Behold, oh, dear friend, the true and faithful account of
Keith and Marina’s wonderful adventures on their way “South From Alaska!” This
is the very first time either of us is writing a blog, we have no idea if we
have patience or imagination to see it to the end. But here we go!
As befits true Virgos we have to start all the way from the
Pechka, which for those of you unfamiliar with the practices of St. Petersburg
Imperial Ballet School means: we’ll start from the very beginning (a very good
place to start…)
Chapter one: B. C.
(Before Count-down)
The time that preceded our D-day of Departure, which we set
(firmly at first, and increasingly more tentatively as it approached) for
September 1, is one big blur of frantic activity, punctuated by unbreakable resolutions
(“We are selling the house! No, we are going to rent the house furnished! No - unfurnished!”), unbelievable discoveries (“What, my priceless ancestral china
is worth only $23?”) and incredible lightness of being. This latter feeling
came upon us following a very particular experience called The Moving Company
Packers. Oh, dear friends, beware of the packers! It starts quite innocently. Say, you are
moving to another town and you call the moving company to help you do that.
They send a consultant. And she (our consultant was a charming lady oozing
confidence and amiability) tells you in reply to your somewhat nervous question
about how to prepare for the move: “Don’t worry, and don’t do anything. Our
packers will do it all for you – they are very capable!”
You breathe a sigh of relief and relax. And that’s a TRAP!
For on the appointed day the packers don’t show up, your phone calls to the
company remain unanswered and your increasingly hysterical messages ignored. You
spend a sleepless night wondering where you can rent a U-haul and whether you
can even drive that mama off the lot. In the morning, when you are zombie-ing your way through the kitchen to the
coffee-maker, the doorbell rings and here they come – your angels of
mercy! Actually, ours looked more like
sumo-gladiators: four giant Samoans and one tiny Texan.
Imagine Alladin’s Genie, only a little less talkative… multiply
it by five! Now try to direct them as to what you want packed and what not!
They smile, they nod, they work very fast – and then, in a whirlwind, they are
gone with all your worldly possessions and more! For now you discover that
somehow they had managed to pack and take away all your underwear, shoes,
plates, toothbrushes and even the trash can with all its contents!
But we survived, we fought and persevered! We bought Keith
underwear and shoes, we bought Marina a toothpaste and pair of jeans and our friends
brought us two forks and two glasses! We had parties, and garage sales. Our
friends fed us and clothed us, they wined and dined us, and even let us bring
throngs of our guests to their houses, for which we are most sincerely
grateful! We have become Craigslist
experts and can now easily profile a typical Lexus buyer as a deaf-mute
disabled Marine on active duty overseas or on high seas, who is buying your car
as a surprise gift for his mother-in-law/girlfriend and can only pay by
paypal/certified check delivered by a Secret Agent. We ended up shipping the Lexus to Asheville.
And then came the D-day. And the skies opened and the rains
came… And also some pretty nasty winds!
Anchorage was engulfed in a hurricane – which is a pretty rare thing for us in
Alaska. Marina, naturally, read a whole lot of mysticism into meteorology and
was ready to do a rain dance or burn another Maslenitza effigy to express her
appreciation to the Gods of Alaska who wouldn’t let us go. Keith, being
considerably more practical, called insurance company to assess the damage
caused by the fallen fence in our back yard - and just as we thought that we
had paid all the debts! We had to move our departure yet another day back as
the city struggled to restore power and communications.
Finally, after mutually tearful goodbyes between Marina and
Alaska weather, at noon of September 6, we rolled off into the sunshine (which
did not last long).
Chapter two: A. D.
(After Departure)
We drove out of town through semi-deserted streets and
intersections with dead street-lights, past clean-up crews removing fallen
trees and into the grey-blue Chugach Mountains already sporting termination
dust. That is what Alaskans call the
first snow appearing on tops of tall mountain ranges. According to local lore
in the old days this was a sign to gold miners and trappers to terminate their
work on the far off claims and start on their way back to town while mountain
passes were still open.
For the first couple of hours we simply enjoyed familiar
sights, the peace and tranquility and the first signs of fall – fireweed no
longer red, but covered with fluffy white curls, the trees - still green, but
already tired, looking ready to turn colors; state fair paraphernalia being
packed up in Palmer…
As we crossed the Matanuska Valley where the earthquake-generated
tsunami killed miles of forest back in 1964, we suddenly became aware that the
dead trees that had reminded us and everyone of that earthquake all through our
years in Alaska were now mostly stumps, surrounded by new growth.
We were well into the Valley when Marina remembered that we
were planning to do this blog and that meant PICTURES. So the rest of the first day of travel was
spent in a lot of “Ooohs!” and “Ahhhhs!” and “Pull over! No, not here - THERE!”
and “Oh, @#$&*%!!!!!!! - I pressed
the wrong button!” You can judge for
yourself how successful that operation was…
At 5 p.m. we decided to call it a day and stopped for the night at Glennallen (population: 483), named after two U.S. Army explorers of the late 19th century: Capt. Edwin Glenn and Lt. Henry Allen, who mapped that part of Alaska.
