Barrow again
We slept in, enjoying the pleasures of a hotel room. At something past ten, we checked out, left our bags with the hotel, and returned to Pepe’s for breakfast. Debbie had pancakes and I had a huge Spanish omelette. Although we were repeating on a restaurant, we were placed in another room, so we had variety. There are only about five places to eat in Barrow anyway.
We’d decided it was worth paying extra for a trip in a four wheel drive to the northern tip of Point Barrow, and we were booked in for 1pm - we had some time to kill. We walked along the beach, whereupon Debbie realised that we might get hungry during our trip, so we went looking for somewhere to buy snacks.
It was a misty morning, and w e poked around a bit, seeing some sights, and finding some posable plastic beach detritus.
We returned to the hotel, then noticed that the “Quick Stop” convenience store was right there (but well disguised!). We got some crisps and nuts, and were well prepared.
We had half an hour to kill, so we bought postcards, wrote them, and posted them from the hotel.
Our new guide arrived on “bear time” - that is, ten minutes late. No problem. We were his only customers on this trip, which meant we had had his full attention. He was a grizzled old Eskimo (Mona told us yesterday - it’s only in Canada and Greenland that natives shun the word ‘Eskimo’), born and raised in Barrow, but high school educated in Oregon, because they didn’t have a high school in Barrow in the 60s.
We had a nervous moment when he realised he’d forgotten to fill up on fuel, but his 4×4 got us over the dry shingle to the point, and back. Alas, we didn’t see any polar bears (it’s really not the right time of year — perhaps during the spring whaling season, when they come to pick clean the bones left once the whale has been butchered). Nor did we see any whales - which was unlucky; there was one there on Saturday, we were told.
We learned an interesting fact - from where we were stood, the magnetic north pole was south east.
Here is the view North from Point Barrow:
After our tour, we went after a late lunch. I wasn’t really hungry, after my huge breakfast, but it was a matter of forward planning, since we had a flight back to Fairbanks in the evening. Determined to spread our food spending around, we walked around the salt water lagoon (the three lagoons are used as golf courses in early Spring!), following a map to find Northern Lights, serving Chinese, Korean and American food. I had a meatball sub, which I finished, and Debbie had a meatball pizza, two slices of which we took away in a doggie bag.
We returned to the hotel area in time to be collected, hoping to see some idiots jump in the sea. Unfortunately, nobody was stupid enough today, so we just got on the bus and were taken back to the airport. We checked in, to find that it was an hour until boarding. That’s perfectly normal in most airports, but Barrow airport doesn’t have a departures lounge — the whole passenger area is just one smallish room, so we went outside for another wander around. We realised that it would have taken us about ten minutes to walk to the airport from the hotel. Still, we plodded across a new bit of tundra, and got a closer look at one of their cemeteries. Most inhabitants, natives included, are Christian, so the cemetery is covered with white wooden crosses. Year round, graves are dug in the permafrost with mechanical drilling equipment and pickaxes. Bodies freeze in the ground, and would be unchanged 100 or 1000 years from interment.
We flew back to Fairbanks. The one novel I’d taken with me, I’d finished this morning (”The Secret History of Moscow” by Ekaterina Sedia — enjoyable, but probably needing a better knowledge of Russian folklore than I have), so I passed the time struggling with the crossword in Alaska Airlines’ in-flight magazine. It was hard not because it was cryptic, but because the clues were vague, or needed knowledge of American showbiz or politics.
When we landed in Fairbanks, it was pouring with rain. Pouring.
Baggage reclaim was very quick, and we dashed into the car park through the downpour. We stopped at Safeway on the way to the RV park, bought some beer for the evening. We had our site reserved — it’s the same park as we were in before — so it didn’t take long to get to the RV park. Since Debbie was driving, it was me who had to stand out in the rain getting wet directing her as she reversed in. Still, no we’re parked, and we’re dry, and we’re listening to the rain hammering on the roof, which is a cozy feeling. Also, we have Alaskan IPA beer, at 6.7%.