There’s no ‘easy button’ to visiting Greenland. And that might make it one of the most desirable destinations on the planet

Editors’ note: This trip was operated by Intrepid Travel, parent company of Adventure.com. This story is an editorial feature commission, and not reviewed externally.

I arrive in Greenland with a vague sense of unease. I’d flown on United Airline’s new direct flight, which departed New York’s Newark Liberty International Airport for Greenland’s new Nuuk International Airport. The flight lasted precisely three hours and 55 minutes.

In less time than it takes to drive from New York City to D.C., I’d been transported to what is—or was—arguably one of the most remote capitals in the world. This part had felt easy and fast—almost, too fast.

Is travel moving too quickly? I wondered. How very wrong I was.

Thanks to omnipotent weather and modest infrastructure, I’d soon realize that traveling in Greenland is far from fast or easy–and there’s huge value in that, for locals and visitors. In July, I joined 10 travelers on one of the first Greenland Expeditions by Intrepid, a certified B Corp company that prioritizes small groups and partners with locally owned and operated businesses.

My base is the contemporary Hotel Søma, in the capital of Nuuk, where ringed seal fur skins hang in the dining room and bibles are tucked in the wardrobe of every room, a remnant from the property’s past as a seafarer’s lodge, and the country’s Danish colonization.

Tour leader Niels Arkaluk Heilmann introduces us around the city. The center and historic Colonial Harbor are largely walkable, rolling hills topped with brightly painted buildings and occasional art installations, like ‘Kayak Family’, a trio of iron-made, copper-colored kayaks, and ‘Amisut’, a larger-than-life sculpture of four seals, frozen mid-swim.

The buildings, so iconic of Nuuk, are a colonial holdover from when the Danish government color-coded operations to quickly find and identify them: Yellow buildings housed healthcare facilities, red signaled education and churches (the two were long intertwined), and blue typically indicated fishing operations. Today, while color mandates are no more, Greenlanders have largely accepted the bright hues, and enhancements are for aesthetic rather than bureaucratic purposes. At one point, I walk past a woman painting a wall of her house from deep blue to a bright, cheery green.

“It’s not that we’re rediscovering our roots; we’re seeing where our roots were pulled up.”

- Maria B. Kreutzmann, writer and illustrator

Greenland’s historical backdrop is complex. For some 4,500 years, it’s been the home of multiple ancient peoples, but its latest chapter, of the Inuit Thule people who came to the island in 1200 AD, and whose descendants still live here, is deeply tied to its Western European oversight. From the 18th to 20th centuries, Danish and Norwegian colonizers came to the island, spreading Christianity and exploiting valuable commodities like whale blubber and cryolite, used in everything from lamp oil to the aluminum in World War II airplanes.

Throughout that time, Greenland’s political status changed from colony, to county, to autonomous district of Denmark—and the country has remained under the radar from a global perspective. The country’s first national radio broadcast wasn’t established until 1942, and tourists weren’t allowed to enter the country until 1953. In the 1960s and 70s, the Danish government carried out an undisclosed birth prevention campaign by inserting contraceptive devices into thousands of young Greenlandic women without consent. It was 1979 before the Greenlandic flag officially debuted and was hoisted for the first time.

Today, Greenland remains an autonomous district of Denmark—and like any colonial history, the relationship between the two is complicated. Greenlanders often move to Denmark to pursue work, education, or a family member who’s doing the same—during my two weeks, traveling to urban hubs and smaller inland towns, I didn’t meet anyone without some Danish heritage, including Niels who has mixed Danish-Greenlandic roots. According to an academic paper published in 2015 in The American Journal of Human Genetics, around 80 percent of Greenlandic people have some European ancestry.

Many locals refused to speak negatively (at least on the record) about Greenland’s relationship with Denmark, instead pointing out the positive and negative elements of both cultures. Heightened tensions due to the US president’s inflammatory remarks about ‘buying’ Greenland added pressure to this, and while many Greenlanders declined to ‘talk politics’, others say the lack of international visitors for so many years might have positively impacted Greenlandic culture.

Kristine Spore Kreutzmann, a Nuuk-based ceramicist who recently created a stirring art installation about the Danish government’s contraceptive campaign, shared her perspective. “Yes, I think it’s fair to say that Greenlandic culture has been largely overshadowed by years of rule under Denmark.” Then she pauses. “But if we were under the US, I think Inuits’ situation would be worse.”

It’s amid this complex cultural landscape that I arrive in Greenland as a traveler with Intrepid—and the timing couldn’t have been more poignant. For the past decade, international travel to Greenland has been growing exponentially. Since 2000, the number of overnight foreign visitors has increased by more than 50 percent, and in that same time, cruise passenger arrivals has increased by 150 percent. Last year, some 149,000 tourists visited Greenland, the highest number in the country’s history—mostly via cruise ship.

But this Intrepid expedition, which launched in July 2025 and will run four times per year, offers an alternative to the quick-stop, coast-bound model. It’s limited to 12 travelers, and the itinerary is land-based, prioritizing less-visited destinations further inland that larger cruise ships can’t reach.

At the same time, some of Greenland’s key figures are looking to build a tourism model that prizes sustainability. As travel to Greenland increases, so too does the need to install a framework for thoughtful tourism practices.

In late 2023, the country’s tourism board, Visit Greenland, signed and circulated a pledge to sustainable tourism, emphasizing support for small, locally owned businesses, and respect and preservation of Greenlandic culture and nature. When the new Nuuk airport opened in November 2024, Air Greenland replaced the majority of its diesel-fueled ground support vehicles with electric ones, charged with hydroelectricity from the nearby Buske Fjord.

“We’ve seen a big increase in large-ship tourism in the past 10 years. Nuuk has 20,000 inhabitants, and some of the cruise ships coming here easily carry 5,000 passengers. Think about that ratio.”

- Niels Arkaluk Heilmann, Intrepid tour leader

Back on the ground, as we make our way with Niels to the Colonial Harbor, where houses from the early 1700s still stand, we walk past shops like Bolt Lamar, a hip streetwear brand, and Qiviut, where a mother-daughter team sell muskox-wool sweaters and seal-fur slippers (responsible hunting remains an integral part of Greenlandic culture). I wander into Atlantic Music Aps, a nondescript building that turns out to be the country’s only music store. Inside, the guy behind the counter is none other than guitarist Christian K. Elsner of local indie-rock band, Nanook—and he graciously strums out a few chords.

In the Nuuk Lokalmuseum, writer and illustrator Maria B. Kreutzmann gives us a private talk on ‘monster hunting’ and her search to archive the beasts and spirits of traditional Greenlandic stories—like the Amarok, a giant magical wolf, and Qivittoq, the mysterious, supernatural mountain-walker who may just as soon help lost hikers as kill them. These tales vary, depending on where you are on the island, but they also adapt with the times—increasingly important, Maria says, in ensuring Greenlandic culture grows stronger as locals embrace decolonization in the receding wake of colonial history.

“It’s not that we’re rediscovering our roots; we’re seeing where our roots were pulled up,” Maria tells us. When she thinks about the future, she says, “Sassumaa Arnaa is our mother of the sea. Today, we can talk about her in relation to pollution and climate change. We can tell kids, ‘Don’t put trash in the sea, it will dirty Sassumaa’s hair’. I love that, because it modernizes her.”

In Nuuk, these signs of modernization are everywhere; for one thing, the ever-present construction. As the city grows, fueled by investment in mining and tourism, there are plans to develop a new subdivision consisting of more than 1,000 apartments, build a new national gallery, and expand the University of Greenland campus. At the same time, apartment prices are rising; the average monthly rent hovers around 16,000 kroner, close to USD$3,500.

In the city’s commercial harbor, Niels Arkaluk describes the growing pains of fast-growing tourism. “We’ve seen a big increase in large-ship tourism in the past 10 years,” he says. “Nuuk has 20,000 inhabitants, and some of the cruise ships coming here easily carry 5,000 passengers. Think about that ratio.”

I’m pleased to be heading to less-visited places. After a delayed flight (due to the weather, perhaps the country’s most powerful agent of change), we reach the coastal city of Ilulissat, some 350 miles (563 kilometers) north. Our new home is the Scandi-chic Hotel Arctic, where rooms are stocked with hot cocoa sundries and thick blankets. In the open-air deck of the hotel’s Brasserie Ulo, I gape at icebergs the size of skyscrapers in the bay beyond, before enjoying a delicious lunch of succulent snow crab.

One thing Greenlanders like to do is go to a kaffemik, a traditional Greenlandic social gathering centered around coffee, cakes, and conversation. That afternoon, we visit 72-year-old Pauline Jensen, for a kaffemik at her home. We chat as Niels translates, passing around hot tea and raisin buns. A hollowed-out crab shell doubles as a serving bowl, filled with chocolate balls stuffed with salty licorice, a very Danish influence.

Jensen is an advocate of small-group tourism, and has been welcoming travelers for kaffemiks for over 30 years, but these days, no more than 12 at a time. “I’ve seen more and more tourists coming,” she tells us, as we indulge in tea and buns. “It’s too overwhelming to have more than 12 people coming into your home. I like to remember their faces later, instead of having strangers come and go.”

She’s not alone. Earlier this year, Ilulissat mayor Lars Erik Gabrielsen publicly encouraged residents to protest against cruise ship arrivals to the port city with demonstrations and signs.

The following day, I wander into Ilulissat Coffee Shop, with its rows of handmade, saran-wrapped cakes and sweets, and meet owner Rose Andersen, who also operates two other shops in town.

She’s glad to hear I’m visiting with just a handful of people. “Most little restaurants like this one are run by small business owners like me, and we don’t benefit from the large-scale cruises that come in,” Rose says. “Typically cruises start in southern Greenland, near Nuuk. By the time they reach Ilulissat, they’ve already bought all their souvenirs, and they’ve eaten on the ship. So they come here in big groups, they take pictures, they don’t buy anything, and they leave.”

Our trip continues in this spirit; visiting new places, meeting local entrepreneurs, and takin on adventures in our increasingly bonded group. In almost every setting, we are the only tourists in sight—and often, the only humans.

I could spend weeks learning about Greenlandic life, but the other big draw is the country’s dramatic landscapes. At the Ilulissat Icefjord Center, a design-forward learning center with audio anecdotes of everyday life and culture, we take in richly researched displays and books about the ecological patterns of whales, krill, and seals, and a moving video presentation called ‘Sermeq pillugu Oqaluttuaq—The Story of the Ice.’

Just outside, our group sets off on a gentle boardwalk hike to Ilulissat Icefjord, an epic collection of icebergs that form a UNESCO World Heritage Site. They stretch out before us, a crinkled vista of jagged blues and whites. Some of us continue on the four-and-a-half mile (seven kilometer) Blue trail, which runs along the shoreline before curving back toward the town of Ilulissat. We make good time, scrambling over rocks where sun-warmed lichens grow, thick as moss, and the ice on our right glows in the sun.

I’m itching to get deeper into that floating ice. The following day, a two-hour ride on a small chartered powerboat takes us to Qeqertarsuaq, also known as Disko Island, for a spot of sea kayaking. First, 25-year-old Danny Muølgaard of Disko Adventures shows us around town, home to just over 800 residents, to get a snapshot of life.

On the community noticeboard, a couple of kids are selling tickets to a weekend concert; at the local police station, two snowmobiles are parked outside, one for each officer; and Danny shows us the shop ‘Rosa’s Butik’ where his grandmother once sold groceries and sundries, as he recalls the thrill of free candy.

Walking through Danny’s hometown and listening to off-the-cuff stories of his childhood is both touching, and insightful. Danny explains how Greenlandic culture can be—at least, initially—more reserved and quiet in social settings. “In our culture, we don’t talk a lot,” he says. “I can be out fishing with my father for 12 hours, and we’ll maybe say 35 words.”

Danny is a fantastic, funny guide, effortlessly fielding our group’s questions. And as we explore, I appreciate how it might feel when when hundreds, if not thousands, of cruise tourists flood a small coastal town at the same time. In contrast, it feels we have the entire town to ourselves.

We soon walk down to the empty black-sand Siorarsuit Beach, where ice chunks the size of sofas lay beached in the breakers. After suiting up in cold-weather gear, we glide off into Disko Bay in cherry red, two-person kayaks.

As we paddle through the crust of icy shards, our group delights in the crackling of crunching ice and the pops of air bubbles. Occasionally, a dull cannon sound announces that one of the larger glaciers has calved, and we whip our heads around to see one rocking and bucking in the aftermath. Later, there’s a flurry of giggly Superman-pose photos in our neoprene suits before we walk back to Hotel Disko Island, ready for hot showers and rounds of locally made Qajaq beer.

Everywhere we’ve been, I’ve been struck by the weight of each human interaction, whether Niels or Pauline, Danny or Rose.

Our trip continues in this spirit; visiting new places, meeting local entrepreneurs, and takin on adventures in our increasingly bonded group. In almost every setting, we are the only tourists in sight—and often, the only humans.

We visit the town of Qasigiannguit, where Niels grew up. As we walk past brightly painted buildings, he shows us the northernmost boarding school on the planet, Eftetskole, shares stories of long-ago antics on old playground, and stops at his grandfather’s house to say hello. It’s in Qasigiannguit where we eat the best meal of the trip, at the Greenlandic-owned Hotel Diskobay; halibut filet in a buttery cream sauce with delicately charred cabbage and crispy slices of potatoes.

Another day, we take a tiny charter boat to Illuminaq Island, where a resident population of just 50 people live year-round. We hear tales of thousands of cruise travelers arriving here and crowding the town, and stories of tourists stealing caribou antler decorations off the front of houses. Today, the island is quiet and peaceful; the only visitors I encounter are a young couple off to hike.

We’re in good spirits as we return to Ilulissat to begin our journeys home. But a dense fog has rolled in. Amid the engrossing adventures and gorgeous weather, we’ve become complacent, unrealistically expectant of Greenland’s wild elements. Something Erica said on our first day in Greenland rings in my ears: “Intrepid’s expeditions are our most adventurous, unpredictable trips,” she’d cautioned. “This is truly an expedition, because the elements here are very real.”

Changes ensue as Niels and his team set about managing our return flights. With no set itinerary to follow, it seems our group grows stronger. We go to Ilulissat Coffee Shop for lunch, where we play cards and say hello to Rose. We listen to live Greenlandic music at a late-night bar, host a surprise 40th birthday party for one of our group, and rent an apartment to cook a family-style meal.

Everywhere we’ve been, I’ve been struck by the weight of each human interaction, whether Niels or Pauline, Danny or Rose. “It’s important to me that Greenland’s story is told by Greenlandic people,“ Niels had told me me during the trip. “I’m proud of my heritage, and working in tourism allows me to share that.” It’s local leaders like these who are ushering travelers into their homes, creating thoughtful, respectful exchanges of learning. And if it’s working here, it’s surely a model that can be followed.

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The writer traveled to Greenland as a guest of Intrepid Travel on their new 10-day Greenland Expedition which starts in Nuuk and ends in Ilulissat.

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