Into the wild

Here's a reminder of the wrong way to approach Alaska: a decrepit Fairbanks city bus, parked near the Stampede Trail into Denali National Park. It's identical to the one Chris McCandless lived, and died, in during the summer of 1992. Jon Krakauer wrote Into the Wild about McCandless a few years later; this bus was used in the movie version.

The Stampede Trail bus is still there, but since the movie came out, it's become a perverse kind of pilgrimage destination. So many of the visitors end up having to be rescued that the Park Service is considering moving the bus to a more accessible site closer to the park entrance.

I'm lucky enough to be able to do it the right way, with National Geographic and experienced guides. Plus amenities. I tend to have my most ecstatic encounters with the majesty of the natural world when I'm rested, fed, and sufficiently caffeinated.

Something unexpected

It doesn't look like anything else in town, but I do love the unexpected Art Deco details on the old courthouse building. It was apparently the first cement building in Alaska, and proof that cement could work as a building material even with Alaska's frigid climate.

You can always go downtown

After lunch I decided to head downtown and buy some more effective bug repellent while I still could. I had a map, and I followed the signs for downtown Fairbanks, but somehow found myself on the other side, on the Airport Road, without having figured out where to turn off.

I turned around and tried again. No luck. Finally I pulled over on a residential street and checked the map. Apparently, this was downtown Fairbanks -- a couple of hotels, a few stores, and a strip mall with 21 shops. I parked and walked around, and it was definitely charming, though in a way that I think of as small town rather than "third largest city in the state," even if the state is Alaska.

I didn't see any drugstore or similar establishment, but I did find an camping/hunting/outdoors store that had a wide selection of insect repellents to choose from. Anything else I needed I decided I could live without.

Here's a better view

This group of cranes flew low overhead so I was able to get a better shot.

Sandhill Central Station

Here are a few of the current residents. The fields in the refuge are large and because the birds are migrating, visitors are restricted to the paths. So I couldn't get any closer.

Creamers Field

This is the only place I really wanted to visit in Fairbanks -- it's a former dairy farm converted to a bird sanctuary on the outskirts of town.

I had a car for the day, so after breakfast I drove out and spent the morning walking around. The sandhill cranes are migrating, and there were hundreds of them, landing, taking off again, dancing around making their funny clicking calls. Other than the cranes, I didn't see any birds except for Canada geese and a few ducks, but the cranes were spectacular.

So were the mosquitoes. I had put on insect repellent, but quickly realized that I probably should have double-checked the expiration date as the bugs didn't seem even a little fazed. True story -- at one point, I saw a shadow flash by on the path and looked up. I expected to see a small bird overhead, but instead found a huge mosquito diving straight for my face.

Pike's Landing

Brown continues to be the theme in my accommodations. But here the brown is in the form of cute little log cabins, which I'm lucky enough to be staying in instead of in the main lodge.

The wireless is slow though, and after tomorrow morning I won't have any internet access at all until next week. I still have several draft entries for Seattle to post, plus many pictures of Fairbanks from today.

Northern exposure

Alaska.

Fairbanks is an almost four hour flight from Seattle, most of it over wilderness. There was no flight map on the Alaska Airlines plane, so I couldn't tell where Canada ended and Alaska began, but once we got away from the Seattle area, there was no sign from the air that humans even existed until we were almost at Fairbanks. No cities, no roads -- just mountains and trees and rivers and hundreds of lakes, some deep indigo, some almost turquoise, and a few gray patches that I assume were glaciers.

And this was the first sign of humanity -- I assume that's some kind of mine. I liked the wilderness better.

Walruses

I've been staying at the Arctic Club, which is now a Hilton, but which was once an actual club.

According to Wikipedia, it was a fraternal men's club for businessmen with Gold Rush or Alaska connections, but it doesn't mention when it disbanded. The building, complete with terra cotta walruses, was built in 1916 but has been a hotel since 2008.

The walrus theme is everywhere, along with a giant polar bear in the lobby and framed portraits of (I presume) the club members -- many of whom look as though they wouldn't survive very long in the Arctic -- lining the walls.

It's a nice hotel. It is, however, very brown.

Pike's

Here's some of what all that money can buy: seafood at the famous fish market in Pike's Place.

This was my favorite place in Seattle -- hundreds of stores selling everything from artisanal pastas, cheeses or sausages, fresh flowers, beautiful produce to every kind of prepared food you can think of.

It's dizzying. I felt very unimaginative buying some peaches and -- well, this is embarrassing -- a sandwich.

Money money money

Every wealthy city is wealthy in its own way.

When I think of Seattle money, I think of technology. I think of Microsoft. And that money is prominent, not just in vanities like EMP, but also Paul Allen's Institute for Brain Science and the Gates Foundation. Geeky guys have geeky philanthropies.

But the big money in Seattle right now isn't Microsoft, it's Amazon. Boeing is still the biggest employer, but Amazon is hiring thousands of new employees and building ten -- yes, ten -- new buildings to put them in. There's now an entire neighborhood called Amazonia. It's made Seattle the fastest-growing city in the United States.

But it's interesting that Seattle doesn't feel wealthy the way London does, or New York. There's no sense of flash, of flaunting, of throwing money around because you can. Money buys exquisite produce and excellent beer, but so much of this city still feels a little scruffy.

I'm sorry I missed this

I like that extra "e" at the end of Faire, which gives it that nice vintage touch. I picture attendees roaming around in elaborate costumes of DOS prompts and 5-1/4" floppy disks.