Leaving On A Jet Plane

Saturday, August 18th 2018
I went to sleep early in Beaver Creek. One of us (I can’t recall who) set an alarm for the 2:00am so I could attempt some milky way photos again, while I still could. When the alarm went off, I peeked out the window to check out the clarity of the night sky. It was clear, but it looked like a shelf of thin clouds was moving in. As my eyes adjusted, the excitement swelled within me as I knew, based on past experience, that those weren’t clouds moving in. “Cameron!” I exclaimed, “Northern Lights!”   I whipped my camera out of the bag and immediately got to work. Cameron groggily took an extra minute to join me outside, where I was already experimenting with trying to get some pictures. Sans tripod, I worked quickly to get the camera in a position to capture the light show. First on top of the car, and then to a picnic table, I took many exposures trying to get one A) in focus B) that truly captured the whimsy, the color, and the life the sky was flaunting. I got many colorful pictures (see bottom of entry) of the aurora flitting and pulsing and dancing like pale green and purple ribbons across the sky, but I only got one in focus. And that was all Mother Nature, and my sleep-deprivation-induced-impatient brother would allow. Shortly after the one “good” picture was taken, the lights faded back into the inky black star-speckled sky, and they were gone. I didn’t see them again. We had awoken at the picture perfect time.

Morning came, and we were out the door by 7:00am, greeted by clear blue skies, a nice change from the haze we’d had for almost the entire trip. A quick breakfast across the street (which were some of the best “hot cakes” I’ve ever had, complete with real maple syrup), we were on the road, only 15 or so miles from the US border. Naturally, we had to take a picture with the “Welcome to Alaska” sign. After all, we made it. But we were only in the home stretch, we had 400 miles to go before we actually made our destination. But my goodness, what it a magnificent 400 miles it was. Jagged mountains, flowing giant white glaciers, and the enormous snow-capped shield of the Mount Wrangell volcano and Mount. Zanetti’s pure white volcanic cinder cone peak in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park rose like titans in the rear view mirror.

The closer we got to Anchorage, the duller the sky became until it was overcast. When we finally arrived there, the sky was as grey as it could be. It didn’t rain, but it was gloomy. That didn’t stop us from driving around the relatively small city. I found a giant vibrant postcard mural that I just had to take a picture with, and then we parked by a park overlooking the bay, and I waited in the car as Cameron made calls about a hotel. I later asked if it was a hotel? A hostel? An Air BnB? No response.

This is where it gets tricky. Cameron navigated me to the suburbs of Anchorage where I expected a hotel to be. But the streets went from commercial to urban residential, and then finally to suburban residential. I was utterly confused when we pulled up to a house in a caul de sac, but stayed put when Cameron went inside. A half hour later, he summons me inside. Much to my confusion and anger, this wasn’t a hotel, or even a hostel. It was a makeshift boarding house with at least 12 other people sleeping in double or triple rooms, pull-out sofas, spaces under the stairs or in the dining room, tents and cabins in the backyard, or even a bed in an ice cream truck parked in the driveway. The place was crowded, and in my opinion, a bit on the falling apart side.

I was very angry and it sent me into a pretty intense anxiety attack. Cameron had picked this place up on Craigslist because it was cheap and it was what he could afford. But he definitely had not consulted me about my feelings. Not only am I shy, but I get social anxiety, especially when I am not mentally prepared or have awareness of out-of-the-comfort-zone stepping. The anxiety over the sudden amount of strangers (of both sexes) I’d be sharing a living space sent me into a fit of hysterics. Cameron might be able to handle the influx of strangers and socializing and vagabond lifestyle on a whim, but I can’t. Cameron thought it would be fun. He and I have very different definitions of fun.

Cameron told me we’d go to dinner and talk about it. When I marched to the car, the “landlady” Cat saw me and asked him if I was okay. I forced a smile and waved while Cameron exchanged words with her, but when he approached me and the car again, he told me that she knew I was upset and had invited her to dinner to talk about things. This just infuriated me more and further sent my anxiety into a frenzy. Now not only did I have to deal with the emotions and the stress of just working out my feelings with him, he invited Cat to dinner, putting me in an uncomfortably awful position of having to work those many emotions and stressors out with her and him, and making me appear rude and ungrateful at the living situation, which is not at all what I wanted or even what I was feeling. The true issue is that I was not consulted. I would have been okay with a hostel. But a stranger’s house, especially without asking me, crossed such a big comfort-level line. Cameron said he didn’t ask me because he knew I’d disapprove. Just to clarify one more time. This is nothing against Cat, the people who live in her house, or the bohemian lifestyle these people live. It was me, my anxieties, and this whole situation being unknowingly dropped on me at the last second.

Cat ended up not joining us for dinner because I refused, but Cameron and I got into a shouting match in the parking lot of some Vietnamese restaurant, our words laced with obscenities and blame from both sides. We ended up eating dinner separately, and after angry texts, calls, and a little more shouting, we mostly worked it out. I agreed I would stay the night, and we went back to the house.

Back at the house, we convened in the living room area and talked with some of the housemates and Cat for a while. Everyone was kind, albeit getting increasingly drunk (except me, since I don’t drink) as the night went on courtesy of a couple boxes of boxed Merlot. I apologized to Cat for if I seemed rude and explained my feelings to her and that it wasn’t her fault. I did this as she read my palms in the glow from the light above the kitchen stove. The conversations went on for a while, Cat explaining how the house got to be this way and who lived there. She was very quirky and lively. But she also had some qualities I wasn’t too fond of. I also learned she would time my morning showers and bathroom time. She also said she could never like someone who ate meat because they’re terrible people. Thanks. She also tried to set me up her son. “I found you a wife!” she said, before laughing and saying “sometimes I still wish arranged marriages were a thing.”  I guess after some thinking and conversation I’ll take as a compliment even though he was definitely not my type.

I didn’t rest easy. I was on a loud under-inflated air bed and didn’t have a pillow. I was sleeping in the same room as a stranger. I was awoken several times in the night to the sound of rowdy conversation outside, and at least once to the frightening sight of flickering orange flames on the walls. Though, this was just related to the people outside chatting loudly and lighting middle-of-the-night fires in a fire pit.

That night was a terrible one to not get any sleep, given that I’d be on a red eye flight later that day. But our day started early with breakfast at an overly and unnecessarily conservative diner. The food was great and I had myself some reindeer sausage. This tasted a lot different than the reindeer burger I had a couple years ago. The sausage tasted more like kielbasa and less like the gamy venison flavor I remembered of the Icelandic burger.   Afterwards, we went for a quick stroll in Earthquake Park, but when we realized that I wouldn’t be able to take the trail down to the water because of my leg, we turned back and ventured downtown again. It began to rain as we drove around looking for some Alaskan souvenir shops. I got some souvenirs, and we decided to catch a movie. For the record, this was the nicest theater I’ve been to. Literal recliners (with foot rests), cheap movie tickets, and good concessions. Cameron and I saw The Meg, a horribly fun movie.    We went back downtown for a late lunch/early dinner. Hitting what was probably one of the more expensive places in Anchorage, I indulged myself in some overpriced yet delicious fresh Alaskan crab for dinner. Was it worth it? I’ll tell you when I’m done paying off the credit card debt.    It was a short drive to the airport. In the departures drop off, I hugged my brother goodbye and wished him luck at the airport and left him the farthest he’s ever been from home.

Final strangle count: 21

Saturday, August 18th/20th 2018
And so I sit here, no longer watching sprawling mountain vistas pass by me through an open car window. No more is the breeze filling my lungs with crisp clean (or smoky, you know either one) air, but instead I am staring at the windowless pale yellow walls of my office with stuffy, recycled dry air from the HVAC drifting in, and the only breeze coming from my little desk fan. I am quietly listening to John Denver, hoping to induce a little nostalgia of the sights I miss already, and am nursing a cup of coffee so to keep my drooping eyelids from closing and remaining that way.    It has been a wonderful experience, one with a roller coaster of emotions and elevations. I’ll miss the peace, I’ll miss the sights, I’ll miss my brother, and I’ll miss the awe. Thank you Cameron for letting me come with you. I wish you the best of luck in this new adventure in your life. If you are still reading, thank you for sticking with me all this time. Below, find more photos from our adventures, and now onto the next one.

“He’s an hour away from ridin’ on your prayers up in the sky
And ten days on the road are barely gone
There’s a fire softly burning; supper’s on the stove
But it’s the light in your eyes that makes him warm.
Hey, it’s good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend
Yes, ‘n, hey it’s good to be back home again.” 

John Denver