We expected it to be dark but we had forgotten we were going North. When we checked into the hotel at 10, the sun showed no signs of going down. We woke up at 6 the next morning with sunlight streaming down like it was noon already. We got out to get some breakfast and were surprised at the proliferation of Chinese restaurants. Reindeer sausage, Pacific salmon and Teriyaki noodles seemed to be the staple food around. After a quick breakfast, we walked over to a nearby bicycle rental that was owned by a Boston yankee. My friend promptly got shouted at for wearing jeans for a bike tour, and was made to buy a pair of Red Sox shorts. We then went biking along the Tony Knowles Coastal trail which according to the brochures that we saw at the hotel was not to be missed. The trail is 18-mile long and it hugs the coastline of Anchorage along Cook Inlet. Mountains on one side, the coast on the other, and a huge moose in front of us, we could not have asked for more.  

The next day, we took the scenic Seward highway to the Southern port town of Seward. Mountains, and valleys, and water and snow everywhere, scenic points every mile or so; every American who sings praises of the Alps should be made to come here first. We stopped at a scenic point and saw a pickup truck with a NY license plate. We looked around, and spotted the driver hiking back up the hill. He drives from NY to Alaska and back every year to meet his family, he said.  

We reached Seward, a sleepy little town named after William H. Seward, the man who brokered the sale of Alaska from Russia. Trivia buffs no doubt remember that Seward is also known for the infamous Exxon Valdez oil spill. We had come here to see the Kenai Fjords National Park; this park boasts of mile-long fjords, magnificent glaciers and an astounding variety of wild life. 90% of the park is ice, and the largest ice field in the country, the 300-mile Harding ice field is here in the park. We took a boat into the park; steering in and out of numerous fjords with sea lions, puffins and grey whales to keep us company. Every year, the grey whales swim up here all the way from Mexico, and they head back down South during the winter for the breeding season. Not unlike our pickup truck guy on the highway. 

Aialik. An Eskimo name mangled by the Russians. From the distance, it looked like a small waterfall somewhere in the mountains. The captain slowed down. We were asked to speak in low voices as the sound of our voices could cause the ice to break. The glacier loomed larger as the boat slowly moved forward. We could now see that what we thought was a waterfall did not have any running water. It didn’t give the impression of soft snow either; it was rock, pure white rock. Like the white rock of Minas Tirith. The engines were now totally shut off and we moved very slowly. Wide angle lens cannot do justice to this glacier, I thought. It was about a mile wide and we were about a half mile from its mouth. Aialik formed a perfect semicircle with us at the center. No one moved, no one talked. If peace could be given a shape and form, this had to be it. Someone sneezed, and a block of ice came crashing down.  

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The next morning, after a simple breakfast at the quaint, little inn where we were staying, we headed back to Anchorage. We stopped at Exit glacier on the way and hiked a bit. The innkeeper had suggested we take a detour from the highway on our way back, and have lunch at a little town 20 miles off. So we took the turn off, and a one-lane road provided directions. The vegetation on both sides seemed to get thicker, and we could see no signs of human habitation. After about 15 miles, we decided that we were lost but then we started seeing some cabins, and a couple of vehicles passed us. Another 5 miles later, we turned into the town of Hope, Alaska. 

We counted; Hope had exactly seven houses if you count the “historical museum”. The one in front of us claimed that it was a restaurant and we went in. We were the only people in the restaurant. A teenage boy came in from the kitchen and seated us. We were ravenous and we ordered Pacific salmon and fries. One wall of the restaurant had built-in cupboards with hundreds of books – it was literally one of the best collections that I have ever seen. We spent a few minutes going through the books. 

“Are these books yours?” I asked the woman who walked in to the room. 

“No, it belongs to the woman who owns this place.” 

This woman wasn’t from here anymore than we were. The accent was a dead giveaway. The surprise was evident in our faces. 

“Brooklyn, NY. And the woman who owns this place, she is back in the East. She hates coming back here just like I hate going back there”  

The food arrived. It was excellent. We told the woman that it was very good. Outside the restaurant, a small crowd gathered.  

“You noticed the crowd outside?” asked my friend 

“Yes, it looks like some mid-afternoon tea break or something.” 

“I think it has something to do with us”

“You think so?” 

“It sure is”, said the woman formerly of Brooklyn. “Most of them have never seen East Indians before.” 

“You are kidding” 

“No, I am not. Come on out. Let me introduce you.” 

We stepped outside and everyone stopped talking. We were introduced, and offered beer and asked to stay for the party. We stayed for a while, and for that we were honored by a toast. To the first Indians to ever set foot in Hope, Alaska.

(Veena travels, or rather she loves to travel. When she is not traveling, you can find her inside Excel cells dreaming of malabar fish curry)

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