Poking the Bear Blog

Category: Travel

Mid-Life Musings

A couple of years ago, I was at the hair salon explaining to my 20-something-year-old stylist why we were moving from Colorado all the way to Alaska. It was a question I got a lot, and I gave her my usual, rehearsed answer.

“We think Alaska will be an adventure,” I said, “it’s just a mid-life crisis thing.”

Usually people smiled at this, and seemed to understand, so the fact that she looked confused had me confused. Didn’t she think Alaska sounded like an adventure?

Turns out, that wasn’t it.

“But…” she said as she slathered more hair color onto my roots, “aren’t you a little past the mid-life crisis point?”

Life Past the Mid-Life Crisis Point:

We spent this past spring break in Florida at the beach, and in Orlando. And during the week I thought about the concept of “age” a lot. Like, paranoid-ly, a lot.

For example, at 4:50 a.m one morning, I found myself sitting in the patch of grass that separated the two rows of rooms at our Cocoa Beach “resort.” Really, it’s a motel, and I love that it’s a motel. I stared up into the sky, waiting to see a rocket. It was due to launch at any minute.

I found out about this NASA launch the same way I get most of my practical information and life advice, and that’s from talking with store cashiers.

“Are you going to watch the rocket launch tomorrow?” this cashier had asked me as she rang up the food we planned to grill for dinner. I told her I didn’t know anything about it, and asked how I could see it. It suddenly hit me that “seeing a rocket take off” was not on my bucket list, and it should be.

“It’s at 5 a.m” she said, “and you just go outside and look up.”

No rocket, but I do see a face with a full head of hair and arms out wide, or maybe a face with a shark tail?

Five a.m. came and went, and a few minutes later I saw a man approaching from the beach. As he stepped into the light I recognized him, the young guy in room one. I saw him and his girlfriend the night before, also grilling dinner. I guessed they were in their early twenties, and watching them reminded me of how fun it was to hit motels like this one on a road trip with a college boyfriend years ago.

“Excuse me,” I said approaching him, “any chance you saw a rocket recently.”

He had. He tells me that the rocket launched thirty minutes early because the weather was right, and that I needed to follow the Kennedy Space Center web site for the up to the minute schedule changes.

I continued asking questions about the best beaches to surf (learning to surf is part of my too-late-for-a-mid-life-crisis plan) and where they had traveled from, and where they were going, and then I realized something. The guy looked less like someone interested in talking to me, and more like someone being held captive.

Oh no, have I turned into that chatty “old person” who corners the young? I could now see it from his point of view – just a few steps from his room door and the freedom inside. But, he can’t be rude to this older woman in a kimono robe who won’t stop asking him questions, and who keeps going off on the most random tangents.

By the way, the kimono robe is silk and perfect for travel because it’s super light weight, and it can easily be rolled into a ball the size of an orange and then stuffed into the corner of a suitcase which is otherwise wasted space!

A Few Things That Make You Realize Your Age:

I think I’ve been hyper-aware of aging recently for several reasons.

One: birthdays (obviously)

My birthday is always just a few weeks after spring break. And this one is a milestone one. I won’t say what year, but the average woman’s life expectancy in the U.S is age 76, so going by that, yeah, this birthday puts me well past mid-life.

Two: Moving your parents out of your childhood home

We moved my parents into senior living just a month ago. After over forty years in the same house, 40 years climbing up and down the same set of stairs without a second thought, and it seems overnight those stairs transformed into a dangerous obstacle course. So, after a few 911 ambulance visits, which is a few too many, my siblings and I moved my parents into the first nice and available room at a senior living center. The fact that their balcony just overlooked a store parking lot wasn’t ideal, but…otherwise, it was comfortable and safe.

Sad to say goodbye to the house where my parents raised their family.

Three: Amusement Parks

There is something about amusement parks that definitely make you realize your age. I chose Universal and Disney in Orlando this trip because it’s fail-safe choice for a successful family vacation. And I want my soon to be applying to college daughter to remember how much fun our trips are, in hopes she will still want to travel with us.

And I think she will, we are as dorky and obnoxious as the Griswalds (again showing my age with that reference.)

Kids and my husband Mark passing time in line for the Tower of Terror.

At Disney World it was more about the nostalgia. But at Universal it was more about the rides and which ones wouldn’t make you feel dizzy the rest of the day. For the first time ever, I passed on a roller coaster, and I love roller coasters. But I didn’t like the incline on this one at Universal. Aside from the upside of smoothing out my wrinkles, it just looked like a headache. Not a position I’d want to be in if it got stuck.

But at Universal’s Volcano Bay Water Park, I hit every slide even the one that drops out from under your feet and shoots you straight down from the top of the volcano (if you look closely you will see the tube in the picture below). Also at the waterpark I discovered a benefit to my age – I didn’t care how I looked in my swimsuit. Our stuff stayed in a locker the whole day which meant I ran around for hours in a swimsuit without a towel or cover-up. And, I don’t remember the last time I sat down wearing just a swimsuit and wolfed down fries and a slice of pizza. This freedom rediscovered made me feel both old and young.

Although this doesn’t mean I’m going to actually post or take a photo of myself in a swimsuit. There are limits.

As we retrieved our phones later that day from the lockers, and rode the shuttle back to our hotel I noticed a series of texts I had missed as were were busy having fun.

“Are you safe?” one read, it was from a friend in Texas who I hadn’t talked to in awhile.

“Are you and the family okay?” read another one from a friend in California.

And on the scroll of texts went.

Oh no, I thought, and I checked the news. Another Colorado shooting, this time at the King Soopers in Boulder. The grocery store my parents balcony overlooks (they watched the handcuffed gunman being led out). The store my kids hang out during lunch, as their high school is just down the street (thankful it was spring break) and I couldn’t count the number of times I have been in that store over the years, these days usually wandering the aisles listening to a real estate or true crime podcast…I would have been totally unaware. Later when I saw the photos, names, and ages of the victims, recognizing one employee I chatted with multiple times as she had been there for years, it dawned on me that an age like 51 now just sounds as young as it always was.

I couldn’t help but think of the stores we visited regularly in Alaska. My guess is a shooter like this gunman (who did not take his own life, but surrendered) would be less likely to attempt this there. If only because half the shoppers are carrying firearms themselves. But, if it did happen, it would likely have turned into a full on shoot out, people not being positive who was who.

The memorial and just behind, my parent’s residence.

So, I’m actually writing this post on the morning of my milestone birthday. And my husband Mark just read it, and reminded me that his grandfather lived until he was 102. His grandpa was the only doctor for years in a small town in Michigan, and I attended his 100th birthday there. I remember seeing one man, using a walker, approaching Mark’s grandpa, “Remember me, Dr. Hammerberg?” the man asked, “you delivered me 76 years ago!” If 102 turns out to be my number, then I’m actually a couple years too young to have a mid-life crisis!

So as not to end on such a tragic, sad note with the shooting, I’m wrapping this post up with a video my son watched over and over to get psyched up for the roller coaster I passed on at Universal.

April 24, 2021
The Hunt for the Northern Lights

Every once in a while I look up, and I’m reminded that I live in Alaska.

That reminder may come in the form of a stunning view, or as a large mounted animal head (they’re everywhere), or as a sign along a hiking trail that only I seem to find funny.

(Another sign I couldn’t help but stop and note is mentioned in this post, https://pokingthebear.org/ways-to-summer-in-alaskas-playground/)

But sometimes it is a combination of things that create a moment. Like this moment I briefly filmed here, it is just so Alaska. From the bar, to the people, to the conversation, to the weather, to the young snowmobilers…or, I should say snow-machiners because “snowmobile” is a lower 48 word.

And, next to me there is my husband Mark, being so Mark by worrying about “someone getting run over.”

“Our kids are not getting on snow machines!” Mark responds when I suggest it, “The only thing worse than crashing your snow machine, is having it run over you after you crash.” As a trauma surgeon, he has seen more than a few patients who would prove the point.

But, while we are still in Alaska, there a couple of things we still need to check off the list, and that is seeing the Northern Lights and snow machining (Mark will come around) and perhaps doing both in one place. I imagine the four of us flying across the snow as the green lights of the Aurora Borealis swirl overhead.

Borealis Basecamp:

How cool is this place?!

It’s night and 7 degrees at this camp an hour outside Fairbanks. There are five people in the lobby; myself, my son Anders, my daughter Tatum, Tatum’s friend, and an employee.

The employee is a large man, mid-30s, wearing a bandana as his covid-wear of choice. The length of the bright red bandana layered over his much longer rusty red beard has a cohesive, almost stylish look.

“Mom, Anders isn’t wearing a face mask!” Tatum suddenly notices, thrilled to have something on her brother that I have no choice but to publicly respond to.

“Anders! Go back to the car and get it,” I say.

The man raises his hand up to stop him, “You’re okay, I don’t care.”

Anders stops and looks at me just as my husband Mark enter the lobby.

“It’s a democracy here,” the man continues.

“What’s happening?” Mark asks, confused.

“Dad, Anders isn’t wearing a mask!” That’s Tatum again.

Mark is no longer looking confused. There was a time when getting in his son’s face meant having to bend down, but as of recently, like in the last two months, it simply means standing upright and eye to eye.

“Anders, did you hear the man?” Mark scolds, “This is a democracy, do you know what that means? It means the majority has voted that masks are what we should be doing, so why aren’t you wearing yours?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” the man says, but Mark can’t hear him because Mark hopped on another train. Same station platform. Opposite direction.

Mark walks Anders outside, leaving me in his awkward wake, something I’m used to. I’m a little surprised Mark misinterpreted the man though. Speaking of moments that remind me I’m in Alaska and not our hometown Boulder, coming across someone resistant to the mask isn’t uncommon. Compared to other countries, Americans in general don’t like taking orders, but Alaskans ten times more so.

“That’s not what I was saying,” the man repeats, “I wouldn’t be wearing a mask if I wasn’t required to as an employee. I’m not scared.”

I nod.

Personally, when it comes to masks, there are times like this one when I wish I had a mask that covered my entire face. Then I could just shut my eyes and try to sleep.

The lobby is now very quiet. I’m at a loss for words. And, Tatum is at a loss for a brother to tattle on.

The man breaks the silence, “I actually think I have the antibodies because in March there were a lot of people here from China and Japan.”

Now I’m awake. There is this rumor I have been meaning to investigate.

“Oh, right, they come here because…?” I ask, referring to the rumor.

“Yeah, it is some sort of fertility tradition they have,” he shrugs, “I don’t know.”

And he looks like he doesn’t want to know, but I’m curious. I’m going to have to officially look into this one once we get to into our room, I mean, igloo. Here at Borealis Basecamp, the accommodations are referred to as igloos.

https://borealisbasecamp.net/?gclid=CjwKCAiA8Jf-BRB-EiwAWDtEGrj7kOntNcmRHF5MCyw_fHB3sreIrRhBCkbpFEAp48hjhQe0_TIlThoCKdwQAvD_BwE

The Perfect Place to See the Northern Lights, and Conceive a Gifted Child?

“Have you heard that rumor about how Japanese travel to Alaska to conceive a child under the Northern Lights?” I ask Mark after we are led to our igloo.

“No, why would they do that?”

“It’s believed to result in a “gifted” child.”

“Well, too bad we didn’t know, because we’re 0 for 2.”

I looked it up, and from what I can tell it is just a rumor.

https://soranews24.com/2015/02/14/is-it-true-that-japanese-go-to-alaska-to-copulate-under-the-aurora-【myth-busters】/It started on an episode of “Northern Exposure,” a popular 90s show I have never seen. “Oh you have to watch Northern Exposure!” almost everyone would say when we announced we were moving to a small town in Alaska. But, along with “Leave it to Beaver” and “Welcome Back Kotter” “Northern Exposure” is not streaming on Netflix or anywhere.

As it turns out, we did not see the lights at Borealis Basecamp. It is possible that we were too late into winter, and the skies were filled with clouds. I wasn’t too surprised as checking on Aurora activity is something I check on more than the weather itself and I knew “activity” would be low. https://www.gi.alaska.edu/monitors/aurora-forecast.

The perfect place to see the Northern lights, unless there are clouds.

Those clouds prevented viewing of the Northern Lights, but they did provide another particular benefit of the Alaskan north: snow.

The weekend that we visited the Borealis Basecamp, they had just started dog sledding in earnest. They are true competitors, but they will offer to take tourists on sledding adventures to subsidize the considerable expenses of running a bonafide competitive dog sled operation. The prior weekend, they were using wheeled carts for lack of snow. When we were there, they just switched to actual sleds. Our guide loved it. “When I’m done with you, I will do another 25 mile training run,” he said. “Then, I’ll switch dogs, and we’ll do another 25 miles.”

The next day, clouds continued to fill the sky. And, they continued to provide ample snow, enough for a snow machine expedition. Finally, Mark had consented to let the kids go, and even drive.

And while we didn’t get the northern lights swirling overheard, we did get something I hadn’t realized I wanted to see.

“Is that the Alaska Pipeline?” I ask our guide as we approach what I thought at was another ski hill. But these weren’t ski hills, apparently during much of our ride we had been on top of the pipeline. More than half of the 800 mile pipeline is above ground.

Snow machining past the Trans-Alaska Pipeline? I say that counts as an “Alaska moment.”

Now, while not seeing the Northern Lights was disappointing we weren’t too upset as we did see the Northern Lights on an October trip to Fairbanks with my brother Ken. October usually means clearer skies.

We loved the lodge where we stayed. It was affordable (certainly in covid times, and it was more classic in terms of style. https://atasteofalaska.com

To catch the lights of Aurora Borealis though you had to head out to a field behind the lodge. When I heard the lights were active (and they can be very fleeting) I’d run out to that field, trying snap shots of the sky along the way but without spilling wine from the glass I had in my other hand.

Because I have my priorities in order, I managed to save every sip of the wine, but my photos were terrible.

Fortunately, out in the field there were other lodge guests who we quickly befriended. One of them was a professional photographer who offered to shoot a family portrait of us the next day. Where we actually look like an almost sane family.

And he sent me his images of his shots of the Northern Lights from the night before.

I’ll admit, this is a little better than the shots I took. http://www.toddrafalovich.com

End Note:

Todd and his wife will be traveling with my brother this summer (if all goes well) to revisit the village my brother lived in as a peace corps volunteer several decades ago. I’m almost tempted to join if only to lose another 10lbs quickly. https://pokingthebear.org/the-art-of-seduction/

I can’t wait to see photos from that trip, and how the village may have changed.

Visiting my brother in Garli village, Mauritania, Africa. A long time ago.

November 30, 2020
Living Danger-ishly

Small Plane Culture:

My son Anders and I are on a small propeller plane returning to the Peninsula from Anchorage where Anders just got braces. Yes, we flew to Anchorage for an orthodontist appointment.

I am seated right behind the pilot. If I leant my head forward I could nap on his shoulder. But I won’t do that, he is distracted enough at the moment by a bumble bee that is excitedly buzzing around his dashboard

The pilot keeps glancing at it as it buzzes back and forth and bounces off the control panel.

I stare at the pilot’s hands, willing both of them to stay gripped on the wheel. I’m all too aware that this is a single engine, single piloted plane. At one point the bee flies towards my face, but I don’t duck or try to swat at it. In case the pilot has eyes in the back of his head, I want to set a good example.

From the single seat behind me Anders taps my shoulder.

“Mom, how much longer? I don’t like this,” Anders says.

I know he doesn’t like this. He hates flying, and he is especially fearful of flying on any airline that asks how much you weigh at check in (It’s the only time I’m honest about it as who knows the margin for error on that.)

“Mom, did you hear me?” Anders asks.

I nod to show him I did, but I am busy watching the pilot who is busy watching the bee.

My vigilance in willing his hands not to move paid off. Not once did he take a hand off the wheel until landing the plane and pulling to a stop. He then turned around and looked at me.

“Did you see that bee?” he asks, “I don’t think it paid for a ticket.”

I laugh because every joke is funnier when you’re safely on the ground.

Truly the Last Frontier:

Whenever my friends who I grew up with in Boulder ask me what Alaska is like, I tell them it’s like Colorado in the early ’80s, and they understand what I mean. It is probably why we keep running into people here who moved from Colorado. They all want 1981 Colorado back.

(I mention the same thing in another post. https://pokingthebear.org/minding-your-own-business-in-alaska/)

One difference though that is very unique to Alaska is the small plane culture. It is the only way to get anywhere, other than bigger cities like Anchorage.

3 of my favorite things to witness on our lake is (small planes is number 3):

One: The Ducks. Since early summer a family of ducks moved in under our dock. First mama was being followed by 10 ducklings. Then it was seven. Then five. This morning I saw her and there was just two tween ducks trailing.

Did her other babies mature enough to move out on their own? Or were they all picked off by eagles who figured a small duck would be easier to haul off versus, say, a fat cat named Albert?

We keep telling Albert that if he wants to risk going outdoors he should at least wear his pirate outfit because everyone knows eagles are afraid of pirates. But, Albert won’t listen.

Two: My jet skiing neighbors. One of our neighbors is a school teacher and she is very sweet and quiet, but then everyone is very sweet and quiet compared to my family. When she and I go to happy hour it is basically her politely picking at a sliver of pie as I cackle loudly at my own jokes before chugging another margarita. But when my neighbor is on a jet ski, she makes me feel demure as she revs her engine, jumps waves, does donuts, and flies around the lake like a bat out of hell.

Three: Then there are the float planes. I love them. It’s just what I pictured when I imagined life in Alaska. Across the lake is an adventure flying charter owned by two brothers who own beaver planes that can take you to the most remote places in the state. You can recognize a beaver plane by the sound of the motor.

I have taken way too many photos of them taking off and landing in the fall, spring and summer. And, in the dead of winter this past year, when they weren’t flying, I walked across the lake to take photos of them.

I’m sure I had probably stopped to watch the beaver planes take off that tragic morning, at 7am on the nose, as usual.

Then I got a call from my jetski neighbor who was on her way to our morning bootcamp class. She said traffic into town was at a standstill.

Just like 1981 Colorado, the only time you find yourself stuck in that kind of traffic here is if there was an accident.

My neighbor went on to tell me it was a 2 plane mid-air collision involving one of the planes from across our lake. She just wasn’t sure which one.

My other neighbor calls to ask me which planes I see across the way. One by one the planes are returning, it is a matter of knowing which one won’t.

“The red, white, and blue one is back,” I tell her, relieved. It sounds strange but I just am weirdly attached to that plane. But overwhelmingly I was heartbroken knowing that the pilot inside was probably one brother just hearing the news. By the end of the day we knew, seven people were dead, including one of the brothers, a guide, and four age 20-something tourists. In the other plane an Alaskan State Representative. His campaign signs were all over town.

It was devastating.

In the week following, no one on the lake went out on boats. There was no laughter as kids were pulled behind on tubes. There were no bad ass teachers on jet skis. The normally active lake was still, and ominously quiet.

Finally, one morning, at 7am sharp, I heard the engine of a beaver plane. It felt like a signal that gave permission for everyone on the lake to stop mourning and return to some sort of normalcy.

Risk Vs Reward:

Here is the thing, my brother and his family were visiting just days later, and I had all of us scheduled to fly with this particular outfit to go fishing. In my fantasy I had the planes picking us up at our dock, but that was to be determined. I only knew I wouldn’t change charters though, now more than ever I had a loyalty to our plane charting neighbors.The bigger question at the moment was my son. If he was resistant to fly to go fishing before, well, this didn’t help.”I’m not going, mom” he said after I confirmed there had been a crash. “You can’t make me!”

Turns out he had a valid enough excuse to bail. He had football practice, and my brother and nephews all agreed that football was much more important than a trip of a lifetime. We are a pretty intense football family.

Because rural Alaska is 1981 Colorado, if you want to play a sport, you play the sport that is in season, and you play for your school. Oh, and the worry over concussions has not dwindled the team’s numbers. They have been state champions 10 years in a row.

The options for fall were track and football, and Anders chose football. Which is something of a surprise, but my brothers are thrilled.

My nephew showing Anders how it’s done.

I wasn’t going to make Anders fly on the float plane even if he didn’t have a good excuse. I had always promised myself that while we were here in Alaska our family would have to get on one of those float planes, at least once. But even before the accident I was questioning whether I could summon the courage myself.

When did I become so nervous and risk adverse? I was once a 20-something year old. One who didn’t think twice about bungee jumping, and who went skydiving simply because in the school paper there was a $20 off for two people coupon.

Somewhere over the fields of Upstate NY

The Risks:

“I can’t tell you small planes are safe, because they really aren’t,” my friend says after I tell her about having second thoughts on our charter flight. She is a newly licensed pilot herself, and she and her husband seem to fly somewhere romantic every weekend. Freak accidents happen no matter how experienced the pilot, and Alaska is the state with the most crashes due to the numbers of planes, weather, and extreme terrain.

When you hear of two planes colliding you think, how is that possible? But, my friend tells me a story of flying with her husband who grew up in Alaska flying planes, and they almost had an in-air collision themselves.

“One moment we are staring at a wide open, totally empty sky, and then suddenly a plane appeared out of nowhere,” she tells me, “that plane came so close to us I could read the lettering on the pilot’s hat.”

She can tell that she’s freaking me out.

“But the views are worth it,” she added, “And I think it’s less dangerous than driving on Sterling Highway!”

I have a flashback of driving with my daughter (who has her learner’s permit) slowly pulling out onto the highway as two semis going 90 mph head our way in each direction. My friend is right.

And so we kept our reservation for a day of flying and fishing, but I did have two conditions. Now that Anders was staying behind, I wanted my husband and I to go in separate planes. The second condition was, I had to be in the red, white, and blue, plane.

The Rewards:

The Views

The remote places you can only travel to in a small plane

The bears. Fortunately, the bears are more interested in the fish.

The fish.

But perhaps the greatest reward for me was flying straight home, literally. My husband took this photo of our plane (I’m with my daughter, niece and nephew) landing right in front of our house.

Flew in a float plane. Check.

My niece made a video of our trip which captures the views better than pictures. After watching it one of my friends said it reminded her of the days when we used to make mixed tapes. Like, back in the 80s.

https://www.facebook.com/lucie.rutherford/videos/2891993164234279

End note: Will I ever fly in such a small plane again? Maybe, to sound like an addict I’ll admit to wanting to go on one more flight. Perhaps this time to see the views of Mt Denali out of Talkeetna. https://www.alaska.org/detail/talkeetna-air-taxi

August 23, 2020
To Travel, or Not to Travel

That is everyone’s question.

The decision to travel in Covid-times is not a simple one. Do you postpone doing anything or going anywhere until next summer? Or the summer after? Or the summer after that? Or do you proceed with caution in what could be the new normal for quite sometime.

Weighing risks vs benefits was it’s own skittish journey that fluctuated with the daily news. On one of those days when the news seemed more positive (relatively) that things were opening up, and restrictions were being lifted, I chose to keep plans to travel with the kids to Colorado to see friends, and celebrate my father-in-law’s 76th, and my dad’s 86th birthdays.

And, we had to fly because to road trip it would be a 3,300 mile road trip from Alaska to Boulder one way. Alaska is as remote as it sounds, and our town that much more so. There is one highway to and from the Kenai Peninsula, and now just one airline left (the main airline we used to use to get to Anchorage International Airport just filed for bankruptcy).

It’s no wonder many residents not only own a boat, but a plane. In another post I mentioned envying our neighbors quarantine life. Well, I forgot to mention many of them also own a little plane making the boundaries of where they self-isolate almost limitless. And likely, stunningly beautiful.

When you hear the neighbors coming home, you know it’s time to swim off the runway.

I didn’t really want to write another post that was covid related. The subject is exhausting us all. But, on my 5-hour flight back to Anchorage from Denver I couldn’t help it. When you’re on a plane these days, it’s practically the only thing you think about.

So, I thought I’d go ahead and offer advice on flying in these virus times. Aside from a mask, and all the obvious.

4 Suggestions:

One: Pack Food or Eat Before Your Flight

In the third row of first class sits a family, a mom, dad, and a baby on mom’s lap. From the bulkhead seat one cabin back, I can only see the dad, and I am watching him as he pours a mini bottle of Jack Daniels into his Coke, and munches on a wedge of artisanal cheese.

I wonder if he can sense someone watching him. From above my mask my eyes are locked on what I have decided is the ultimate feast.

A flight attendant heads down the aisle and I stop her.

“Is there any chance there are any extra snack boxes?” I ask, “like, for purchase?”

Like in the old days.

“No,” she looks at me like I’m nuts, “not back here.”

I’ve made her realize something and in a subsequent and clearly necessary move, she unhooks the curtain that separates our two cabins and closes it.

The curtain is sheer, it softens the vision of the world beyond my grasp but only a little. Actually, I decide it is not so much a curtain but a veil. The veil of seduction…

Next to me, my daughter Tatum, who was trying to sleep, opens her eyes.

“No, not back here!” she mimics, a little too loudly, before shutting her eyes again.

The flight attendant’s move reminds me of the first time I ever saw or heard of Jerry Seinfeld. He was doing stand up on TV, oh so many years ago, and there was a bit in his act about a flight attendant shutting the curtain to close off first class, but not before first staring down everyone in second with a look that said, “maybe if you all had worked a little harder…”

I wish we had worked harder, because I’m hungry.

At the time of this post, due to Covid, boxed food and alcohol is no longer available in economy and economy plus. At least on Alaska Airlines and United.

My first knee-jerk reaction to this was that it might be a bit of “Covid Theater.” Some of these “it’s to keep you safe” rules seem a little curious. To me, at least. For example, when I got a haircut at the salon I used to frequent, as I’m manhandling the credit card machine and exchanging paper receipts, I’m told we can no longer add the tip onto the credit card. They want to keep everyone safe, so now the salon only allows cash tips to be handed by patron to the stylist to minimize physical interactions.

Or there was the restaurant I went to, an old favorite of mine, that currently won’t make certain cocktails.

“I’m sorry,” the waitress says when I ask for a (skinny version) margarita, “we don’t make margaritas anymore because, you know…”

I stare at her blankly.

“…it’s too much touching, and Covid…”

I look down at my huge chopped salad which has no fewer than 12 ingredients.

“But we can do other drinks, like a rum and coke.”

“Could I have a tequila and club soda?” I ask.

“Of course!”

“With a few wedges of lime?”

“No problem!”

“Oh, and Miss?”

“Yes?”

“Could I have a shot of Grand Marnier on the side?”

“You got it!”

So, that was my first thought – why is it safe for passengers in first class to nibble on a cracker for the duration of a 5 hour flight, mask-free? But not safe for economy passengers?

Here is where I do a U-Turn though. Serving people in economy may be too many masks off. And my guess is the exchange of credit cards could be the bigger issue. I don’t know, but for the first time I’m trying to defend Alaska Airlines and United. We can’t afford to lose another airline.

I finally find in the side pocket of my bag a zip lock with six almonds left, and I’m giddy. As I savor them one by one, I see through the curtain/veil that the dad is out of his seat. He turns and heads towards the back of the plane, which peaks my curiosity.

Why would he leave first class?

He steps around the curtain and opens the lavatory door directly across from my seat.

Why would he choose to use the lavatory in the economy cabin?

I smell the answer. In his hand is a diaper that, judging by the smell and heft of it, probably should have been changed 45 minutes ago.

He shoves the diaper into the bathroom’s small trash, and this time he must surely feel my eyes on him, because he looks sheepish as he scurries back to his seat in first class. A flight attendant appears with another mini bottle of Jack Daniels for him. It’s perfect timing.

I wonder what would George Costanza on “Seinfeld” would do in my situation? He’d feel compelled to say something for sure, and I wish I could watch it.

Two: Invest in a hand-extending Shark pincher.

Along with packing your own food for a long flight, I’d advise packing this hand-extension pincher.

It doesn’t have to be a shark, there are other animals to choose from like a dinosaur. But whatever you choose, keep it handy.

On the other side of Tatum, the passenger in the window seat was a man who slept most of the 5 hour flight, but without his mask covering his nose. Either it had fallen, or he had pulled it down. It just hung by his mouth.

If I had had this shark pincher I could have used it to delicately pull the man’s mask back up over his nose without waking him. Hopefully. Or else it could get awkward.

Three: Be Prepared to Have Weird Dreams

Is this a weird thing to even mention?

Even though at the airport you wore the mask and reapplied sanitizer every step of the way, there is still an unsettled feeling that might linger for the length of your visit. Or, at least it did mine. Maybe it stems from being untethered from quarantine base.

Due to the age and health of my parents, we didn’t stay at the house I grew up in. Instead, we stayed at a brand new Residence Inn by Marriott in Boulder. It added another level of strangeness. The upside is that it was interesting living like a tourist in my own hometown. I even started doing more “touristy” things like hiking trails I never thought to hike in all the years I was a local.

With my kids spending most nights over at their friends’ homes, I was often sleeping alone in an almost totally vacant hotel. And on those nights my dreams were especially eerie and vivid. Apparently, I’m not the only one having such dreams. It’s a thing.

https://www.futurity.org/dreams-covid-19-pandemic-2371132/

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/13/style/why-weird-dreams-coronavirus.html

According to one scientist, since the virus is an invisible threat, people are dreaming about it using wild metaphors. The virus could take the form of a swarm of bees, or an approaching dust storm, or in my case, an attacking bear. Or, I could just be having my usual dream about an attacking bear.

Four: Know the State Regulations for Travelers

Alaska has a very low level of Covid-Positive cases compared to other states. It was easy leaving, but re-entering was another matter. Like Hawaii, where they are not afraid to jail tourists for wandering onto the beach unless cleared, Alaska is strict. There would be hoops we’d need to jump through before returning to Alaska, those hoops being covid tests.

Test 1:

Prior to flight, we went through a drive through covid testing place in Colorado. It was on the top floor of a hospital parking garage.

Several health care workers surrounded our car, and we each had a stick inserted so far up into each nostril that it must have been sampling brain matter.

Yes,I did get my daughter’s permission to post this photo on my blog. She responded that she’s not worried about anyone seeing it.

I also have a video of the process.

Tests 2:

At the airport in Anchorage days later, it was a similar test, but this one was self-administered, and, more importantly it was pain-free.

Airport covid control

I asked if this was as accurate as the first one we had in Colorado. The one that left scars on my frontal cortex surely had to be more accurate, right? I was told it was just as accurate, and it is the new test that they are using more frequently. So that’s some good news, especially if more airports/borders adopt this testing and it becomes part of travel for the interim…

End Note:

A big highlight of our trip was my dad’s 86th birthday celebration. I had requested of my niece/goddaughter to avoid any depressing topics (unlike me). But, stubbornness runs in our family.

Here she is lecturing grandpa on the finer nuances of Covid’s influence on the political landscape.

July 18, 2020
How to Summer in Alaska
The other evening my husband Mark and I were on a peaceful stroll when we came across this we shoot to kill sign. A not so subtle warning to trespassers.

I had just been thinking our walk was similar to our post-dinner walks in Boulder, where we came from. Mountain views, similar style homes and buildings, the smell of pine…but you wouldn’t see a sign like this in Boulder.

And if you did (but you wouldn’t, but if you did, only you wouldn’t) the sign probably wouldn’t be posted outside the doors of a Health and Wellness Center.

My guess is this clinic is “by appointment only.”

“That’s ironic,” Mark says.

For sure such a sign encourages you to ask questions. Like…

“Are we trespassing?” I ask Mark.

“No, this is a public thoroughfare,” Mark responds, looking around.

I look around too. I had been too busy yapping to notice before, but it was looking and certainly feeling like we were on a private compound. There was this health center flanked by multiple lodge style sleeping cabins. At the moment all of them were dark and it was very quiet, but I couldn’t say for sure that no one was inside. There were several trucks parked outside the cabins. I listened for the cock of a rifle.

“At least I think this is a public thouroughfare, “Mark says.

“Psst…dude, you might want to be sure,” the silhouette poster man says in a low whisper, “Oh, and also, nobody uses the word “thoroughfare” anymore because it’s dumb.”

4 Classic Alaskan Accommodations

1: The Adventure Lodge

We had purposely wandered this way to check out what the accommodations were like at this lodge. We wanted to view options in case we had an overflow of guests at any given time. Our house only has three bedrooms, and a closet sized room I managed to squeeze a full mattress into.

Like many of the “adventure lodges” in the state, this one is geared to groups wanting to hunt or fish. Or see bears. There are guides and private planes to fly you to the best spots here on the Kenai Peninsula (also known as “Alaska’s Playground). The lodge is on a lake, and the decor is very practical and efficient with multiple beds in each room so you can fit everyone in.

Earlier I had seen on-line that as part of your vacation you can experience Cenegenics, which had sounded kind of random and I skimmed over it. Now seeing the building I was more curious about what Cenegenics was.

I looked it up. My quick takeaway, Cenegenics is a hormone optimization program designed to:
1. Reverse your biological age (I want that)
2. Protect you from age related decline (I want that too)
One middle-aged male endorser of the program says, “I feel like I’m a 21 year-old boy!”

Not bad. No wonder people are willing to risk a round of bullets in order to get in.

I wonder though, how many hunters are seeking a vacation package where they can shoot a bear and at the same time rebalance their hormones? Seems like a pretty niche market.

I also wonder how many people with a license to carry firearms are even willing to admit to an “imbalance” of any kind?

But, who knows, hunters more than anyone are forced to face the concept of mortality, and maybe that’s enough to motivate them to seek out ways to delay their own.

In any case, with or without the Cenegenics program add-on, this place looks like the perfect Alaskan adventure.

I like their highlight reel.

2. Cruises

Covid-19 restrictions will of course hurt the tourism industry here this year, especially cruise ships and the ports they visit (mostly the cute town’s in “The Inside Passage” of Alaska) The big cruiselines are hoping to start up in July. There are small ship cruises that plain to be operating again sooner, like Uncruise out of Seattle, and I need to mention Linbald Expeditions given I went with them to Antartica, my post on that https://pokingthebear.org/aboard-the-national-geographic-explorer-in-antarctica/

The 3-4 hour day cruises, however, are already running. We just did an afternoon cruise in Seward. Only one family per boat (there are bigger day cruise ships that fit 100 but are now only taking 50 people for social distance) I liked the small boat option, many times you’d look over to see porpoises right there swimming alongside you at the appropriate distance of 6-ft.

Heading out of Resurrection Bay, Seward

3.The RV/Camper

When it comes to traveling during an era of social distancing Alaska has several things going for it: wide open spaces, tons of individual family cabins for rent, and RV camp sites with views you’d pay a fortune for anywhere else. Every time I see another RV on the road, and I’m starting to see a lot, I have to admit RV road-tripping is a genius way to vacation right now.

Basically you’re sheltering in place while on the move.

And when I vacation, I like to be on the move. I feel it makes the vacation feel longer because the days don’t blend together. If we have one week, I like to switch locations at least once during that time.

Another thing that has happened since we have been here is Mark has become an avid birder. Yep. He is regularly armed with the bird book I bought him for his birthday and the binoculars I borrowed from my brother for that Antartica trip, and never returned. He has become an overnight expert on birds, making me jump every time by shouting out a bird name (and then humbly looking through the bird book to be sure he was right.)

Drawn to our birdseed wreath it’s a Stellar’s Jay!!

Called it right.

Imagine all the birds he could spot if we roamed the country in an RV?

But, also, I now have this fantasy of an RV doubling as a guest house in our driveway.

I would say Airstream, but such coolness comes with a price tag. Apparently there is an airstream club that comes through Soldotna every year. And while I want to be a part of that club I fear I wouldn’t fit in. It would just be a matter of time before I’d be called out for my non-stylish Walgreens reading glasses and my preservatives forward diet, and eventually shunned by the cool kids for being less airstream, and more mainstream.

I figure we could always string bistro lights outside so that at least the airstream people wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable saying “hi” to us.

Actually, I have no idea if there is an Airstream RV type, I just know renovated airstreams are retro chic and regularly make it into aspirational lifestyle magazines. I have been going down the wormhole of RV makeovers. The more dramatic RV renos seem to look like a stationary tiny house, totally gutted and with regular house furniture. Makes for more dramatic “after” photos, but impractical if you plan to actually drive it.

And, I don’t want something too big so I’m thinking maybe the Minnie Winnie. Last photo of a Minnie Winnie reno.

https://winnebagolife.com/2019/12/winnebago-renovations-we-love

The Minnie Winnie is tighter on space and I’d have to accept Mark’s bird books could take a whole shelf, but I think it could work.

Maybe I’m just thinking Minnie Winnie because I’m more familiar with it, a couple of summer’s ago we took a trip to the Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado. We had many games of Risk by lamplight.

Our first trip in a Minnie Winnie

If you had told me, at any point in my life until now, that I’d be looking into actually buying an RV of any kind I would have laughed in your face. Hard. But, now I can see Mark and myself as empty nester RVers one day.

I picture the two of us, years from now, quietly preparing breakfast in tandem while parked at a campground. Or in the driveway of our daughter’s boyfriend’s home.

“Mother, can you hand me the spatula?” Mark will ask me. And I will pass him our only spatula not knowing how or when I started letting him call me “mother.”

There is a knock on the RV door. I answer.

“Mark,” I call out, “We need to leave! It’s the roommate and he is tired of being blocked in every morning! He says it is time for us to move on!”

“What?” Mark calls back.

“We need to leave!”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Then turn off the fan!”

“The what?!”

“The fan!”

“The pan!?”

“The fan!”

“The what?!”

“Mark!!!”

4. The Guest cabin

I found this flyer in my car the other day. I had picked it up a few days ago this structure was just sitting on a corner in town with a “for sale” sign on it.

Wish I could see the transformation once someone finishes this cabin.

The log or wood cabin is a popular choice for guests visiting this state, and they are everywhere on Airbnb. But what if we had our very own cabin right here on our property for our friends and family. We could hook it up to our plumbing so it is an actual bedroom en suite.

“Stop calling it a guest cabin,” Mark tells me if only because I keep calling it that. “We need to refer to it as a utility shed.”

Apparently, having a shed on one’s property is okay. A cabin isn’t. It is considered a second home. I don’t know who would say anything though as judging by everyone else’s yard here in Alaska, anything goes, we see structures three times larger than the house itself. Shelter for big toys comes before shelter for family in the order of priorities.

“Yes, I meant this could be a shed, for your tools,” I agree, “and if you get tired while organizing your tools there will be a bathroom and shower so you can wash up, and a bed so you can nap.”

Now looking at its dimensions, I think it would take up too much property space. I don’t think we will get that many visitors for it to make sense as a permanent fixture, and I fear we’d just end up filling with junk. If we make a big purchase, I’m definitely leaning more towards the RV option.

Security Measures

As Mark and I head down our driveway I think back to that sign on the Wellness Center, the sign really isn’t a bad idea. It might work better than a “No Solicitors” sign which I had been meaning to get. Especially for anyone claiming that they aren’t technically solicitors.

Where we live now, there are only two people that come down our driveway, and that’s the guy with the snowplow and UPS which is why it is extra unnerving when we did have solicitors on one dark night this past winter.

I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard my daughter Tatum talking to someone at the front door. From the top of the stairs I saw her standing talking to two men. Who were they and why had my daughter opened the door for them? How many times do I have to tell her, unless it is the UPS man (delivering something like an Amazon box containing closet dividers) one NEVER opens the door for strangers!

I knew why she thought it was okay this time. The two men looked young and innocent. They were in their late teens, maybe early twenties. Or perhaps they were middle age and on the Cenegenics program. In any case, few things get me riled up more than strangers ringing my doorbell and especially at night, and especially when Mark isn’t here, and especially when we are living in a house that is this remote. I don’t like it, and I just don’t like it. I really don’t like it.

As I head down the stairs in my robe, the boys look up at me.

“Good evening Ma’am,” says one, “We were just talking to your daughter about her faith. Can I ask you…?” was the last thing I heard clearly before I started mumbling “no, sorry, no…” and softly closed the door. As if they wouldn’t notice that I just shut the door in their faces if I do it softly.

“Oh my god Mom, that was so rude!” Tatum says.

I’m sure those boys were harmless enough and of course they think they are doing the right thing, it’s just…no. I really don’t like it.

Rules of Gun Club

“We should put up one of those “Don’t expect a warning shot” signs on our front door,” I joke to Mark.

“Yes, and we should get a gun,” Mark not-jokes back.

Ugh the gun subject again.

“I forgot to tell you,” Mark continues, “tomorrow I’m going to join a gun club.”

Now, since we have been in Alaska, we only had one gun lesson, and it was a bust. What I had thought would be a chance to conquer my fears just made my fears even worse. https://pokingthebear.org/teaching-kids-about-guns-familys-first-lesson-in-firearms/

But, I guess join a gun club first, and learn how to handle a gun second. That’s apparently how we are doing it because the next night I joined Mark at the gun club’s membership orientation meeting.

Basically, the orientation was a laundry list of all the ways to get kicked out of the club.

Speaking from behind his covid protective mask, the owner/manager of the club lectured us military style.

Some rules he listed off I understood because they were in english, like, “Pick up after yourself! Yes that means your shell casings too! We’re not your mom, clean up after yourself or you’re gone!”

But other rules, I just had no idea what he was saying as they were too technical. They sounded important though.

What I heard was, “You blah blah blah, and you’re gone! And, if you blah blah blah? Oh, you are definitely gone!”

I didn’t hear him say, “If you blog about this club you’re gone!” So, I think we’re good on that.

I wonder if everyone could tell we didn’t belong. Well, me for sure, but also Mark. Certainly no one else was dressed in an oxford button down shirt, khakis, and penny loafers. Coincidentally this is what Mark wore on our very first date. And every day following.

“Xenia, Mark needs to change up his style!” My mom would often tell me until she gave up, “He needs to dress more hip hop!”

I think by “hip hop” my mom really just meant…not khakis.

When the owner/manager took Mark’s membership paperwork and payment, he was no longer so stern but quite friendly, more so than with the other new members, unless I’m totally imagining this. Seriously, I might be totally imagining that. But while he was chatting up Mark I felt like perhaps he appreciated the business casual attire, and he took it as a sign that Mark wouldn’t cause trouble. Or maybe he could tell Mark will be one of those members who pay the annual dues only to use the club once. Maybe twice. And that will very likely be the case.

What the manager/owner probably wouldn’t appreciate is that not only is Mark not a NRA member, which is strongly, and I mean strongly recommended at the gun club. He wouldn’t guess that our family is somewhat active in campaigning for stricter gun legislation.

I don’t know, we may be transforming in ways I can’t identify just yet, but that was all a part of this move to Alaska adventure package. I am not sure whether our “after” picture will be an improvement or not, but my guess is that it will at least make it on a list of ironic images.

Ending this post with one more bird shot taken from the boat trip in Seward. A Bald Eagle, no need to check the book.
May 11, 2020
Springtime is Break-Up Time

Things are thawing out here in Alaska. I’d say we are just a day or two away from being able to extract my son’s homework from the driveway, which is now three months past due.

More original than the “dog ate my homework” excuse.

Spring, Alaska’s Ugly Season

Spring here is referred to as, “The Break Up.”

This is the time of year when ice begins to melt, and white snow turns to dirty snow, or slush. It’s hard to know whether the car should be in 4-wheel drive or 2-wheel drive, or whether you still need to keep out your winter boots with good treading.

My son Anders discovers he chose the wrong footwear.

It might not be fair of me to call spring in Alaska “ugly” because it’s still pretty. It just has such stiff competition. There is summer, the fan favorite, and there is the elegant beauty of fall. And then there is winter which has its own dramatic allure.

Summer

We moved to Soldotna during the summer. And everyone loves summer, especially summer on the Kenai Peninsula which is known as, “Alaska’s Playground.”

And, with the midnight sun only dipping briefly out of sight it’s not so much that you can’t sleep, but that you don’t want to sleep. A friend here told me in summer she feels like a “superhero” simply because with longer days, she does so much, and gets so much done. “You could be gardening and then you notice it’s 10pm!”

Heading out for a trip around the lake at 9:45 pm. The sun will hang out there for quite awhile.

We spent the last month of summer (our first month living in Soldotna) in a cabin rental on a lake called Loon Lake. It is called that for a reason. The call of the Loon bird is spooky, especially listening to it at night or in the early morning mist. I love the sound. In case you need a reference, this is the sound of the loon. It’ll just take the first couple of seconds of the video to get it.

Fall

We moved out of the rental and into our new house at the beginning of fall. I only wish there were more Loons on this lake. Otherwise it is perfection.

Nuff said. No one can name fall as the ugliest season.

Winter

Winter was the season I was most worried about.

All I heard from friends before we moved was:

“How are you going to handle those long dark winters?!”

“I could never do winter in Alaska.”

“Winter will suck!”

When I mentioned our move during my annual physical, my doctor prescribed me three different medications; one for depression, one for anxiety, and one for sleeplessness caused by anxiety, then she handed me a five page print out on SAD (seasonal affective disorder) and a list of top rated sun/light therapy lamps. I had not come in to ask for meds, but walking out with all those prescriptions for depression and anxiety had me feeling depressed and anxious.

Was I underestimating winters in Alaska? Could they really be that bad?

This vision of myself on a winter night began to haunt me. I am curled up in the corner of a dark house. From the moonlight streaming through the window you see I am cradling a broken sun lamp in one arm, and a bottle of vodka in the other. I am muttering to myself, but it is unintelligible. As we close in, we start to make out some words, something about why I had to kill my family? Suddenly the sun lamp flickers on, it’s fluorescent light reveals my face covered in blood. I turn and stare into the light, the muttering stops as I begin to laugh.

But…as it turns out, winter might be my favorite season. The deeper we got into winter the more stunning it became. I am perhaps in the minority here, but I don’t find winter depressing but inspiring.

I couldn’t stop taking pictures of everything and anything, including our driveway being plowed.

And I kept having to pull the car over to take photos of trees! By the way, note that winter isn’t non-stop darkness.

I only recently learned that this is called, Hoarfrost. Had to double check the spelling on this one.

hoar·frost – /ˈhôrˌfrôst/ : A grayish-white crystalline deposit of frozen water vapor formed in clear still weather on vegetation, fences, etc.

Also had to pull over and take a shot of our neighbors down the street.

Half-expecting the centaurs from Narnia to trot out of the woods.

No way could we call winter Alaska’s ugliest season. I’m ready for summer, but as winter melts away, I miss winter by visual comparison. Here is a photo of the same cabins.

More real than magical.

I survived one winter without feeling the need for the meds, although I did turn on my sun lamp (“Happylight” as it is called) a few times. But it hurt my eyes. And that might be telling of why I probably fare better in winter here than most, and why summer here is a little harder for me. I’m not really into the sun or bright light in general.

Neither is my sister. Whenever we meet for lunch we fight over the seat facing away from the window. And by fight, I mean physically, to the point where customers turn and stare and the manager starts to walk over. Usually though we make an effort to avoid this by choosing restaurants with plenty of dark booths.

It hurts my eyes just looking at a photo of it.

Of course, to be fair, from a travelers perspective spring is like any season here. It has its own set of adventures.

2 Big Reasons to Travel to Alaska in the Spring:

1. It is less expensive since spring is a shoulder season.

Well, that’s all I have to say about that.

2: Spring is when life emerges

This is the time of year bears come out of hibernation. Given the title of my blog I’m still determined to not be ironic and be mauled to death by one. And so we have been avoiding hiking trails at the moment.

Assuming travel opens up given the current covid-19 lockdown, we are hoping to drive to Seward to do a little whale viewing before spring ends. This is the time when the grey whale migrates to the Bering Sea passing through the fjords of Seward on the way.

There are all kinds of bird festivals to view their migration in the spring. This year, those festivals have been switched to on-line affairs. Will be interesting to see how that works out.

https://www.alaskacenters.gov/explore/attractions/wildlife-alaska/birds/bird-festivals

There is also the caribou migration in the northwest. A bucket list item for many.

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/06/travel/caribou-migration-arctic-alaska.html

End note:

In the time since I began writing this post, the ice in our driveway has melted and whatever homework had felt itself so important to be preserved forever in ice is now un-identifiable. We can also probably put that snow shovel in storage.

April 23, 2020
Aboard the National Geographic Explorer in Antarctica
Our ship, the National Geographic Explorer. Photo taken by my sister Marla, the birthday girl.

My sister’s 40^th was coming up. To celebrate such a milestone birthday, I suggested we go for Sushi, but she said she’d rather go to Antartica.

Always eager to please “the baby of the family” my parents booked Marla on a cruise to Antarctica as a gift, but they were worried about her going alone. After much discussion, my parents suggested to me that perhaps they should send me too, to serve as Marla’s handmaiden/bodyguard.

“It would be a great honor!” I magnanimously assured them. “I will see to it that no harm befalls my lady, and no one but I could be a more convincing decoy should dire circumstance require.”

My parents nod at this, my sister and I do look a lot alike, we sound alike, and we even have the same spastic hand gestures. In case they were still unsure though, I went on.

“I pledge I will be a most attentive and lively travel companion. Her pillow shall always be fluffed to her liking. I will dance for her. I will juggle and make her laugh. And as her loyal confidant, I will take on her darkest secrets as my own. Your youngest-born shall want for nothing!”

My bold promises worked. My parents decided I was the right person for the job. So the following January, Marla and I were off to the white continent via Argentina.

Day One – after over 48 hours of travel, Marla and her handmaiden set foot on the continent of Antarctica

Of course we were sure of which way to hold the map, we only asked our guide first to test if HE knew.

Off to see some penguins (photo by Marla)

Antarctica feels like being on another planet, one where penguins reign. There were a lot of penguins. We geared up in the mornings and rode out on the Zodiacs to see huge colonies of penguins. We’d watch them as they waddled along their “penguin highways,” always waddling, or nesting. Squawking while eating, or pooping while squawking. I wanted say, “I get you, I live the same way.”

On rare occasion I’d spot a sole penguin content to be alone on his/her own iceberg and I wanted to say, “But I get you more.”

Where are your friends little buddy?

If you’re wondering why my sister chose Antarctica as her dream trip, much of it has to do with it being a dream destination for photographers, and Marla is an amazing photographer https://marlarutherford.com

When it comes to explaining our experience on the other end of the planet, photographs definitely speak louder than words especially Marla’s photographs.

Ship doing a sixty point turn (or so it seemed) to turn around and get out of this pack ice.

Views like this one, everywhere you look, any time you look.

My spirit animal

Marla’s actual birthday happened halfway through the trip. To continue to prove myself worthy as her chosen travel companion, I surprised my sister by going all-out on decorating our cabin door.

Maybe I went overboard with the decorations, but you only turn 40 once!

The birthday continued with a little kayak exploration and an organized dinner in the Captain’s quarters. All in all, a perfect 40th, and more fun that going out for sushi.

Marla chose Antarctica because it is so beautiful, and she is a photographer. But, there are other reasons people come.

3 Reasons to Travel to Antartica:
1. Global warming. Hate to say it because it is so sad. https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/heres-how-much-ice-antarctica-is-losing-mdash-its-a-lot1/. The Antarctica one imagines has become a now or never place to see in person.
2. If you’re a nature travel enthusiast, this place is your paradise. It is a world run by wildlife, not humans.
3. Because you can.
More on reason #3 – Many of our conversations with other passengers began with the question, “so why did you choose Antarctica?” Antarctica is a place one has to debate and then choose to visit. Due to the expense and the time required to get there, you are unlikely to arrive by mistake. I was surprised by how often the answer was something like, “because it was the remaining continent I had yet to set foot on.” Which speaks to the type of person that one finds on these cruises. Someone who is already well traveled, has decent discretionary income, and someone who has the time. Many passengers were retired, or semi-retired. At age 40, my sister was one of the babies on the boat.

The ship, National Geographic Explorer, isn’t as tough as it sounds. Arriving at our cabin on day 1 we found robes, slippers, and a bright orange National Geographic winter jacket waiting for us on our beds. My sister was provided with a menu of spa services, which of course has been my gift to my sister every year, only this time it was on a moving spa plowing through ice.

On the ship, most passengers on the youngish side either had someone else helping to fund the adventure (cough, cough), or they had done very well for themselves, or they were very creative, or all the above. There was the actor who starred in a kids show called “Blues Clues” which was popular and beloved by my kids when they were toddlers (he is seated here next to Marla at her birthday dinner) There was another single young male traveler who apparently made plenty of money selling high end pot chocolates. And there was a couple who had negotiated with National Geographic to pay for their trip in exchange for their advice to help plan and set up business conference voyages in the future.

Marla’s birthday celebration in the Captain’s Quarters.

The only other way to experience Antartica without the big cost is to work for one of the travel companies (several attendees at the birthday dinner are National Geographic guides and experts on marine biology and climate change) or to work in one of the small research centers. Some people choose tent camping, as it is the only way to stay overnight on land if you aren’t in a research center. But this option has to be approved through an organization, and it can be more expensive and certainly more extreme than a cruise.

More on that cruise here:
November 28, 2019