Hotel cool

Flip Byrnes sleeps in an igloo and eats whale blubber for dinner in the Arctic.

I can hear her. Bjork. In this luxury igloo perched on the iceberg-strewn Disko Bay in Greenland where the Icelandic singer also once stayed, there is a sound like a siren song. Faint, vibrating, subtle and mesmerising. I check my iPod. Nothing there.

Midnight sun illuminates a vodka on ice, shards scooped from a harbourside iceberg that afternoon. It’s the ice, the singing ice. I’d been told that the ozone from the glacier ice, thousands of years old, sings when released by warmer liquid. I’m being serenaded by a drink.