At the 77th parallel north, the map almost ends. Qaanaaq, set on a gentle slope between the sea and the ice sheet, is among the northernmost communities on the planet: about 600 people live here, more than 1,000 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle. The expedition ships that venture this far navigate between icebergs broken off the nearby glaciers, in a light that, in summer, never quite fades.

Landing at the end of the inhabited world

There's no pier or terminal here: Zodiacs drop passengers on the dark-sand beach, at the foot of the first houses. The village spreads over just a few streets, facing an arm of the sea where blocks of ice drift even in the middle of August. Everything can be explored on foot, slowly, giving the right of way to the sled dogs dozing between the houses.

A displaced community, an intact culture

By the standards of the Far North, Qaanaaq is a young village: it was established in 1953, when the residents of the Thule district had to leave their lands during the expansion of the American air base located farther south. The Inughuit, who speak their own dialect, carry on one of the last hunting cultures of the Arctic: depending on the season, narwhal, seal and walrus are still hunted by kayak or dogsled, according to rules handed down from generation to generation. This continuity is no stage set: it provides for families, and visitors are welcomed with the dignified reserve of a community that lives first and foremost for itself.

The Knud Rasmussen House museum

The small local museum occupies a wooden house built in 1910 for the Thule trading post, then dismantled and rebuilt in Qaanaaq. It belonged to Knud Rasmussen, the Greenlandic-Danish explorer who launched his seven Thule expeditions from here, including the legendary journey that took him all the way to Alaska. Ancient arrowheads, hunting tools, fur clothing and expedition memorabilia tell the story of ten centuries of human presence in the coldest district in the country.

Walking in the Arctic light

Beyond the last houses, the tundra opens onto stony slopes where, for a few weeks each year, saxifrages and Arctic poppies bloom. Climbing a little higher, the view takes in Inglefield Fjord, its tabular icebergs and, on clear days, the dark cliffs of the neighbouring islands. The sense of immensity is total: no trees, no roads, only the wind and the distant cracking of ice. From late April to late August, the sun never sets below the horizon; the hours lose their importance, and the streets sometimes come alive in the middle of the "night," when the low light gilds the façades and the hunters prepare their boats.

Practical pointers

• Zodiac landing on the beach: waterproof boots recommended.
• A compact settlement, but steep slopes in places.
• Well-stocked grocery store, post office and craft workshop, depending on opening hours.
• Respect the sled dogs: they are working animals, so don't approach them.
• Danish currency useful for crafts; no conventional tourist infrastructure.

What stays with you after the port call

Few travellers can say they have walked through a village where sea ice is part of daily life ten months of the year. Back on board, you take with you vivid images: a sled leaning against a turquoise house, skins hung out to dry, a child waving from the beach. Qaanaaq isn't a place you visit; it's a place you encounter. And that encounter, made of exchanged glances and simple gestures, stays with those lucky enough to experience it for a long time.