By Kari Herbert, Sep 15 2016 12:32PM
The icy breeze burnt our faces and froze our breath, weighing down the delicate strands of our wolf-fur hoods with frosted beads and turning our nostril hairs into icy needles. I cried out with excitement as we shot over the ice and immediately felt the lining of my lungs freeze; I almost saw the sound of our laughter shattering into splinters in this frozen world.
My Inuit childhood friends and I clutched on to one another as we careered over the sea-ice. Beneath the hard cobalt-blue sky, my friend's team of 12 huskies fanned out on their 20ft-long traces, tails held proud and purple-pink tongues lolling to one side. It had taken me nearly 30 years to return to this tiny, isolated outpost of civilisation, but finally I was home.
My first memories are of Greenland and its people. I spent the first few years of my life living with the most northerly tribe of hunters in the world; my first words were in their language, and my first steps were taken on their frozen shores. Now I had returned to my childhood home, to discover how life had changed for my friends and "family", and to rediscover my connection with this raw and hostile place.