Musings

I've been thinking about what I'll miss about Alaska, and what I missed about California while I was here, so I decided to make a list.

What I'll miss about Alaska:

1. No crowds.  I never encountered any place that was crowded, including Anchorage.  I think the most crowded place I went was a drag show in Anchorage.  Those queens know how to party.

2. People who are easy to talk to.  I already mentioned the elders, but that's only one example.  I've been thinking about them a lot.  It's no secret that the voices we carry that endow us with the beautiful stories we tell are the same forces that can drive us to insanity.  Writers and other artists commit suicide at rates four to ten times higher than the national average.  I keep thinking that if we drank and told stories with each other, instead of by ourselves all the time, we might be able to curb some of this.     

3.  Snow.

4. Strong seasonal variations.  Not that we don't have seasons, but the huge swings of Alaska, not only in temperature, but in light, ensure there's always something new to see.

5. The unique and beautiful cultures here.

6. Ravens.  I like crows and their antics too, but they don't wheel around in the wind and play with each other like ravens do.  Watching them makes me wish I had been born a raven.

What I missed about California:

1. Secular radio.  Nome's two stations radio stations are funded by Christian groups, and alternate between cheesy praise songs and country western.  Once in a while you get something good, like Journey's "City by the Bay" (you can bet I was singing along when that came on), or Inuit singing and drumming.  Anchorage had a classical station that was actually pretty good, but when I drove outside the town limits, I lost the signal, and the dial consisted almost entirely of Christian and country western stations.  I think if I'm ever in Hell, that's what my radio will be like.

2. Fresh fruits and vegetables.  There were some in Nome, but you can bet they were expensive, and without much variety.  

3. The sun.  The sun didn't rise until 10:30 am in Nome, 12 pm in Kotzebue, and 9:15 am in Anchorage.  I'm not lying when I say white people in Alaska are pale as parsnips, and for a reason.  I'm a mix and I think I'd be pretty pasty too if I lived up there full-time.  My mother would be horrified if she visited me and then leap into a long lecture on the dangers of being a recluse and not eating enough orange vegetables.

4. Lots of vegetarian options.  Because I don't always eat fish.  I once worked and studied in Dresden for six months, and this was my huge gripe to the folks at home.  At first I tried to assimilate, so I cooked and ate German cuisine, but after a week I got tired of crapping rocks (once I could even crap at all) and started just shopping at the international market all the time so I could make California food.  

5. The relative harmony between the many cultures here.  I met a shopkeeper in Anchorage who had lived for a little while in San Francisco, and he said what he enjoyed most was that many different kinds of people with different backgrounds and different lifestyles could get along in very close company.  I specifically remember one recent July 4th spent with friends and family in San Francisco.  We saw a lion parade in Chinatown, complete with firecrackers, had a British afternoon tea service in the Financial District, and enjoyed amazing sushi and sake at a Japanese restaurant.  I don't see that happening in Alaska.

6. Surf.  I didn't make it to Yakutat or Sitka, Alaska's only surfing destinations, and only towns with surf shops.  Until there was a storm offshore, the waves in Nome were barely ankle high anyway.

Things that came up about even:

1. Recreation.  Plenty of things to do in both places.  I'd probably have to ride the mountain bike all the time in Alaska and set my road bikes aside, but I can fish and kayak quite well in both places, and hiking's good year-round.  I'm not yet crazy enough to do the Iditabike.

2. Seafood.  The seafood was great up in Alaska, but it's great in the Bay Area too.  Maybe there are some different options in both places, but many similarities as well.  We catch halibut from the piers and boats right in the Bay.  We also eat copious amounts of seaweed, and crab when its in season.   

     Jack London ultimately returned to his roots.  After a lifetime traveling the world as an oyster pirate, hobo, war correspondent, and yes, writer, he spent his last years in Sonoma County where he died.  As evidenced in his literature, the North always held a special place for him, and I think for him it was both frightening and fascinating.  I wonder what comparisons he made with the place of his origins, and the place that called to him from the darkness.

Impressions of a Nome-ad

     This journey of mine has been winding down, and I have to admit, I'm a little sad.  I was not expecting to like Nome so much, honestly.  I think if you took my hometown of Sierra Madre, got it liquored up, replaced the mountain lions with polar bears, and put it on the Bering Sea, you'd have Nome.  Even some of the buildings look similar.
     I haven't had people say 'hi' to me on the street since I left Sierra Madre.  I've lived in places where you avoid eye contact, because some of the people you meet might be crazy and try to *gasp!* talk to you.  Here in Nome, I say bring on the crazy.  It makes life interesting.  From cheering the Giants in gay bars in Anchorage to drinking with Inuit elders on the beach in Nome, this has been probably my best research trip.  And going out of town into the country, this is a land of devastating beauty.  The land is punishing in its lyricism, both emotionally and physically.  I've seen the midnight sun before, and now the midday darkness.
     Sometimes in California, we hear that so-and-so "went crazy and moved to Alaska."  The idea of Alaska is always prefixed by the suggestion of insanity.  For Californians, it's both alluring and frightening, full of polar bears and shaggy mountain men and people who vote for Sarah Palin (for your information, I found out that Anchorage hates her guts, and people in Nome weren't too fond of her either).  I like Alaska.  Like all places, it has the good and the bad.  I know I'll be coming back, as soon as I get another opportunity.  And perhaps next time, I won't come back (I grew up in rattlesnake and mountain lion country; you can't scare me).  I hope it retains its wildness and inaccessibility; in California, roads have been the death of us and our beautiful country.
     The sad thing is that it might not last.  Arctic Alaska is at the front line of global warming.  Everything, the wildlife, the unique cultures that have grown here, will all be changed.  One of my former classmates in Maine, dg nanouk okpik, is originally from Barrow, and I think her poetry contains the most eloquent statements of the devastation about to occur, that is already occurring.  Her Alaska won't be there anymore, and honestly, that frightens me more than anything.
     Seeing Alaska from a cruise ship is like snapping a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge and saying you've seen San Francisco.  Northern Alaska is expensive, but less so in the off-season, and Anchorage goods and services are about the same as San Francisco.  It's been more than worth it.
     Check out dg at NewPages Blog: dg nanouk okpik

      

Arts in Anchorage

     I just arrived in Nome, but as promised, I just want to touch a little on the Anchorage arts and culture scene.  A lot of people in the Lower Forty-Eight have this image of Alaska, Anchorage included, that is full of hairy bearded men with badly tanned fur clothing, seal-eating Eskimos, and not much else.  Granted, there is some of that, especially in what Alaskans call the Bush, which really means anywhere not accessible by road.  However, the variety of cultures in Alaska contribute a lot to the arts here, and there's always something going on in Anchorage. 

     While I missed out on readings and other literary events (all happening before I got there or after I left), I did get to an art gallery opening and the Anchorage Museum, which currently exhibits Alaskan art, both old and modern.  

     I don't have any pictures from the museum, since photography is not allowed, but I will tell you it is worth seeing.  Anchorage also boasts an opera, a ballet, a symphony orchestra, and several theaters.  I was really looking forward to seeing the Anchorage Symphony, but my visit didn't coincide with one of their concerts.  Maybe next time. 

     Waiting for my flight to Nome I saw this somewhat incongruous sight:

     I really liked the dichotomy between the women at the ends of this photo, one traditional, one ultra-modern.  

     I'm looking forward to reporting on Nome in the coming weeks.

northern haiku

I dreamt of you in
Anchorage.  Your spirit flew
far to laugh and smile

I knew your beauty
once more in snows.  Return now
to light, little bird




Copyright 2010

Arrival in Anchorage

     I admit, I feel a little like Jack London.  If you don't know, he left UC Berkeley in 1897 to travel the Klondike.  I don't claim to be anywhere near as cool or as talented (or as alcoholic) as London, but I can't help but see some parallels.
     I first decided to take a trip to research a novel I'm writing, but I think it'll prove educational in more ways than that.  Having no love, no job (aside from writing), and no cat, I figured I had nothing left to lose by taking a considerable amount of time to travel.  This is the beginning of arctic winter, and most people would think me mad for choosing this place at this time, so bound by not only cold, but darkness as well, but I had to.  I've been to Anchorage and the Panhandle in the summer; to really know Alaska, you must see her in the winter, when the sun only glances sidelong upon the earth for a few hours a day.  My protagonist knows this winter, as well as the winter of the mind; I have yet to truly, deeply experience the former.
     I arrived in Anchorage two days ago.  The flight was mostly uneventful; a crying baby on the flight from Seattle to Anchorage made me remember why I was totally onboard with the idea of kid-free flights (what happened to that, anyway?).  No one should have to listen to your little shit scream for three and a half hours.  I said good-bye to the hedonistic, superficial, overgrown city of San Jose, full of reminders and half-admitted longings, and arrived six hours later in the Last Frontier.  I haven't had much time to really get to know the city; hunting for the cable I forgot that connects my camera to my laptop took quite a bit of time, as well as finding the books I need to be reading for my study in the Stonecoast program at USM.  I admit, I should have gotten them while I was still in San Jose, but I procrastinated just one day too long, and the library didn't get them in in time for me.  Lesson learnt (not really, but I like to think so).
     One thing that really bugged me though was the issue that I'd be missing the festivities surrounding the World Series.  From what I hear, a lot of partying went down, as well as the ticker tape parade in San Fran.  I totally wish I had been there.  Honestly, if I had known the Giants were even going to be in the Series when I booked this trip, I would have postponed it.  As it was, I ended up going to a bar called Mad Myrna's here in Anchorage where they were playing the last game.  It felt a little odd to be the only one whooping and yelling, but I think they forgave me.  Some were former San Francisco residents, as it turned out, and so were rooting the Giants on as well, but just weren't all that into baseball.  I think now that that's over, I'm going to miss baseball season, but I can focus more energy on doing things here, than on worrying whether my team is going to score enough runs.
     I admit I have zero experience blogging.  I don't like to talk about myself that much, and I don't follow anyone's blog with any regularity.  I'm only keeping this thing up to let my friends know what's going on up here, and if it attracts any other visitors, well, I guess that's okay too.  Come on in and sit a while.  I'll try not to bore you.

The always sunny and cheerful Seattle.

Entering Turnagain Arm

Cool house on a corner with two of my favorite things, a cello and a wolf, on its side.