Lessons from One of the World’s Most Remote Places
September, 2024.
We were in one of the most magical places we’ve ever been. Christof and I joined as crew aboard Tilvera again, alongside our beloved sailors Heimir and Belén. For 45 days, we sailed through Scoresby Sund—the largest fjord system in the world, nestled in East Greenland—welcoming weekly groups of adventurers, photographers, and wildlife enthusiasts. The journey was magnificent and intense (can't find a better word to describe). Processing it all took time, but now, with my feet firmly back on the ground, I can finally share a few reflections from this wild adventure.
I hope you enjoy this mix of poetry, stunning photos, and heartfelt stories.
I’ve been a devoted follower and passionate student of Mother Nature for many years. Yet Greenland revealed to me a whole new level of Nature’s raw power and wonder.
Greenland, oh, sacred Greenland. The land of white and blue.
A sprawling open-air museum, a sanctuary of stone, ice, and untamed life.
I could feel an ancient vibration—pureness, majesty, roughness.
Among nature’s extremities, I found a tender grace in Her art.
Ice-temples
Sculptures called icebergs.
Icebergs that look like temples.
Light shows called Northern Lights.
Giant elders called mountains, the masters of time.
Museums called glaciers.
The past frozen into the present. The future melting before our eyes.
I felt so small. I bowed in reverence before the cliffs.
I wept at the live orchestra of the Arctic.
The ice cracking raised goosebumps.
Glacier calving made me shiver.
Chunks of ice breaking off from the edge of the glacier sound like giant drums, making my heart pound in the same rhythm.
The soft release of oxygen bubbles from ice felt like pure medicine.
We foraged wild berries, drank glacier water, embraced fluffy moss, and smelled delicate Arctic flowers. We walked untouched land and touched billion years stones.
I felt alive—an intense, deep, unyielding aliveness that filled me no matter how exhausted I felt.
It might sound contradictory:
How can one feel so alive and so tired all at once?
The answer is service.
Yes, we witnessed beauty beyond measure, but we were also working hard. When we weren’t sleeping—though sleep was rare—we were working. Steering, raising sails, cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner; scrubbing toilets, pumping wastewater, cleaning the bilge, filling water tanks by the river, tying ropes between the boat and rocks, anchoring, maneuvering through ice, and trying to keep our precious fruits and veggies fresh. We led hikes, took guests on zodiac rides, baked bread, broke things, fixed things, crawled into the engine room hundreds of times, and flaked the anchor chain dozens of times. Not to mention the middle-of-the-night wake-ups to solve problems, fix more broken stuff, or protect the boat from 'iceberg attacks.'
A versatile job, to say the least.
Every Wednesday, one group would leave at 11 a.m., and by 3 p.m., a new group arrived. That four-hour “break” was anything but a break.
It was pure madness and so much fun.
We cranked up loud punk rock music to clean the entire boat, prepare the cabins with fresh linens, scrub toilets, and cook lunch for the incoming guests. Adrenaline, sweat, and hard work defined those hours.
Service became a teacher in humility and kindness. Even when exhausted, I learned to keep a smile, to focus on others' needs and experiences over my own. I discovered the value of loving presence in every task—from cleaning to steering the boat, from giving a safety briefing to helping someone who is seasick. I learned the art of a well-timed power nap to recharge, and I saw how people truly feel the dedication behind each gesture. Sometimes, the warmth in our actions can touch them even more than the spectacular nature around us. It’s this genuine care that makes experiences memorable and stirs transformation in the soul.
So, we infused love into everything we did. We created a weekly “gratitude carrot cake” tradition to celebrate each polar bear sighting, followed by a gratitude-sharing circle. We guided meditations while listening to the "icebergs symphony" in “Iceberg City”—a surreal place near Red Island where dozens of icebergs lay stranded. We made space for sharing emotions, improvising songs, and gazing into each other’s eyes. We cooked with music playing and danced even while scrubbing. Steering the boat became a time to share meaningful conversations with guests.
Connection, with each other and with nature, was our mission.
Humans crave connection.
So, no matter how tired we were, love in small acts of service kept us going. When tears came, we’d hold a crew meeting, talk things through with hugs and humor. Our friendship, our teamwork, and our ability to laugh together amidst stress and exhaustion held us up.
And, of course, nature held us up, too. We felt blessed to be immersed in such a place and call it work. When our bodies were on the verge of collapse, I’d step outside, gaze at the world around us, and take a deep breath—inhaling the energy of these natural temples, exhaling pure awe.
We became better sailors, better cooks, better at serving others.
And, undoubtedly, better lovers of nature.
I even learned how to shoot for the first time in my life, since we had to carry a gun and flares for polar bear safety on hikes.
What a majestic creature, by the way! Each week, we’d find at least one bear, thanks to Heimir’s determination and skills.
Looking into a polar bear’s eyes is indescribable. To me, they embody resilience and power. They’re the kings and queens of the snow kingdom, masters of solitude, wanderers of the wild, and guardians of the ice temples.
We saw more than bears: birds, arctic hares (polar rabbits), seals, and of course, musk oxen. Once, we hiked up a mountain to sit silently just meters away from six musk oxen—these enormous, ancient-looking animals that almost seem like dinosaurs.
Being near wild, free animals brings out a primal part of ourselves, a mix of respect, fear, humility, and presence — a perfect antidote to the domestication of modern life.
Our final adventure, the season's extended 10-day expedition, was a blessing. With fall closing in, the waters started freezing sooner than expected, making it impossible to navigate Milne Land, the largest island in Scoresby Sund. This meant we had more time to explore new waters and territories, and fully embrace the treasures of nature with a lot more presence.
We spent hours watching a polar bear feast on a seal, then swim along the coast. We ate dinner while observing a bear snooze on a mountain, waiting until he finally woke and made his way down. We soaked in natural hot springs, gathered around a bonfire, and watched the sky come alive with Northern Lights.
The Northern Lights are pure bliss. Neon colors dancing above. A cosmic wonder. A divine art.
Thank you, Greenland, for showing me the extreme beauty of the remote, the purity of the untouched, and the awe of the rugged.
Thank you for opening the doors of your majestic stone-and-ice temples and for the healing power of these frozen sanctuaries.
Thank you, Greenland, for teaching me the bliss of exhaustion and the medicine of service.
The Arctic has carved a temple in my heart.
My deepest gratitude to my ocean family, Heimir and Belén, and their home, which is also mine—Tilvera. I have profound respect for your work, my friends, for your commitment to the oceans and wildlife, for inspiring others to protect and live in better harmony with Mother Earth.
One of the many reasons I sail is to bring myself and others into the heart of nature — to share in its untamed beauty and awaken the quiet places within us all.
With love and a polar bear hug,
Raíssa
Team.
Photo credits: Andrew Munford, Ludovico Guarni, Marcus Arnold, Phillip Sean Marcus, Carl Murray, Reggie Crichton, Christopher McCabe, Cindy Rún Li
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