A dog's life in Juneau

I am wrapped in a cloud and my first view of Alaska is muted like a Japanese sumi-e painting. Mountains move in an out of soft focus while the fog swirls around the moving ship. I lean against the wet deck railing and listen to the sound of rushing water. I catch a glimpse of a waterfall tumbling down the side of a mist wreathed mountain.

My bare feet are cold and I shiver. I decide that I will need my winter gear today. I plan to spend the day hiking on remote mountain trails and mushing. If it's cold at sea level it will be even colder at elevation. As I ponder the need for a hat and gloves the fog evaporates. It startles me to realize that the gray cloud has completely ceased to exist. The dim mountain shadows are replaced with a brilliant green. Snow fields and glaciers glitter along the mountain tops and the thunder of the waterfalls, born from the summer snow melt, delight me. Every where I turn I can see water dropping into the sea. I move inside and get ready to go ashore as Juneau's first houses and cars come into view.

The tramway lifts out of the station and begins a dizzying ascent up Mt. Roberts. It sways as the passengers jostle each other for a place by the windows. The operator begins her talk about how far up we are going (very far up!), how many bears roam around on Mt. Roberts (too many bears!), and when the last tram of the day departs. If you miss it you have to hike back down past all those bears and a beast called the hoary marmot. Since I try to avoid anything that's remotely whorey, I make note of the need to leave before the last tram descends.

The trails on Mt. Roberts are well marked but steep. I pass several of my shipmates taking breaks on trail side benches and viewing areas. When I need to rest I pretend that I am stopping to take a picture, smell the abundant wildflowers, or look through my binoculars. Climb, climb, click, click. Climb, climb, sniff, sniff. Climb, climb, look, look. Eventually I get to the top of the world. The view is spectacular and what do you know! There's cell phone reception up here! I call the First Runner Up to tell him about the bald eagle that has been circling over my head for the past hour.

The First Runner Up is an outdoorsman. He hunts. He fishes. He camps in the rain. He would appreciate that I am willing to fend off bears and hoary things in order to have the opportunity to say, "I'm on vacation and you're NOT. Na na na na boo boo!" Not that I actually plan on saying that. I will think it, he will know I am thinking it, but we will talk about eagles. Drats! The First Runner up is sly. He lets my call roll into voicemail. I am forced to leave an oral postcard. "An eagle is watching me play in the snow on the top of the world. Wish you were here! Miss you. Bye." Nice, but not nearly as satisfying as "Na na na na boo boo." I glance at the time as I tuck my cellphone back in my pocket. I need to go back down the mountain. Sled dogs are waiting for me on Douglas Island.

The dogs that pull sleds in Alaska are called Alaskan Huskies. What they really should be called is Alaskan Muttlies. Most of them descend from the dogs who arrived in Alaska during the gold rush 100 years ago. They are a ratty looking bunch that don't come close to resembling the Disney dogs you see in the movies. But what they lack in looks they more than make up for in intelligence. You can see that when you look in their eyes, if, that is, they bother to let you look. Alaskan huskies know tourists when they see them. They also know that we are inconsequential. Their attention is on their musher, the other dogs, and the trail. They are all world class athletes in training. Most of them are veterans of the Iditerod. The exception are the young ones who are being trained by the older ones. The young ones have yet to learn that a tourist isn't worth their time or energy. They wag their tails when I approach. The veterans remain aloof.

The barking is deafening as the dogs strain in their harnesses. I am in front of the musher in the last seat of an 800 lb wheeled cart. This is where you want to be when you are behind a team of 16 dogs. The farther back you are from the dogs' hind ends the better the view and the smell. The folks in the front of the cart are about to learn this.

The musher is a mud splattered French man named Pierre. He has competed in the Iditerod for the last three years. The money that tourists pay to ride with the dogs during summer camp supports him and his team for the rest of the year. Well known mushers of winning teams have corporate sponsorship from dog food companies or people like Bill Gates. The average competitor, though, is someone who just eeks by. Feeding and housing the dogs is expensive. Equipment is expensive. This is more than a hobby. It is a way of life. "Is this your dream job?" I ask Pierre. He nods and his expression, which has been stern since we met, softens. "It is the only thing I want to do, " he tells me. "I do not want to do anything else." I look around at the affluent people who sit with me in the cart. How many of them can say they do not want to do anything else but what they do? Pierre is a rich man. It's the others who are eeking by.

Basket case

Cruising is all about the food. Everyone is preoccupied with when the next all-you-can eat experience will occur. I found this slightly disturbing so I began to limit my exposure to the people on the buffet lines. This did not mean, however, that I limited my exposure to food. Food was everywhere and I happily played with it.

Fabrezio smiled shyly as I tied the Holland America apron around my waist and placed the tall chef's toque on my head. His job is to teach a dozen of us sea-faring foodies how to create a light and tasty summer dish suitable for entertaining. I can see that he is nervous and much more comfortable preparing food than talking about it. But oh, how I loved when he talked about it! His Italian accent charmed me as did his expectation that we already had basic culinary skills.

The menu was simple yet elegant. He divided us into 3 groups each with the responsibility to create either the herbal mojito style cocktail, the modified Caesar salad, or the Thai inspired shrimp entree. I was part of the salad group and immediately set myself to finely dicing shallots. There was a bit of a grumble among some of the foodies who wanted to do everything and not just a part of the meal. They were not team players. They should have been stripped of their aprons and toques and sent back to the buffet line. In the end they refused to try the food we created because of inconsistent handwashing among the student chefs. This pleased me. More shrimp for me!

While I didn't appreciate the complainers' arrogance, I could understand their germaphobic orientation. Everywhere you go a crew member is trying to squirt Purell hand sanitizer on you. This reinforces a mind set that everyone around you is a vector for the plague or some hideous virus. And, while an outbreak of norovirus can be very costly to a cruise line, not to mention very uncomfortable for the passengers who come down with it, I hated being assaulted with the germ killer. I soon learned to take evasive action and dance around the sanitizer guys the same way I avoid perfume squirters in department stores. But I digress. Back to food...

Thinking about and eating food is one thing. Thinking about how you look while eating food is another. It's very important to look good while eating, especially on formal nights, when the captain can see you eating. So, to ensure that I was worthy of the captain's scrutiny, I found myself in the stylist's chair later that afternoon.

I watched orcas frolic alongside the ship through the spa window while the stylist stood behind me holding handfuls of my hair. "You want me to put all of this on top of your head?" she asked dubiously. I eyed her doubtful expression in the mirror. "As much of it as you can fit up there," I replied. "You are the expert. Do whatever you think would look good." Most experts like to be given free rein to do what they do best. I never tell stylists how to style or chef's how to cook. I just confidently place myself in their hands and see what happens. I'm rarely disappointed although I am often surprised.

I watched the whales rather than the stylist. I could feel twisting and tugging and pulling and pinning. When I did venture a look in the stylist's direction she was very focused on the back of my head. After more twisting, tugging, pulling, and pinning the curling iron came out and there was a fair bit of sizzling. Finally, she told me I was done. She held up a mirror and I gazed at my reflection. I am sure she saw my startled look.

"You don't like it." she said. "I can do something else."
"No, I like it!" I insisted. "It's really...unusual." I looked back at my reflection. Most of my hair was lifted to the right side of my face and fell in ringlets to my shoulder. Behind my head, however, was an intricate woven pattern. My hair had been twisted and threaded in and out leaving the impression of...well...of a basket! All it needed was a bunch of grapes and a couple of bananas and the look would have been complete!

I took my basket-headed self back to my stateroom and slipped into my black evening gown. The VIP cocktail party was in full swing across the hall in the Neptune Lounge. Several couples were vying for the attention of Capt. Van Den Berg but he stood there in his formal uniform with a disgruntled air about him. It was obvious that he didn't relish this part of his job. He is a man who loves the sea but not the sea-goers. I chose not to burden him with one more introduction and headed off to see a boy named Su.

Ship Shape

A smiling cabin steward escorts me to my stateroom. He tells me that I have time to relax, eat lunch, and explore the ship before the lifeboat and safety drill begins. He shows me where my lifevest is stored and reminds me to take it with me when the announcement to go on deck is made. I step out on to my verandah and look toward the city. It's another quasi-gray day in Seattle. I have been told that the sun shines in this city but I think that is an urban legend.

My stateroom is spacious and well appointed. There are plenty of closets, a ton of dresser space, a whirlpool tub, fresh flowers and fruit, and big cushy bathrobes. Personalized stationary imprinted with my name and my stateroom number waits for me on the desk. Does Holland America know that I am eschewing email? Are they accommodating this with paper and pen? I've heard that the service in first class is amazing, but this is extraordinary. There are other gifts along with the stationary. My favorite is the bottle of champagne compliments of the captain. I decide to enjoy it on my verandah once we are underway. But safety first. It's time to put on my lifevest and head to Lifeboat Number 7.

"Step back, step back, PLEASE!" the officer barks as we try to squeeze ourselves away from the deck rail. I wink at the woman next to me and push back a little farther. "I hope I'm not getting too familiar with your husband," I tell her. The man behind me seems to enjoy this. If he enjoyed it any more he would owe me a dinner.

The ship's officer begins his roll call and once we are all accounted for he tells us that in the event of an emergency women, children, and infirm people will be evacuated first. I ponder this maritime tradition. Saving children first makes sense. I can't think of anyone who would support kids going down with the ship. But women? Shouldn't there be a coin toss or something to determine if women or men evacuate first? Heads it's women, tails it's men? The blatant sexism bothers me. The argument that the kids would need the women more than the men is false and should offend men. But none of the men appear offended. To the contrary, they are smiling for the ship's photographer. I look around to see if any of my fellow lifeboat assignees are "infirm." Unfirm, maybe. There's a bit of paunch and some jiggly wiggly going on, but no one appears infirm. Good. Loading infirm people ahead of able bodied people is counter to the evacuation principles that I must follow when managing a critical incident. You can lose a lot of well people if they get log jammed behind a sick or injured person. So, unlike on the high seas, the landlubbing infirm are evacuated last.

Oh no! I'm thinking about triage and mass evacuation! That's work, not vacation! I turn my thoughts to more pleasant things. I imagine myself watching wildlife from the verandah. I consider which dress to wear to dinner. I salivate over the little tea cakes and sandwiches in the private lounge across from my stateroom. I think about spending tomorrow at sea and then waking up in Juneau, Alaska.

I have done my homework regarding Juneau. It isn't smart to travel without knowing the issues and stakeholders in the places you visit. Juneau, I have learned, has a few trouble spots. Apparently a pizza war has been raging ever since the owner of a popular pizzeria hunted leaopards in Africa. Now there is a movement to boycott his business. I guess the natives hate it if you hunt anywhere but at home. At any rate, I don't wish to stir up trouble so I will avoid all pizzerias in Juneau. Everyone knows that pizza wars can be treacherous.

The Space Needle glides past me as the bubbles in my wineglass tickle my nose. Music drifts down to me from the Lido Deck. Soon pine trees and mountain peaks replace the city skyline. I hear an electronic chirp as my cell phone changes its display to "no service." The only way to reach me now is via shore-to-ship radio at $16 a minute. Wow! If someone calls me now it's because they think a conversation with me is worth $960 an hour. I flatter myself with this thought as I head off to explore the ship.

Tomorrow...spa side orcas, evening gowns, and a boy named Su.

Slainte!

Vacation time, more or less...

I have been described as a "ridiculously goal oriented" person. I disagree with the term "ridiculously" but I certainly can't deny the rest of the statement. Traveling to Alaska is no exception. Oh sure, it's supposed to be a vacation and vacations are supposed to be a time when you aren't driven to achieve, but even now I have very specific goals for my time away. They are:

1. Remain completely unplugged. No internet. No news. No phone calls related to work. OnStar scoffed at the thought that I could do this. I am determined to do it, especially now that I have been scoffed at!

2. Read something for pleasure rather than for scientific or professional purposes. It has been 8 months since I have lost myself in prose or poetry. That is far too long.

3. Do less. Put less pressure on myself to be productive. Focus less on schedules -although I do have to be concerned about when to get back onboard the ship. Worry less about who needs what from me when.

4. Do More. Sit more. Sleep more. Daydream more. Walk into the world without expectations more.

Seems easy enough, doesn't it?

It is Day 1 and I'm not sure if I should unplug now or later. I decide later. I need to set out for the airport in 2 hours. I'm not completely packed. My house is in disarray and resembles a place inhabited by drunken frat boys. I need to do something about this before the housekeeper comes. Oh, and there is a crisis brewing at work that has required a lot of attention. I pull up my email. Doesn't anyone sleep at night? There are over a dozen urgent messages from students and fellow faculty. I answer them and then set my automated away message. I decide to tell people that I will be away for 2 days beyond my return date.

Somehow, it all comes together. The house gets picked up, the bags get packed, and I get myself to the airport. So far I haven't done very well at meeting my goals. I'm doing less and more in the wrong direction. I promise myself that once I am on the plane this will change. And it does. Sit more. I'm definitely sitting more! I pull out my travel pillow and prop myself against the window. Soon I am sleeping more. Somewhere over the Great Plains I pull out one of the two novels I have packed. I'm reading for pleasure! From time to time I leave my book and gaze out the window to let my mind wander. When it tries to wander over to work I bitch slap it back to other thoughts. Five hours pass and Mt. Hood and Ranier come into view. Soon I will be on the ground and I will walk in the world with few expectations.

My feet take me to a dive bar in an offbeat Seattle neighborhood. The neon sign in the Five Point Cafe and Bar window says they have been cheating tourists and drunks since 1929. Their self deprecation appeals to me. So does their menu. Since I have no expectations I can't be disappointed.

I'm definitely not disappointed. Someone in the kitchen knows what they are doing. The food is outstanding. I ask for a second glass of wine to go with my meal. The waitress smiles. "I'll have to bring the bottle to you," she says. "You have the only wine glass we own." Wow! I definitely didn't expect that. I try hard to push my expectations even lower and I am rewarded. The bottle comes to my table. It's a 3.5 ounce twist top.

The wine does it's magic. I feel my travel fatigue slipping away. I lean back and congratulate myself. It's Day 1 and I did it. I met my goals:

Sat more - check

Slept more - check

Read for pleasure - check

Daydreamed more - check

Held few expectations - check

I tell myself that I can do this. If I just keep my goals up front, I can have a great time. Is that ridiculous or what?

Stay tuned. Tomorrow I hit the high seas.

Natural Selection

Survival of the fittest. No place exemplifies Spencer and Darwin's theories of natural selection better than Alaska. The terrain is rugged. The sea that embraces that terrain is capricious. There are times when it is crystal clear and you can see the star fish and crabs that creep below you. The next moment it is agitated, a murky fog-wrapped gray green that is laden with supernaturally blue icebergs. Huge humpback whales beat the surface with their enormous tails in grand gestures of "Hi! How are ya! Got herring?" Bald eagles eye you from great heights before they swoop down to inspect you more closely. They leave you feeling like you don't measure up. Their piercing gaze clearly communicates what they are thinking, "You are weak. This is a harsh land. You wouldn't last a minute here if you weren't sheltered by that enormous stateroom with the staff that waits on you hand and foot. Go get yourself another latte you pathetic human!"

But the eagle is wrong. There are harsh environments he doesn't know about that I navigate with the same skill he does. There is a land that is as fickle and unforgiving as the one he soars above, although I must admit that it is much less beautiful. It is a land called Baggage Claim and it is inhabited by a primitive people. Surviving Baggage Claim requires skill and cunning. Like Alaska, it is an example of survival of the fittest. Here is my story:

The transcontinental flight was uneventful save for a desperate run across multiple concourses in search of not-really-lost passports. It is well past midnight when Baggage Belt #5 begins to turn in Richmond and the crowd surges forward to claim their luggage. The fittest of us position themselves for optimal retrieval. Some look like they want to mark their territory by urinating. Then again, it's been a long flight. Perhaps they just need to pee like I do.

The less aggressive of our species hang behind and lose the competition for a first bag strike. These are the ones with inferior bladder capacity who chose to pee before arriving at baggage claim. They are urine-less and unable to mark their territory. They are willing to let the more dominant members grab their bags first. I'm not one of those people. I arrive at Baggage Belt #5 early. I have superior bladder capacity, but regardless, I have to pee so badly I could mark my territory and the guy's next to me. I might even be able to mark Baggage Belt #4 if the wind is right.

Bag after bag comes into view and I swoop in to strike with precision. I lift the bags like an eagle lifts a salmon, with a great show of flailing and a high pitched screech. I drop the bags at my feet and watch for the next. And watch. And watch. And watch. The belt turns. The inferior back row folks are now grabbing their bags. Soon they melt away. The belt stops turning. A brave from the SkyCap Tribe comes along and loads the unclaimed bags onto a cart.

"That's it." he tells me. "If you are missing luggage go to that office over there." He points over his shoulder to a massive woman behind a tall counter. "Let her know which bag didn't make it." I check my bag tags so that I can identify the missing bag for her. Uh Oh! One of my bags has two tags. Obviously it was tagged twice and my missing bag never got a tag. I gather up my things and head over to talk to the Chief of the No Bags Left Behind Tribe.

I approach the chief with respect and greet her formally. I identify my clan and prepare to offer gifts if necessary. She eyes me warily. Most people are hostile to the Chief. She has learned to distrust anyone who isn't part of her tribe.

Me: "Excuse me. It appears that one of my bags never made it on the plane in SEA because it wasn't tagged."

Chief: "Give me the tag number of the missing bag."

Me: "It doesn't have a tag number since it didn't get a tag. This bag ended up with two tags."
I lift the double tagged bag to the counter to show her the problem.

Chief: "I need the number of the tag that didn't come to RIC.

Me: "All the tags made it to RIC...because one bag had TWO TAGS while the bag that is missing didn't get ANY tags. All the tags made it but not all the bags."

Chief: "Well, just pick one of the tag numbers and give it to me then."

Me: "Your computer will tell you that bag got to RIC."

Chief: "Well, make up a number then."

Me: "Then people will look for a bag with a fictitious tag...and the bag has NO TAG. "

Chief: "I don't know how to fix this. "

Survival of the fittest. I know how to fix this but I don't want to offend the Chief of No Bag Left Behind by telling her how to do her job. I don't want to appear arrogant and ugly although I'm beginning to feel arrogant and ugly. I also don't want to come across like a woman about to wet her pants. I work on keeping a pleasant expression on my face and cross my legs. Successful negotiations with primitive people requires both stamina and subtlety.

Me: "Can you call the Delta Baggage folks in SEA, tell them that there is a black Travel Pro Suiter that failed to get tagged at curbside and it was bound for RIC? Maybe you could tell them the luggage tag has my business card in it. They can put it on a plane to RIC but it will cost you less to deliver it to my home if you send it to CHO."

Chief: "I can't do that on the computer."

Me: "That's right. It requires a phone call. Are you able to make one?

The chief doesn't respond to my question. She gazes over my shoulder, her face inscrutable. I consider offering her beads as a sign of friendship. Then I remember that my beads are in the missing bag. I ponder if I should ask to speak with the Shaman. Perhaps the Shaman could find a way to reach back into the mists of time, find my bag, and transport it to me. The Chief refocuses on me.

Chief: "Was it an actual Travel Pro or did it just look like one?

Me: "It was an actual Travel Pro"

Chief: "That's an expensive bag. We have a $3,000 liability limit if you haven't purchased the excess value coverage."

Me: "AmEx has me covered for that."

Chief: "What was in the bag?"

Me: "A bunch of fancy dresses, evening gowns, designer shoes, and my favorite push up bra".

Chief: "Are you kidding?"

Me: "Yea, I know. I should have put the push up bra in my carry on. Big mistake."

I try to look contrite. I smile at the Chief encouragingly.

Me: "Your people have never let me down before. I know you'll have the bag back to me in no time."

The Chief nods and smiles back. I congratulate myself on my statesmanship as she pens magic symbols on a folder and hands it to me.

Chief: "I hope the SkyCap in Seattle took your bag to the Unclaimed Luggage Lodge. We can get it back to you if he did that. Here's your claim number. You can go online and track your bag's progress with that number. They should deliver it to your home by tomorrow afternoon if it can be found."

I accept the Chief's offering and express my thanks. I walk out into the Virginia night. I notice right away that it is warm here and dark, so unlike Alaska where it is cool and damp and where the sun doesn't set until almost midnight. Alaska. More about that tomorrow...

Slainte.