Although I've taken several short, weekend trips over the past several years, I hadn't actually had a real vacation in over 6 years. Any time that I've been out of town for more than a few days at a time, it's been to visit family--which can be enjoyable, but can also be very draining.

Now that I am working, I actually had some time to plan a vacation. All the pieces began to fall into place--first, we were moving offices at work so got I 2 days off (creating a four-day weekend). Then, I had 2 "floating holidays" that I needed to use before the end of the year, and finally, I had more than enough Alaska Airlines frequent flier miles for a free trip.

I have always wanted to visit the Arctic, and Barrow, Alaska seemed the natural choice. It is the farthest north location in the United States, and is surprisingly large (at 4,200 residents) for such a place. As the seat of the North Slope Borough, modern services are widely available; the only really limiting factor to visiting is the eye-popping expense (starting at around $900) of plane tickets. This should not be surprising; the only way in or out is by plane, and Alaska Airlines has a near-monopoly on commercial flights (there are only a couple of very small bush airlines that fly to neighboring Arctic communities). However, with the free tickets, cost was no longer a limiting factor.

With some creative shuffling of dates, I arranged to first fly to Fairbanks, spend several days there, and then continue to Barrow. In Barrow, I'd stay at the Top of the World Hotel overnight, do the tour the next day, and finally return to Seattle via the red-eye from Anchorage (arriving bright and early at 6am). I picked up my tickets a month in advance, made a reservation for a rental car, and I was ready to go.

Or so I thought. Three days before I was ready to leave, Alaska Airlines had a webspecial from Orange County to Anchorage, for only $319. Of course, I had to inform my friend Barkode of this, and he immediately purchased a ticket. It then became necessary to re-arrange my travel accordingly.

Fortunately, this was pretty easy to do--Alaska Airlines is remarkably lax about changing frequent flier tickets once they have been issued. Since my final desination wasn't changing, it wasn't a problem to put me on a flight through Anchorage rather than Fairbanks (the flight from Anchorage to Barrow was the same one that I would have boarded in Fairbanks, anyway). I also discovered that the rate for a rental car was less for a week than for 6 days, so I pushed my return back a day in order to give me an even 7 days on the rental car. Finally, I arranged to arrive in Anchorage in the afternoon, because I could then avoid paying an extra day on the rental car (I'd be returning it in the afternoon).

All went as planned. Barkode was exhausted when he arrived at Sea-Tac Airport, because he had been up for over 30 consecutive hours and had driven round-trip between Burbank and San Jose prior to flying north. We were on flights only an hour apart, so I flew to Anchorage and picked up the car, then drove to the airport and (after some difficulty locating him) retrieved Barkode. We then found a thoroughly unmemorable and overpriced bed and breakfast to stay in (Anchorage hotel rooms fill up fast). The only worthwhile component of the bed and breakfast was the owner's dinner recommendation. The Moose's Tooth was excellent, and after eating dinner, we planned the following day.

I had previously booked tickets on the Alaska Marine Highway from Whittier to Valdez, and accomodations in Whittier. Whittier is a very small town on Prince William Sound, which was previously only accessible by boat or train. Recently, the State of Alaska converted the old railroad tunnel to a multi-use tunnel (picture) that accomodates both cars and trains. It is only one lane wide, and has to be shared with the Alaska Railroad, so the times that it can be used (and in which direction) are limited. Fortunately, the state publishes the timetable on their Web site, so we looked it up and decided to use the 3:30 time slot. With that, we went to sleep.

The drive from Anchorage to Whittier traverses Turnagain Arm, which is surrounded on both sides by pristine, mountainous wilderness. It is a very scenic drive. The highway came to the Portage Glacier junction about 60 miles beyond Anchorage, and we turned (although uncertain that we were going the right way). This took us immediately past the Portage Glacier, which feeds a lake and is a spectacle straight out of vacation brochures. This also got Barkode very interested in glaciers. The tunnel was open on schedule, and we arrived in Whittier after the slow drive through.

Whittier is, in a word, bizzare. All of its residents live in one of two Army surplus buildings; one is called Begich Towers, and is 14 stories tall; the other is a two-story building called Whittier Manor. During World War II, Whittier was a top-secret, strategic ice-free military port and installation. The military base lived on into the 1950s, when it was abruptly closed and returned to public use. One very large, hulking building called the Buckner building was abandoned; the other building (Begich Towers) was converted to condominiums, and is the home of most residents. Once called the "city under one roof," because it had a movie theatre, bowling alley, and every other service expected in a major city, the Buckner building now lies vacant and vandalized. A businessman from Anchorage purchased the building from the federal government (envisioning turning it into a "prison under one roof"). After he gutted the building, he went bankrupt, and the building is now owned by a consortium of his creditors, who, unable to agree among themselves on what to do with it, have left it to the elements.

When we got to Whittier, we first went to the harborside office of June's Bed and Breakfast, where I'd reserved a room. To our dismay, nobody was in the office. 2 hours later, there was still nobody in the office and no answer on the telephone. We finally gave up, and arranged alternate accomodations (for a much better price) at Soundview Getaway. For just $45, we got a huge room with two beds, a television, some videos to watch, in-room coffee, and great hospitality from the manager (she even took us to Varney's Fish and Chips, where I had the best halibut I've ever eaten). I spent some time with Barkode exploring the very spooky Buckner building. Later, Barkode decided (somewhat to my dismay) that he wanted to go on a glacier cruise the following morning. I was resistant to this concept, because I was very worried that if he went out in the morning, he might not get back on time for the Alaska ferry from Whittier. When it comes to the Alaska Marine Highway, you can set your watch by the ferry schedule. This is especially true in Whittier, because there is a very limited window of opportunity due to the wide variance in tides. Fortunately, we found a cruise company that would take him out at 10:00am, and have him back by 1pm. Sicne the ferry left at 2:30, this wasn't a problem.

Or so we thought. The following morning, Barkode discovered (to his dismay) that the cruise was cancelled because there weren't enough bookings. He had been the only customer. Fortunately, the ferry ride was wonderful--the captain sailed as close as possible to the Columbia and Harvard glaciers, and the weather was perfect. The orcas showed off for us, bald eagles were everywhere, and there was an abundance of sea lions. Prince William Sound is one of the most beautiful places in the world, and the ferry from Whittier to Valdez is an excellent (and affordable) way to see for yourself.

I'd called ahead from the ferry terminal in Whittier, and found a hotel room in Valdez. All hotels in Valdez cost at least $100 a night, and I'd found one that was around that price through a service called "one-call". The hotel room was tiny, but it was clean, had a phone line (so we could check e-mail), and there was a free continental breakfast. In the morning Barkode wouldn't touch the continental breakfast--if you ever want to hear a first-class Barkode rant, just ask him his opinion of continental breakfasts. I picked over the remains, and we visited Carr's, the biggest grocery store in Valdez, for supplies and breakfast for Barkode. I was pleased to find an excellent espresso cart, and to discover that my ATM card worked in their debit terminals (since I was running low on cash). I also bought a laminated flip map of Alaska.

We had a long drive ahead. My plan was to drive to Fairbanks, spend the night there, continue to Denali the next day, and finally return to Anchorage. However, Barkode had different plans. Since he had missed the glacier cruise in Whittier, he was intent on taking a helicopter tour of Denali. Unfortunately, the only helicopter tours that left were in the morning (around 9am). This meant that we would either have to leave Fairbanks sufficiently early to get to Denali by then (something I considered unlikely), or we would have to skip Fairbanks altogether and go to Denali directly. I opted for the latter course, which actually ended up being a good decision.

Newly armed with a map, I decided to drive from Valdez to the Denali Highway, which is just north of Glenallen. The road north from Valdez follows the water for a short while, and then quickly begins winding its way north into the mountains surrounding the town. As the road follows rivers and streams and the elevation increases, the landscape changes--not gradually, like at Mt. Rainier, but in a noticeably dramatic manner as the miles pass. Eventually, at the top of the pass, the surrounding landscape yielded to tundra, brilliantly and brightly accented by thousands of alpine flowers in full bloom.

North of the mountains, the highway yielded to the swampy, flat muskegs of the Alaskan interior. We followed the Alaska Pipeline to Glenallen, where we intersected with the Denali Highway. The Denali Highway traverses some of the most remote, starkly beautiful parts of the Alaskan interior. It's a "gravel" highway, which more often than not means pot-holed, dusty, washed-out dirt. It's a punishing drive, but a rewarding one. The scenery was gorgeous, the carniverous mosquitoes were abundant, and the drive was going well--until we were flagged down on the highway by a tourist. "My mother fell and broke her hip. Our cellular phone doesn't work. Can you send help?" Of course, we agreed to stop at the next place that we found and call for help.

The next place that we found turned out to be a roadhouse called Gracious House, which was more than 30 miles away. The owner suspected that an ambulance wasn't going to make it, and was worried that the temperature would drop sufficiently to cause hypothermia. He considered an obscenely expensive Medivac helicopter evacuation to be the best way to send help. Although the owner and his wife agreed to call for help on their radiotelephone, he warned us that the radiotelephone was not reliable, and told us to flag down a state trooper if we saw one (or, failing that, check in with the state patrol headquarters when we arrived at the end of the highway). We agreed, and sped off to find a trooper.

More than 50 miles later, we finally saw a state trooper. I got his attention by flashing the emergency signals and my bright lights in his rear-view mirror. The trooper stopped, I told him the story, and he said that he would send help immediately, and if none was available he'd go to the scene himself. After taking all of my information, the trooper went off to find help, and we continued to Denali, in the now mosquito and dust-caked car.

I really wanted to go to a salmon bake, and I knew (from the Alaska-Yukon Handbook--a great book, I highly recommend it) that there was one in Denali, 20 miles up the road. It took a lot of work to convince Barkode that I didn't want to eat dinner in the Chevron parking lot (he was hungry enough that he wanted to just eat gas station food), but I finally managed. We got to Denali, found the salmon bake, and gorged ourselves on salmon, baked beans, fish chowder, salad, other items. Our hunger sufficiently sated, and our thirst from the hot, dusty road slaked, we proceeded to find a hotel.

The salmon bake also rented rooms, but they were $100 for a room with a sink (and no toilet). There was also no view. We opted to continue down the road to the Denali Bluffs Hotel, and after I asked nicely at the front desk if there was a budget rate, we got a beautiful room with a view for the same price. I would normally balk at such a high price, but the gorgeous mountain view was well worth the money. Barkode called one of his friends who was recovering very a Very Bad Day (TM) in which one of his relatives had died, his girlfriend had broken up with him, and his pickup truck broke down after he ran over his dog (okay, I made up that part, but the whole thing sounded like it was out of a country song). After that, we managed (somehow) to get a 16.8Kbps dialup established over the very flaky satellite phone connection, and checked our e-mail.

The following morning, Barkode took his helicopter tour, while I planned the rest of the day as I waited for him to get back. You can only drive the first 12 miles of the road into Denali National Park, and if you want to travel farther, it is necessary to take a bus. Facilities within the park are very limited, the road is gravel, and the area is very environmentally sensitive; this is the reasoning. It also ensures that the visitor pays the $5 park entry fee, plus the minimum $12.50 bus fare.

As it turned out, I would not have wanted to drive. The one-lane road into the park is potholed, slippery, nearly impassible mud. In many places, it is precipitously perched along mountainsides with vertical drops in excess of 1,000 feet--with no guardrails and frequent falling rocks! We opted to take a 4 hour round-trip bus tour, which actually worked out pretty well despite some near scheduling conflicts with Barkode's helicopter tour. The grizzly bears were out in force, feeding on berries (and everything else they could get their hands on) to build up fat for the winter hibernation. We saw multiple grizzlies (look really closely in the picture), as well as eagles and caribou. Although Bullwinkle was not present, we did see Rocky--he was tightly in the grip of a grey wolf's jaws! To remind us that we were in Alaska, we were treated to snow flurries at the highest elevations... even though it was still August.

Since Barkode's flight was at 1:30 the following afternoon, we could not stay overnight in Denali (it's at best a 4 hour drive from Anchorage, and the weather wasn't looking good). I made reservations in Talkeetna, which is halfway to Anchorage, at the historic Fairview Inn. The price was right (under $50), and the description in the Alaska-Yukon Handbook sounded okay. We arrived late, because Talkeetna is accessible only from a highway spur that is from the south (we were coming from the north). This took us 30 miles out of our way. When I arrived in Talkeetna, I almost thought we had arrived at the wrong place. Although the name on the building was Fairview Inn, the establishment looked to be a very rowdy bar. Double-checking the Alaska-Yukon Handbook, it read "pay for your room at the bar," whereupon I assumed that maybe the rooms were somewhere quiet. I was wrong. The Fairview Inn was built in 1923, and we were shown to a room that definitely showed its age. I would have believed that the mattresses were the same as the ones that were on the beds in 1923. This goes to prove that room quality is really variable in Alaska. Worst of all, the room was above a noisy, rowdy bar, and was not well insulated for sound. The showers were down the hall, past a very funky stain on the carpet that I carefully avoided. Basically, the place was wretched. It had a character which only Barkode could appreciate, and I was glad that he was happy; he spent much of the evening perusing the historical materials that the Fairview Inn displayed, and lamenting the fact that he was not 21 and could not drink in the bar.

The following morning, I drove to Anchorage and dropped off Barkode at the airport. While Alaska Airlines returned him to Orange County in one piece, the same couldn't be said for his luggage--it got stuck in Seattle. Two $100 taxi rides to and from home (fortunately, the airline footed the bill) later, and he was reunited with it. After having lunch at Costco (at only $1.50 for an all beef kosher hot dog and 20oz Coke with refill, the best lunch deal in town), I headed for the Kenai Peninsula, which everyone I talked to had highly recommended. I was initially reticent (highly recommended areas are often overrun with tourists), but the weather outlook was good for the Kenai, and lousy for the rest of the state. I figured I couldn't lose.

The peninsula is popular, and for a good reason. The drive from Anchorage to the Kenai Peninsula is perhaps one of the most scenic drives in north America. I am fairly convinced that, in any other part of the country, the entire Kenai Peninsula would be declared a national park. It's just that beautiful. The first part of the drive is down the same scenic Alaska Highway 1 that goes to Whittier. At the end of Turnagain Arm, I turned onto the Richardson Highway, which more or less travels down the middle of the peninsula. After a short (but spectacular) drive past small alpine lakes crowned by majestic mountains, the road changed to gravel. The treacherous, two-lane highway was in the midst of a safety upgrade. Locals are, paradoxically, big fans of the upgrade, despite the inconvenience of the construction. The road is presently very dangerous, and the safety improvements promise to save many lives.

After a high-speed drive through the pond-dotted muskegs of the central Kenai Peninsula, I arrived in Soldotna. The Alaska-Yukon Handbook describes Soldotna as a "mini Anchorage", but that isn't true at all. While there is a Fred Meyer store, a Taco Bell along with other fast-food establishments, and some other vestiges of civilization (such as Spenard Builder's Supply, whose interchangeable text sign said "To get nowhere, follow the crowd"), Soldotna is still a small, peaceful town on a gorgeous river. And it's still surrounded by mountains.

By the time I reached Soldotna, I was tired. I'd picked up a copy of The Milepost at Costco in Anchorage, and thumbed through it to the accomodations guide. A quick call to the Best Western revealed a rate of $89 per night, but another sterile night in a hotel room didn't sound very interesting. I called the Alaskan Hospitality Lodge, and Dee Dennis (one of the owners) was eager to rent me a room for only $54 a night, including breakfast. This was much more suitable, and I proceeded 2 miles along a gravel road past Fred Meyer to their beautiful riverfront home.

Les and Dee are originally from Texas, but have lived in Alaska for many years. They are an older couple, and Les used to work for Alascom, which is now part of AT&T. Since I have a keen interest in telephony, I learned a lot from Les about the challenges of maintaining telephone service in some of the most remote regions of Alaska. I also learned why laying fiber in the tundra is inadvisable (frost heaves and snow banks are apt to cause cable breaks).

One disadvantage of staying at a bed and breakfast is that the check out time is subject to the whims of the owners, and the owners might be morning people. Les and Dee are, in fact, morning people--the latest that they serve breakfast is normally 8:00 in the morning. Fortunately, a nice older couple had gotten in later than me (at around midnight), since they had driven all the way from Valdez. For the first time in the history of the Alaskan Hospitality Lodge, breakfast was served at 9:30AM. This got me out of bed earlier than usual, but I still got a good night's sleep.

Soldotna and the Alaskan Hospitality Lodge were so nice that, upon Dee's invitation, I nearly decided to stay another night. However, I've heard great things about Homer, which is surrounded by islands on the southern tip of the Kenai Peninsula. The weather report for Soldotna was also not good--at best, cloudy, and at worst, rain. Meanwhile, things were looking beautiful in Homer, at least until evening--so I made up my mind and headed south.

The drive from Soldotna to Homer, which I took on a clear, sunny day, is almost indescribably beautiful. I stopped at Fred Meyer for a latte' (there is an espresso cart inside run by a colorful local), grabbed my map, and headed south. After leaving Soldotna, the two-lane road meandered for miles through rolling hills and vast, swampy muskegs. Then, it began hugging the coastline, revealing the volcanic caps of islands to the west. Finally, just before entering Homer, the road curved to reveal a spectacular view of Homer, the Homer Spit, Kodiak Island, and other surrounding islands. The white volcanic caps reflected on the sparkling waters of the Pacific, and I stopped to take at least a dozen pictures.

Homer is the gateway to Kodiak Island, and sees a lot of tourists. As soon as I got into town, I stopped at the Chamber of Commerce's visitor information center. There was someone working there who was around my age, and when I asked for a good, inexpensive place to stay, he didn't hesitate in directing me to the Sunspin Guest House. "Ask for the bunk room," he said--which I did. This turned out to be a great choice.

The Sunspin is run by two delightful older women with a cast-iron exterior and hearts of gold inside. Their rather crowded bunk room is similar to a youth hostel, and can sleep about 8 people; however, I was the only guest--and for only a bit more than $30, the price couldn't be beaten. I checked in, and spent some time sitting in the living room sending email to friends and gazing out at the fantastic view from the Sunspin's large windows.

At the Chamber of Commerce, I had picked up a pamphlet called What To Do In Homer. Most of the action in Homer is in the art galleries (which are beyond my price range or interest) or on the Homer Spit. Homer is a popular place from which to arrange fishing charters, but I wasn't interested in that. Instead, I just walked around on the spit, took pictures, and got a feel for the place. Since I didn't have much interest in spending the day doing "tourist stuff," I embarked on the other activity suggested by the map: taking a drive.

From Homer, a road runs along the coast toward mountains and an impassible river. On the other side of the water are steep mountain peaks, whose slopes extend all the way to the water. The road gets progressively worse and more scenic, and eventually ends after about 20 miles. I drove all the way to the end, taking pictures along the way, and finally parked the rental car at a sign that indicated that the road ended.

The road did, however, continue along a very steep path to the beach, and was marked for use by hikers and ATVs. I decided to hike to the beach, which consisted of completely black sand. While I hiked, at least 3 vehicles--paying no heed to the dangerous, narrow, and steep condition of the road--zoomed past me. They headed to an apparent farming settlement on the coastline. When I inquired later, locals told me that the settlement was of orthodox Russians and their descendants who had come to live in Homer after World War II.

The following afternoon, I needed to be in Anchorage to return the car and catch my flight to Barrow. The drive back was delayed somewhat by the massive road construction project, but I eventually arrived in Anchorage, returned the car, and continued to the airport. Unfortunately, before returning the car, I hadn't bothered to check whether my flight to Barrow was on time. This was a bad idea. Alaska Airlines didn't have a plane (or a crew) available, so they cancelled the flight. "It's okay, we've rebooked you on the next flight," said the representative. Not only that, but the next flight was in only three hours!

Since it was close to dinner time, and the delay was significant, I asked if Alaska Airlines would buy me dinner. The agent gave me an AirCare kit, which contained a 10 minute phone card, a 1,000 mile frequent filer voucher, and a $5 snack coupon. However, I wasn't particularly hungry, so I figured I'd grab something quickly before the plane took off, and set about obtaining data connectivity from the airport.

Anchorage International Airport has only one way to get online--you plug your laptop into this thing called a "Power Oasis." I've also seen these devices at the Ontario, California airport. The good points if this device: there's a power plug and a data jack. The bad points of this device: You need your own Internet Service Provider, and it costs 50 cents per minute to use. Since I was only making a local call, I felt justified in taking advantage of an obvious design flaw in the device to avoid being charged.

After checking my email and conducting various online business, I went to the gate to see how the next flight was proceeding. It was delayed another hour. Given my luck at the check-in counter, I asked the gate agent if they were giving out meal coupons. Normally, I wouldn't be entitled to one, but since I'd been on the earlier flight, she handed me another AirCare kit. I made a couple of phone calls (to make sure I'd have a ride to the hotel in Barrow, and to say hi to some friends), and spent the entire $10 on a nice dinner in the airport restaurant. I figured that I'd better eat in Anchorage, since there wasn't likely to be anything open when we arrived in Barrow.

Finally, the plane arrived, complete with a flight crew. Barrow is a major cargo hub for the Arctic, but isn't a big passenger destination. Consequently, Alaska Airlines flies "combi" 737 aircraft there. A "combi" is a plane with a small number (as few as 32) of passenger seats, with the remainder of the plane reserved for air cargo. The passengers boarded at the rear of the aircraft, and cargo was loaded into both the front, and the hold below the passenger compartment. It's a rather elegant solution for transporting both people and goods to the remote Arctic.

After a brief stop in Fairbanks, we arrived in Barrow almost 2 hours later. Looking at a map, you would not expect the distance to be so great; however, Alaska is one-fifth the size of the rest of the United States! Even though it was rather late (after 10pm), it was still light out in Barrow, and a balmy 36 degrees. I was told that I'd be met by a representative from the Top of the World Hotel, and was a little worried, as the people from the flight dissapated, that I'd been forgotten. Fortunately, just as I'd almost given up, a guy driving a big red pickup rolled down the passenger window and shouted my name. I tossed my stuff in the back, and we drove to the hotel. "Meet the tour group in the lobby at 8AM sharp," he told me, and I proceeded to check in.

At the front desk, one night's stay (including the package tour) came to $187.50 Since it was pretty late, I needed to get some sleep to get ready for the tour the following morning. My room was equipped with a shower, sink, bed, somewhat-the-worse-for-wear dresser and chair, telephone, TV set, and--of all things--a refrigerator. Proof, I guess, that someone managed to sell refrigerators to Eskimos. There was also a pretty decent view of the Arctic Ocean. After several tries, I finally managed to achieve a tenuous 12.6Kbps modem connection, accompanied by substantial satellite link delay (all calls to points beyond Barrow are carried by satellite). I read my email and talked to a few friends online, who weren't particularly impressed that I was in Barrow (or they were jealous and hiding it really well... but I doubt it), and then went to sleep.

The following morning, I presented myself in the lobby at 8AM sharp. The rest of the tour group was mostly elderly folks who had flown up from Fairbanks for a one-day tour of Barrow (with no overnight stay). Since I was flying out later than the check-out time and the rest of the tour group, the hotel agreed to hang onto my luggage, and find me a ride back to the airport. Bunna, the bus driver and tour leader, had to get the bus warmed up--this afforded me an opportunity to grab a donut and coffee (for a mere $4) from Pepe's North of the Border, which bills itself as the northernmost Mexican restaurant in the world.

We proceeded to take a whirlwind tour of Barrow. Bunna is proud of his town, and eagerly answered everyone's questions. The first stop was Barrow's arch, which is a monument to whaling (which is a very important food source in the community). Bunna joked that both St. Louis and Barrow have an arch. I got my picture taken at the Barrow Welcome Center, which gives free coffee to tourists (I could have gone for a cup, but they were closed). We stopped at a home with very dead things adorning it (I thought it would be a very bad idea to mess with that guy), and the stark, pebble-strewn shore of the Arctic Ocean. For some reason, there were tons of jellyfish in the water, which along with the 33 degree temperature made swimming inadvisable. Most of us splashed our hands in the Arctic, however.

It was then time for a lunch break. Most of the tour group went to Pepe's North of the Border, but I'd read about a place called Arctic Pizza in the Alaska-Yukon Handbook. I'd seen it as we were driving around, and it wasn't far from Pepe's, so I walked over. I got the spaghetti lunch special, which was really nothing special except the price (about $13). When I finished with lunch, I walked back to the hotel, but most of the tour group was still at Pepe's. I walked around a bit and took pictures of the desalinization plant (Barrow's primary water supply), and a typical Barrow yard. I was, at first, shocked by the sheer volume of junk in the yards of Barrow residents (it exceeds even the volume of junk in the yard of a typical Arkansan). Later, Bunna explained that in the Eskimo culture, it's better to have something (and not need it) than to need something (and not have it).

Gradually, the tour group emerged from Pepe's North of the Border, and Bunna drove us to the community center. The Native Dance Club of Barrow gave a nice dance presentation, including a traditional blanket toss, and then asked us for money. After the presentation, locals sold overpriced souveniers and handicrafts; I was somewhat irritated with the spectacle and persused the excellent museum instead, which is also located in the community center. Eventually, the commercialism ceased, and Bunna drove us outside of town.

After passing the NORAD and cable TV satellite array, Bunna stopped the bus and let us walk across the tundra, which was blooming with arctic flowers. Once everyone had their fill of tundra (it doesn't take long, since there isn't much to see), we drove past both Ilisagvik College and the city dump ("watch out for polar bears in the winter"), and drove north onto Point Barrow. The surrounding area is used as a launch point for hunting and fishing expeditions, and as a summer camp (a local resident has even constructed a "palm tree" from driftwood and kelp). It's also the farthest northern point in the United States, and we all had our pictures taken in front of a sign warning us not to continue north, because of dangerous polar bears. There was also a dead walrus on the beach. Dead walruses are very pungent, and Bunna warned everyone not to touch it or they'd get to ride back on the hood of the bus.

The package tour concluded, and Bunna dropped me off at the hotel, and the rest of the group off at the airport. Since my flight was later in the evening, I had time to do what all of the guidebooks recommend--just walk around. The tour had given me a reasonable sense of direction, and I took a walk around downtown first. One particularly impressive building in Barrow is the piuraagvik, which is an athletic facility open to all residents. It was constructed at a cost of several million dollars. I walked toward the Arctic Ocean, took a picture, and then went to the store.

The AC Value Center is the largest store in Barrow. It's the same kind of store that you would expect to find in any small town in the Lower 48, except that it's built on stilts and has a dirt parking lot. There is a full service deli (the cheapest place to eat in town--I got a burrito and Coke combo meal for about $7), clothing for men, women, and children, and a full selection of groceries. If you need firearms, you can buy a gun right along with your tomatoes (yes, there is fresh produce, delivered by air from California). Given the remoteness of the location, and Alaska Airlines' cargo monopoly, the prices are eye-popping to most Lower 48 residents. The advertising circular boasted "Red Hot Summer Savings" such as a bottle of orange juice for $6.98, a 10-pound bag of potatoes for $7.89, and a small bottle of pancake syrup for $4.28. A half-gallon of milk was 4.29 (shipped by air from Seattle), and loaves of bread were around the same price. After eating dinner, I stopped at the payphone near the entrance and called my parents, to make sure that they could still pick me up at the airport. My father was a bit perplexed by the satellite delay, until I explained it to him. I tried calling a few other friends, but nobody was home; instead, I left people voicemail.

It was about 2 hours to my flight, so I decided to head back to the hotel. In the gift shop, I hemmed and hawed at the $30 price tag for sweatshirts, but eventually decided to buy one. The quality of the goods was high, so the price was not outrageous. I also bought a few postcards to send to family and friends, and the desk clerk scrambled to find me a ride to the airport. Eventually, someone showed up to take me to the airport. I was initially worried that I wouldn't get a good seat, but the flight was not full.