Cruisin'

"A cruise?" many people remarked quizzically when I told them about my vacation plans. "That doesn't seem like you." I often nodded in agreement as they usually continued, "But Alaska? I'm sure that's different."

Is it? I wouldn't know, but I will say this about cruising so far. I have never been around another group of people so dedicated to me having a good time as the crew of this ship. This afternoon when we made our stop near Hubbard Glacier in a steady drizzle, we pulled on foul weather gear and headed to the upper decks for a panoramic view of the 350 foot blue ice cliffs. When we were cold and wet enough, we decided to go a few decks lower where it was covered to continue watching the massive ice chunks calving from the glacier iand thundering into Disenchantment Bay. The shortest route took us through one of the fine dining restaurants. In we banged with the icy wind and dripped our way across the bar to the exit where a waiter met us. "I hope it wasn't too cold out there," he said as he held the door for us.

This

So I'm relaxing with my feet up on the private deck off our aft cabin surrounded by mountains and setting sail for the Hubbard Glacier. Our day started 450 miles north of here in Denali. It was pouring rain when we got up at 5:30 this morning to finish packing and get on our bus by 7. "It's snowing in the park," the guy at the general store told us as we paid for our coffee. His words reminded me that the day before on our tour of the park our naturalist guide had told us that fall begins next week in this part of Alaska. We had laughed, but he wasn't joking. In two weeks, all the leaves in the area will have changed. I looked out the bus window as we rolled south through the rain. Sure enough, the tops of the mountains were dusted with new snow and there was a little more gold in the green on the side of the road. Fortunately the weather cleared as we neared Anchorage and it stayed fair on our trip down the Seward Highway so that our view of green velvet mountains studded with hanging glaciers, icy blueTurnagain Arm, and the boreal rainforest of the Kenai peninsula was unobstructed.

And now this.

Wow.

Alaskana

1. It's a fun state because it seems to be run entirely by people 18-27. They lend a laid back, anything goes, anything is possible vibe to everything.

2. There are a few older folks, but they are mostly docents and bus drivers. I think the young people encourage them to take those jobs because then those older people get most of their talking out on tourists. Don't get me wrong-- the guides I've met really know their material; it's just that they have a lot to say and they also do quite a bit of editorializing. I guess Alaska is such a big state that it just fosters expansiveness.

3. They run the tourist season here like a bit of a libertarian nanny state. We've been constantly reminded of our personal accountability where ever we go, but it's pretty clear they don't trust us. For example, our bus driver on the park tour today threatened to leave us at every rest stop if we were late getting back, but he stopped the bus in the wilderness to explain in great detail how we had to dispose of our trash and recycling. I suppose a guided tour is antithesis to a culture so ingrained with self-sufficiency.

4. The people who live here will tell you their Alaska origin story without being asked. Basically, they came and they knew they had to stay. They are also pretty proud of their pioneering spirit, and why not? It really does get down to 40 below, and there are a lot of long, dark days in the winter. I hear the Northern Lights make up for it, though, as does the cleanest air on the planet and the last of the true American wilderness.

Fearless Leader

Our tour guide for the ground portion of this trip is Erin, and she is young, energetic, and very ernest. "I have never loved anything so passionately as I love Alaska," she told us this morning as our motor coach rolled north from Anchorage, and it was clear she meant it. She reminds me of former students, all grown up and going for it, and I like her for that.

In fact, being around Erin makes me see the sixth grader in many of my fellow passengers. Here we are, on a big field trip riding our bus to an exciting place. Some people want to be first; others want most of Erin's attention, still others call out funny comments when she speaks to us on the microphone. "Did anyone call seatsies?" someone actually said as we waited in line to reboard after a stop. 

Erin mentioned she's an introvert, and I believe it. Her interactions with us are friendly, but there is just a faint awkwardness underneath that I recognize all too well. She wouldn't be making conversation if it wasn't her job. She's pretty good at it, though. She listens, makes connections, and shares personal information. 

On the train to Denali, she was talking to a couple behind us, answering their question as to how she came to be an Alaskan tour guide. It was a round-about route, starting in college in North Carolina, featuring a couple of summers as a deck hand on a halibut fishing boat, and then on to six months of solo backpacking through south Asia, including Indonesia and Vietnam.

"I spent a year backpacking through Vietnam," the guy laughed. He was a big guy with white hair, probably in his early 60s.

"Really?" Erin seemed impressed.

"Yeah, but he didn't do it voluntarily," his wife added.

"Ooooooh," Erin nodded. "Well, I did like South Vietnam a lot better."

Anchored Down in Anchorage

Of course I have discovered in the last two days that Alaska is nothing like an elevator. After a few hours of sleep, we headed out into the bright Anchorage sunshine. At 9 AM it was a breezy 67 degrees that knocked the drowsy right out of us.

100 years ago the Corps of Engineers laid this city out in a perfect grid that remains unchanged today, so navigating downtown is as easy as A B C, 1 2 3. This particular grid is bounded by Cook Inlet to the west, Ship Creek to the north, and Delaney Park to the south.

The park is a lovely green space 4 blocks long and 1 block wide. It was originally left undeveloped as a fire break, but it also served as the first landing strip in town once airplanes were introduced in the 1920s.

On the far side of the park we found a well-fortified chain-link paddock and were amazed to discover a reindeer named Star within it. A little research uncovered the tale of a typically eccentric pioneer couple who, after helping to settle Anchorage, decided in 1962 that they wanted a wild animal for a pet.

The little reindeer we saw is actually Star the VI, and while number one lived a long life, II through V were not so lucky, but that's a story for another day.

Down toward Cook Inlet we visited the Oscar Anderson home. Built in 1915, the little six room wood frame building was one of the very first houses constructed in Anchorage, and is pretty much in its original condition with many of the family's furnishings. In many ways, the story of the house tells the story of the town, and we learned a lot about both in our 45 minute tour.

Everywhere we went people told us how extraordinary the weather was. "I've lived here all my life and I love it," one young woman who chatted us up on a corner while waiting for the light to change said. She swept her arm from the park across the way, its beds brimming with amazing begonias, dahlias, snapdragons, and hollyhocks to the jagged peaks of the Chugach Mountains behind us. "It's beautiful here and with days like this, why would I ever leave?"

Going Up

It's a long way from Virginia to Alaska, and a plane-change in Portland only lengthens the trip. It was pitch dark when we landed in Anchorage last night and although my weary nose was pressed to the plexiglass, I couldn't really make out a thing. The taxi ride to the hotel was a brief blur past darkened windows on deserted streets. It was the middle of the night here, but it was early morning back home, and we were tired. Fortunately, the clerk at the front desk checked us in quickly, and we were on our way to the eighth floor when it hit me that we were really in... Alaska. 

Years ago my sister took my oldest nephew to visit my mom. At three, he had been hearing all his life that Grandma "lived in MInnesota" and he was excited about the trip. Once there, though, he seemed a little disappointed. "Minnedota looks just like a house!" he observed. 

And that's kind of how I felt last night. "Heidi," I said, "Alaska looks just like an elevator!" 

Smell My Feet

We had only just found our seats and buckled in for our 5 hour flight to Portland, Or, when a horrible stale vomit-like stench filled the air. I wrinkled my nose and looked around. "What is that?!" I demanded of Heidi. She raised her eye brows and jerked her head back. I peered through the crack between the seats and immediately spied the problem. The eight-year-old boy behind us had taken off his shoes and you could practically see a greenish gas rising up from the floor. Just then the ventilation system went full blast, so I angled my overhead air back and down, and blew that kid's stinky foot odor right back to him.