by the roadside, waiting for one to stop and admire. Vast ash coloured quicksand plains stretched in the background with tall dun mountains. We spent the morning shooting reflections and looked for patterns that announced the advent of winter, transitions in nature.

Post lunch, we loaded all our gear and bags onto a 4WD and met Adam, our guide from World of Greenland and Arctic Circle. First stop was the city harbor where we found two fishermen repairing and painting their boats. I got some quick shots of them at work, and soon it started to snow. Adam laughed saying ‘Aputsiaq’ was falling from heaven, and we realized our friend’s name, literally translated to snowflake. This foddered us with new nicknames for him from “Snowflake”, “Snowy” and others we coined through the rest of the trip.

We met a couple at the same harbor, which were breaking the stereotype of trendy destinations and had picked Greenland for their honeymoon! I wished the adventurous newlyweds a good time and soaked in some light while looking at the area. We visited a dog-breeding center nearby where Canadian dogs, the Diesel of Greenland, were reared and prepared for the winter months.

Jason explained the importance of persistence and access to me. Saying he would have ideally met the owner, spent time and gotten to know him and the pack better, if there was enough time instead of as now. We were currently shooting from a distance. And, without the owner, getting close to that ferocious pack meant signing our death warrants. So, we soon left as we were already running behind the schedule. But En-route, when we saw some wrecked metal on the ground, we became curious.

Lying with abandon, next to the road, was the wreckage of a Lockheed T-33 plane. Aputsiaq apprised, in 1968, three planes flew in from Iceland, and in a whiteout due to heavy snow, couldn’t land. They circled the area until they were out of fuel then crashed into this site to prevent anyone from getting hurt. I wondered where the other two planes were, and what the fate of those pilots was but Adam assured me that the pilots had survived.

The metal from the crash gleamed in the light. Some had inscribed words onto its silvery surface. The plane parts lay half submerged in sand, half buried, half drawing attention to their tragic past. Grass grew around; grass grew over the metal, and underneath it, as if in nature’s way of taking over everything, of giving a transition, a fresh start to a grim past.

We started off again; soon we were off-roading and reached the camping site of the Russell Glacier, 25kms east of Kangerlussuaq. We were camping bang opposite the mighty 60m tall Russell Glacier. Adam helped us pitch our tents, unload the gear and after a brief tour of the place (including many warnings of high alert), left, leaving us in the company of mighty Russell and breathtaking landscapes of ice, silt and boulders.

Earlier in the day, Jason had taped the LCD of my screen and I missed it terribly, but later I realized, not looking at the screen improved concentration and resulted in better compositions. I kept it on till the end of the day. While exploring the area and hiking around, Jason and I discussed Ansel Adam’s zone metering system, something tough to grasp at the first go.

When camping, food is usually basic. Our friend Apu however had fixed us some great smoked halibut (the best ever!) and we finished an early dinner after a good long day. Towards night, Jason was making a portrait of me and Lo! Behold! Greeting him in the frame when he checked the result apart from my chattering toothy smile was a curtain of green in the sky. He shouted out with glee, and I looked back, and there it was, the northern lights! Beautiful velvet of green floating over a stretch above the glacier in the sky!

We all kept hugging each other, marveling at the colours. This wasn’t the exact season for Aurora Borealis, but as the curtains serenaded us with a surprise performance, and a cold wind blew, it looked like a party upstairs. Little magnetic charges flaring up enchantment. If I died that night from the cold, it was a death worth dying for. Norway had always been on my top 5 places to visit, more for the lights than anything else, and I was delighted. Later I took some long exposures to capture the lights. The wind was strong; my tripod unsteady and there was too much grain, grain I liked.

Tomorrow night, some more light, please.

Day 1: Kangerlussuaq: Sugarloaf to Sugar low

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:43:00 GMT

Disembarking from the Air Greenland flight, I was a wobbly doll with my head swaying from one side to another with exhaustion and sleep. The five hours on the flight passed in a soft lull and in conversations with a Danish Doctor working at Nuuk, the capital of Greenland. Her last piece of advice to me before I dozed off in between, was to wear every piece of Clothing I had in my bags if we went out sailing. Greenland can be cold, she admonished.

Just as the flight was about to land, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the snow-covered mountains from a window two columns to my left, and that spread of white on brown, snow on tall mountain peaks, and a sense of adventure was enough to get me out of my stupor and charged up all over again. We had reached Greenland!   

The flight landed in Kangerlussuaq, a settlement in central-western Greenland and our gateway to the country. It was comparatively small and cozy for being Greenland’s largest Commercial airport and one of the only two with considerable traffic. We met Aputsiaq, our Guide from Visit Greenland, and for lack of pronunciation skills, immediately christened him as ‘Apu’. Apu was interning with the organization and coming from the region was not just knowledgeable and resourceful, but also pretty amiable right from the onset.

We checked into the Youth Camp Hostel, a strewn array of red wooden structures encapsulated by mountains in pastel shades of yellow, green and brown that made them look naturally over ‘saturated’. Talk of six degrees of separation and we found out that Sophia, who runs the place, was a friend and fan of Jason’s. What a lovely coincidence! She extended that friendliness to the whole gang by making excellent fish for lunch the next day. This Camp Hostel was to be home for the next week, and the coziness inside was delusional to how cold it was outside.

Outside, the wind in Kangerlussuaq had an icy chill to it. There was freshness in the air. Wind carried the mountain’s scent each time it blew. It smelled of grass and of animals, of snow covered mountain peaks, and of exploration. The scent behind that smell took some time getting used to. The air was cold. Thanks to Alicia who had sent over warm clothing for me, I was thankfully snug.

A quick call with Mads, our ‘original’ Guide for the trip (who couldn’t make it due to a last minute emergency) and itinerary discussions, we zeroed down on areas to visit and hopefully favourable weather conditions. Soon after, everyone else left to pick supplies, while Dan and I decided to take some shots of planes taking off and landing from the airport tarmac nearby.

We ran into a group of Danish Hunters by the cabins close to where we were shooting. Greenland although culturally very different from Denmark, is under the Kingdom of Denmark and sees constant interaction between the two communities. The Danish Hunters shared their thoughts on the hunting season and mutual admiration for each other’s shooting equipment got us talking.

Post a quick lunch; the guys started filming Jason on the Nat Geo series for Pure Photography. Jas is magic on camera and off it, in real life. It’s tough not taking a liking for him instantly. A major part of being a great photographer comes from being an affable person, and he is great on both the fronts. Simon and I were a nuisance for the filming with our chatter, so we decided to walk and talk. I learnt a good deal about his initial travels to China, his journey so far and how he founded the travel insurance company. Thousands of worried parents back home and footloose travelers across 150 countries are relatively relieved because of him.

He explained the concept of pulling and pushing a shot to me, by exposing a shot by one stop less or more (of course depending on what you want) and how to fool the camera into exposing correctly when it tries to fool you by bringing colours to neutral gray. Just as I was thinking of asking Jas to explain more of this to me, Richard beckoned me, saying that I was up on camera next!

Soon we were heading out to the base of Sugarloaf hill, which offers great views of the town. As Apu drove us uphill through the eight-kilometer stretch in a battered blue van he had borrowed for us from his grandmother, we noticed a no-smoking sign inside the van, but what was hilarious and equally debate sparking was the presence of a sign, banning ‘ice cream’! I had an urge to have one, and know what it would be like to have it in that cold and wondered if I could get ice cream somewhere but we had a different destination to reach.

We stopped at a couple of places en route and there was a golf course on the way, probably the world’s northernmost. We were shooting around this 18-hole golf course left behind by the US army base currently in a state of abandon and there, Jason asked me to get his ‘Pano’ out of the backpack and showed me how to use a Hasselblad! Getting the Xpan out, I was excited; I had never shoot on one. Focusing on a range finder requires merging a small frame with the actual point of focus and is very different from auto focusing on a digital camera, I discovered. He explained the other components that come into play and the use of a filter that he had on to even out the distribution of light across a frame. While I was dying to experiment with this Hasselblad, today wasn’t the day.

We drove on, and reached the base of Sugarloaf Mountain. Everyone scurried on, Jason and I walked at my pace admiring the surroundings. I tottered on, battling the cold. It is amazing how habitations and nature work in coexistence and in contrast. The walking trail was utterly cold, a strong wind bellowed and the temperature was so low, barely anything grew. A small gap on the left provided comfort in comparison. The leeward side of the mountain providing enough warmth for myriad hues and colour patterns to grow as a deep barren slope rolled on to the other side.

We lay there, perched flat on our stomachs, and I marveled at the lukewarm coziness around while looking for species and plants. Jason told me that the smallest tree in the world grows in the tundra. I am not quite sure if we managed to find the little fella that day. Later I found that the dwarf willow grows to a staggering height of 5 centimeters and tends to spread over the ground.

While everyone else was at the top of the mountain, soaking in the ever-lasting golden hours, we decided to head back after waiting up. The trail back was a never-ending stretch of beautiful landscapes we had passed earlier. Walking back, Jas and I had time to talk and had long conversations on his life as a photographer, his struggles and, passion. He spoke of how the industry was faring and the ills of ‘citizen-correspondence’ and free-imagery eating into the system.

Long walks, insightful talks, depleting sugar levels, and yet there was no sign of our boys coming back. While we contested their fate - falling off a cliff; eaten by some arctic animal; car breaking down - and ours - dying from exhaustion and thirst- we couldn’t stop walking. The cold would have frozen me to death instantaneously while Jason’s sturdier body would have lasted longer. The thing about cold places is that you always need to make a trade-off. If you walk, you stay warm but you feel tired. If you stay put, you might feel a bit more energized but the cold wind will get on you. A moment’s rest meant bringing my body temperature down by a huge notch, so, armed with equipment, I marched on.

While the long walk back was exceedingly taxing, it was one of the most beautiful ones. At times you wish that time would stop, and it almost does in the Arctic. Just the clock ticks on. It was 11pm in the night and with light still lurking around, it felt 5pm back home. After all, we were in the land of the midnight sun.

A part of me wanted to conquer the 8 km trek, and we were only one kilometer short while another was so dazed from exhaustion that when the moon peeped out from over a mountain, I thought it was the headlights of our mini-van.

Day Zero: Through Canals in Copenhagen

divvea — Mon, 21 Oct 2013 16:39:00 GMT

After touch down at Kastrup airport, grey leaden sky and a tickling breeze reached me, welcoming me with the promise of good Nordic weather. I hailed a cab for the airport and the smooth plain roads of Copenhagen on a Sunday afternoon appealed instantly to my inherent wanderlust. Coming from the bustle of Mumbai, a city I had recently shifted to, a city grossly infamous for its traffic jams and a place you drive on only to survive, this lovely Danish town with Nordic weather at its best and level roads, I wanted to speed.

My thoughts shifted to cycles, as Cyclists whizzed past us at every crossing. The city with its flat plains has the highest number of cyclists in the world. And according to one survey I read upon reaching back, the happiest people in the world too.

As I mentally shuttled between different modes of transport, my cab reached the First Hostel on Vesterbro road and I met Simon, the Founder of World Nomads. I dumped my bags and we both sat talking. He wanted to know more about me and my education and our talks shifted to education systems across the world, Japanese system of learning by rote (very similar to education in India) compared to education for passion and interest. I kept thinking of all the students who’d be appreciative of the changes as and when made.

Just as we were on travel and photography, Jason reached and I finally met Him. A giant smile on his face and a warm hug later, it was as if I was meeting some old friend after a very long time. His friendliness and laughter puts you at an instant ease, and you can’t help but start feeling excited about the trip ahead, putting apprehensions on snooze. I was feeling thankful and happy about Jason’s friendliness; I was jolted to Copenhagen reality when he said, ‘ten minutes outside’.

And surely enough, few minutes later, we were out on the Copenhagen streets, strolling around and shooting. I had landed in the city only an hour back, after battling a right to fly and a very long flight! My Jet lagged body was aching for sleep but I also wanted to see the little bit of Denmark I could in the limited time I had.

I met Richard and Daniel from the National Geographic Production team at the gate, and all five of us set out to see this capital city. We headed off to Amagertov Square where people ambled around its numerous fountains. A couple coaxed frolicking children into making giant bubbles with ropes tied to two sticks. Painters sat spraying cans of artistic expression on Canvas. The relaxed and easy pace of a Sunday afternoon serenaded around.

Jason had reached a couple of days ahead of the rest of us and was an expert on the Dos and Must-Dos here. On his advice, I took the Canal Boat Ride through the city. Others had more time in the city after returning from Greenland, and with my recently changed flights, today was the only available ‘light’ that I had. Richard came along.

The Canal boat tour gave us a different perspective of the popular tourist sites and was as much of Copenhagen that could be packed in a few hours, probably why Jas recommended it so much. The city runs on both sides of the Danube and the excellent canal system adds to the navigability and ambience. Bright coloured houses with huge windows housed people in fabulous balconies, sitting, laughing and sipping wine. Heady romance crooned from every corner.

I was standing and shooting; looking at people; at houses with coats of paint that looked as fresh as if done yesterday, with facades done in tan orange, bright yellow, red, and powder blue; roads and lanes connected by bridges. I had to duck each time the boat passed under a bridge. The game of ducking and shooting and capturing was getting interesting. The tour guide pointed out a house on the right as Hans Christen Anderson’s and I started shooting immediately, recollecting all the fairytales of his I had read growing up. Thumbelina, Little Mermaid, Ugly Duckling floated in my head. I was excited at this ‘discovery’ and thoughts of how apt a place to conjure up such amazing tales crossed my mind. In my excitement it turns out, I had shot the wrong house. Red house on the right- there were two, in different shades. Damn! Changing boats, we passed the thinnest house in Copenhagen and the Little Mermaid Statue among other city’s popular landmarks.

The tour boat dropped us back to the same spot, and Rich and I tried to reach the rest of the gang. Shifting through streets full of premium brand outlets next to chic cafes, we were lost trying to find the guys. Few helpful strangers, a call and some wandering later, we found them at Nyhavn, a road lined with open-air restaurants by the canal front. We all sat chuckling and guzzling beer before heading back.

Back at the Hotel, Lykke, our friend from ‘Visit Greenland and Destination Arctic Circle’ had dropped off a backpack and a fleece for me. Between, unpacking and repacking, charging my equipment and journal entries, I was already dozing off. Five hours, and I’d be back at the airport.

Day Minus One: Aloha Doha!

divvea — Sun, 20 Oct 2013 08:07:00 GMT

Each time a flight lands, my mind wanders off to a Lego Set, as I peep out of the window like an excited child; It wanders off to tilt shift photography too, and the semblance of their make believe beautiful creations and romance with colour. The view from this flight was however a hue of beige and white, of carefully placed drab pieces on a chalky white board. On nearing landing, wide expanses of dry arid earth harshly devoid of vegetation contrasted with properly juxtaposed buildings. The contrast of life - people, vehicles, and construction - against this infertile land and lack of colour put me at a slight unease. The discomfort slowly disappeared as we were ushered in and I marveled at human skills that could make recalcitrant nature comply, make inhospitable conditions hospitable. Later I learnt that despite such aridity, they also managed to have one of the highest per capita GDP in the world.

While my boarding pass was being checked, Arabian Oryx peeped at me in its maroon-on-white logo form and I felt grateful to this airline and this country, both by the name, Qatar. This sovereign Arab state in Western Asia was my savior!

The previous night, when I had left for the airport, I was excited, I was to, as they truly say, embark on an adventure of a lifetime. A short airline attendant halted my tall speeding dreams to a screeching halt when he told a bubbling me that I couldn’t board my flight. The snobbish town of my transit needed that I have a transit visa for disembarking at its airport and changing flights. Unaware that my ethnicity had been overlooked when booking tickets, I had showed up innocently without a landing right to passage.

Despite pleading, showing proof of the entire arranged itinerary and minor theatrics at trying to convince my ticket-checking friend that this glitch was impossible and to maybe accommodate me on this flight or another one, he remained smilingly unnerved. Without any moolah to buy a last minute new ticket like they do in movies, I felt utterly helpless. Feeling as if I would wake up from some bad dream soon, I wasn’t sure if I was to pick my bags and go back home, or push harder and just reach. The trip was already planned, onward tickets booked and taking a flight the next day on different route was just not an option.

Four hours of harrowed excitement where my phone kept ringing like a stockbroker’s when Sensex is crashing, Alicia from World Nomads managed to secure me another flight via this more welcoming Arab country with its symbiotic cashing-in on its location advantage.

No traveler leaves home with the roads perfectly planned. And just when I was really close to waking up thinking it was all a dream, the great adventure began with its ready curve of turns and a detour through Doha.

Photos: Russell Glacier

divvea — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 19:14:00 GMT

Photos: Kangerlussuaq, Greenland

divvea — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 05:05:00 GMT

Photos: Copenhagen

divvea — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 02:58:00 GMT

Photos: Dotma: In a house I can live

divvea — Fri, 5 Jul 2013 01:02:00 GMT

To photograph for me is to connect. To get a glimpse into another’s life, a moment, a feeling- in the time space continuum- and a means to share that bond. Bred on episodes of Globe Trekker, a travel show from 90s, I have always longed to reach out to discover, share narratives. Born into a traditional Hindu family with emphasis on a conventional career, following this has never been easy. Originally trained as an Engineer, I quit my job two years back and joined a course in Communication to understand language, imagery and culture. Learning from the course supplemented my photography and powered my desire to pursue a dream of being a visual storyteller. Banking on the kindness of strangers, some conversations and chai later, the dream travels. I got involved in photography toying with my Father’s Yashica. Diligent savings later I bought a camera, my most cherished material possession. Without any formal training so far, I have learnt the little I know through reading and from friends made en route. This great learning opportunity with Jason will act a rudder for this directionless dinghy, floating currently only on currents of love and passion for the art. Fingers crossed.

Photos: Cover Photos

divvea — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 17:54:00 GMT

Photos: My Scholarship entry - A 'place' I have visited

divvea — Sat, 5 Jan 2013 11:35:00 GMT

Discovering a camera in the year 2000 as a millennium gift was a milestone I could have never realized then. Experimenting, roaming with curiosity and consuming quite a few film rolls, the twelve year old me was mesmerized by the fascinations and wonders of capturing. Bred on episodes around travel, my love for visual imagery evoked dreams to reach out and discover. Borrowing equipment, I clicked. Savings over a patient period of time later, I bought a SLR. My urge to photograph manifested in the form of small assignments, experiments and exploring frames. During travels, indulging in the kindness of strangers, banking on luck, the joy of discovery and some new friends later, life seemed more meaningful and satisfying. Quitting my job two years back, I joined a course in communications to understand language, imagery and culture. My learning from the course supplemented my photography skills and fuelled my desire to pursue my dream in photography. I want to narrate stories, learn along that journey, share experiences about cultures, people and places different from another, yet beautifully diverse and create a desire to discover in others, as some other photographs did in me.