Juneau What I Mean

This morning, we pulled in early to Juneau, Alaska. Nestled between dark green mountain slopes, and right up against the water, Juneau looked to me more like a quiet, small town than a state capital. The large population is mostly spread out in suburbs, somewhere behind the city’s massive limits. The downtown area is flat and sparse, and the crowd gathered on the top deck didn’t seem to be there to take pictures as much as get out and look at something that wasn’t simply bare expanses of gray sea.

Holland America had arranged a whole smorgasbord of shore excursions, most pushing the $300 mark for a single person. These were all mostly helicopter tours of Mendenhall glacier, a massive glacier that sits a short bus ride (or a massively expensive helicopter ride) out of downtown. Otherwise, you were expected to mostly fend for yourself. Perhaps somewhat pessimistically, I noted that they had scheduled a putting tournament and a bingo contest a few hours after we were due to dock – I guess Holland America wasn’t too optimistic as to what entertainment Alaska’s state capital might offer its well fed and overly pampered guests.

The sky was clear, although the forecast called for clouds. "This is the first day in about two weeks without rain," the bus driver noted as we rode the mile or so into central downtown along the shore line. We disembarked, and the few streets that ran through were packed on both ends with gaudy tourist shops and jewelry stores, many likely being paid or run by the cruise lines. All manner of cheapo gemstones set shittily in silver bracelets, and all manner of Alaska branded t-shirts, mugs, teddy bears, and drug paraphernalia didn’t interest me, although it apparently interested enough of the cruise riding crowd, as nearly every shop I passed had at least a few golf visor, white shorts, and fanny pack wearing grannies and granddads browsing through their wares.

I passed one jewelry store with a woman leaning her elbows listlessly against the otherwise spotless glass display case, clearly depressed that the only hope of human interaction that she could look forward to on a Monday would be crowds of self-appointed cocky cruise ship bargain hunters, educated the very day before by a fifteen minute seminar onboard on how to bargain for jewelry, and how to "spot out fakes."Another similarly empty jewelry store along a side street proclaimed, in a loud printed sheet taped to the front door, that this shop was "Locally owned!" and "Not run by cruise ships!!" The location of the shop was not within easy striking distance of the main drag, and subsequently suffered for it.

Tour busses to Mendenhall glacier were advertised at a steal of some $22 round trip, so while the chumps on the boat all went the "flightseeing" route, packed into cabins of floatplanes and helicopters, the Wong brigade went in style in a baby blue converted school bus. The driver was not a local – he was a young Korean guy with a shaved head who came up to Alaska for a summer job. He had a healthy disrespect for the cruise lines, pointing out several onshore activities (such as a brewery tour for some $200) that would be free if you just went on your own. He suggested renting a car in some of these cities, and simply following the tour busses around and joining the group when everyone got off. He had an open personality, and admitted he was bumming around and seeing how long he could sustain himself post-college graduation without having to get a "real" job.

Mendenhall glacier was a pale sea blue, and sandwiched between cliffs, only visible across a wide lake. The rocks nearby all displayed the layered scars of a much earlier glacial retreat. My cousin offered a thousand dollars to swim across to the glacier and back, but quickly withdrew said offer when it was apparent I was deeply considering it. Not much to do here but take pictures, and within the hour, we were back on the bus towards town. As we drove away, we noticed a group of local kids wearing trunks and carrying an inflatable orca. "They go swimming whenever it isn’t raining," said our driver, "I don’t know how they do it – they’re crazy. The water’s always right above freezing."

The streets were even more packed as a result of two other cruise ships having disembarked their passengers, and the jewelry shops were bustling with activity. A very young girl stood on the sidewalk sawing at her violin for extra cash while her dad and sister sat a safe fifty odd feet away, watching the cash flow in. On top of an electrical box, a group of long haired teens sat strumming a guitar and belting out folk songs, knitted cap outstretched and jingling with coins. And out from the shops and novelty bars emerged the cruise ship tourists, dazed into the overcast skies, blinking and walking aimlessly, flitting in and out of these bright storefronts in turn like flies throwing themselves against windowpanes.

As night fell, the engine of our ship rumbled to life and we started to pull away. I wandered up to the top deck. It was cold, empty, and damp. Lights flickered as Juneau retreated into the darkness. Outside on the deck, it began to rain.