Three weeks in Alaska

It’s been a while since I returned to New York after 3 weeks of kayaking among the icebergs of Prince William sound, camping in the snow and looking out for bears and I still regard my time in the “last frontier” state with a group of friends as one of the most impactful experiences of my life.
Those of us who have been raised and live in a large metropolis and whose only contact with a less comfortable and shielded life is through movies, documentaries or vacations to third-world countries, really don’t know firsthand what it feels like to survive without running water, electricity, heating – not to mention TV, radio, telephone and the internet. It was rewarding to discover that it is possible – and indeed not that hard – to adapt to a tough environment. None of the comforts we take for granted and often think essential is really necessary to feel truly alive and wake up looking forward to the day. A meal eaten out of a can heated over a propane burner is no gourmet fare, but devouring it on top of a hill overlooking a snowy, empty expanse where a bear or a moose may be spotted in the distance, can be pretty satisfying.
Some memories will live with me forever. One of them was the discovery that what I had thought for hours to be the thunder of a faraway storm was in fact the sound of icebergs around me. Or the willingness of a cop to drive many miles out of her way to take me to a place I had no way of reaching by myself. She asked only if I was carrying a weapon before inviting me into her car. After I had responded: “Oh Lord no!” she commented that she had to ask but didn’t think I was the type.
Alaska has some gorgeous landscapes. It is also amazingly sparsely inhabited (Smaller in population than Delaware, yet the largest – by far – US state with only 1.2 inhabitant per square mile!) and seeing drivers wave to each other on a highway brings a smile to the lips of a New Yorker, but if I enjoyed the primal contact with gorgeous, unspoiled nature, I also found it enlightening to be immersed in a far less sophisticated, but just as real way of life. I realized that strangers relate to each other in a totally different way than in the big city. While we, in Manhattan – or Paris or London for that matter – are isolated by our numbers, Alaskans are united by their isolation. A stranger is someone you haven’t met, but he or she might need your help or get you out of trouble eventually.
Friends look at the pictures I brought back and ask me if I would return to Alaska in the same circumstances and my answer is always the same: in a heartbeat!