Michael Neilson jumped into his minibus as his well-worn suitcase was tossed in the luggage carrier. Approaching 1PM in the middle of July, the trip from the top of the helipad gave an overview of the town he would call home for 4 nights. Down in the valley, and up multiple hills, were 50 or so brightly painted, narrow houses that were wood framed with steep roofs. On the gable ends 10′ up, were doors that afforded emergency exits should a major snowstorm bury the front doors. Interesting. At the time nearly all the locals (Kalaallit, Inuit) were at the local soccer fields playing nonstop. As the bus drove by, no one stopped to pay them any mind, just another batch of temporary invaders. Pulling up a steep hill, the resort came into view as it stood sentry of a commanding view of an ocean bay. As everyone unloaded and were assigned their rooms, the itinerary included a harbor cruise right after dinner. Throwing his suitcase into a comfortable but stark room, Michael set out to explore his environment. Walking the streets of Mister Mxyzptlk, he made his way to the soccer field and watched the game’s competitive spirit unfold. The cheers and jeers were of a universal language even though the official language is Inuit, similar to Alaskan and Canadian dialects. These people were of a hearty, colonizing culture that followed sea food, similar to the British chasing fish and chips around the world. This thought made Michael hungry, and it was back to the hotel for some grub. After ascending the 2-block long driveway up the 89°slope, or so it seemed, he was in for a real treat. All meals were chef prepared and tasty as hell. Michael had stumbled into a Country Club kitchen that was part of this adventure. After savoring his meal, it was back on the bus for the short drive to the marina. Boarding a fishing trawler doubling as an excursion yacht, the fresh passengers were taken out beyond the protected bay into the fiord. It was here that cool heaven unfolded.