From the ridiculous to the sublime

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  Anchorage, Alaska
Tuesday, May 25, 2010

YOU can read all the travel guide books in the world and they will not come close to describing how beautiful Alaska is.

As we waved rather a happy farewell to the Diamond Princess after 15 days at sea, we stepped off the boat at Whittier into a land of ice capped mountains and huge blue skies, millions of acres of lush pine trees, ice cold rivers cutting through granite rock hillsides and moose, bears, wolves and even the odd porcupine.

Here we were in the untamed wilderness of Alaska, the 49th state and one of the most stunning places I have ever visited.

We are now on the final leg of our round the world backwards journey – albeit a leg which will last more than a month – and even Mike, who seems to have been confused by every single currency we have come across since we left British shores, is getting the hang of the Yankee dollar.

Although, we are heading into Canada, so perhaps I shouldn't speak too soon.

Our transport across this great land is as bizarre as our fortnight on the Love Boat.

Having breezed through customs, despite fears of rubber gloves and some serious probing, we were greeted by our mode of transport from Alaska to New York - the Green Tortoise sleeper bus.

Our Green Tortoise can sleep up to 37 people and has long benches at the front, two tables in the middle and what can only be described as a huge crash out space at the back. This was obviously where the former Back End of the Bus gang immediately gravitated.

Behind the wheel of the big green hippy wagon is Matty, a 32-year-old from New Jersey, who thankfully has a better grasp of the English language than Martin, who we left behind in Moscow what seems so long ago.

As the ship disappeared behind the huge mountain range which surrounds Whittier, we rumbled our way to the Alaskan city of Anchorage and the Spenard International Hostel, our stop off point for a couple of days.

This was back to the good old days of the Oz Bus tour – seven, smelly snoring men to a room, queuing for dodgy showers, free wi-fi and the warmest of welcomes from our hosts.

Just a few short yards away from the hostel was Gwennies diner where memories of my time in the States four years ago came flooding back – portions of food the size of Belgium and the friendliest people you could ever wish to meet.

I’m not sure if it was Gwennie who served us, but our waitress was soon pointing us in the right direction when it came to the local brew.

And what better way to accompany a lovely cold beer than with a bowl of hot chilli.

Returning to the hostel, I enjoyed another new experience -  skype.

Of course, I had heard about this computer-based communication system but had never really had the need to try it out.

So while Phebes was chatting to Mrs Phebes over the computer airwaves, she invited me to have a few words with her mum, which was really fun if not a little odd.

Then it was time to head out and discover what delights Anchorage had to offer – and what a delight we found – Chilcoot Charlies Bar, a rabbit warren of a place with more nooks and crannies than you can shake a stick at.

To be honest, I nearly didn’t make it. Barry had spotted the place earlier in the day and had assured us it was "just a few minutes away."

Forty minutes after leaving the hostel, we were still nowhere near and I was all set to head back and wash my hair and retire to bed with an improving book.

Thankfully, we (that’s Barry, me, Mike, Rob and Phebes) stuck at it and what a great night we had.

The boozer was full of locals enjoying the night out and the $2 a pint until 10pm deal which we soon latched on to.

The highlight of the evening had to be the house band who were a mixture of early Manic Street Preachers, Hanoi Rocks and Kiss – all make-up and bandanas - and who played at least five sets of covers through the night.

I fully admit that the combination of beer, vodka, being in America and the band’s completely over the top cheesyness got me on the dance floor for a while before the place shut at 2.45am and we caught a cab home.

Obviously, by now I had a bad case of the munchies and with a 24 hour McDonald’s drive thru (sorry we’re in America now, I have to use the American spellings), just a hop, skip and a seeded bun away from the hostel, I headed back out on to the mean streets of Anchorage in search of a Big Mac.

However, it being a drive thru, the front doors were closed and I had to go around the back and queue up behind a taxi and in front of a limo.

In order to get served, I figured it was perhaps a good idea to pretend to be a car – I decided on a Model T Ford – and I stood in the queue behind the taxi, with my engine in neutral waiting for my turn.

Once the taxi had been served, I put the Ford into first and shuffled forward, making a few engine noises as I went. The girl behind the counter had her back to me and as she turned around, she obviously expected to see a car, not a half drunk Englishman pretending to be a car and making brum brum noises.

The poor girl jumped three feet off the ground and screamed – a fairly normal reaction from girls who meet me for the first time.

But once she had regained her composure, she agreed to serve me and I was soon driving off back to the hostel with my Big Mac and fries in the glove compartment.

The next day dawned bright and hot and I felt that after the excesses of the previous night, a few hours exercise was much needed.

So myself, Mike, Fran and Phebes hired a bike apiece and after one or two hairy moments when we forgot that they drive on the wrong side of the road over here, we enjoyed a fabulous two hour ride down to the coastline where I was bitten to buggery by a few ravenous mozzies.

It was well worth it though for the breath-taking views of the mountain ranges out in the distance and the beautiful lakes and avenues we passed as we whizzed (OK, rode sedately) by on our bikes.

While we were out taking in the sights, the Chief and Matty had taken the Tortoise on a rather large shopping trip – getting our food stock for the coming weeks when we would be camping for most nights instead of hostelling.

We were soon back on the now fully-laden Green Tortoise and into the Denali National Park and Preserve, thousands of square miles of rugged mountains and pine forests, clear blue rivers and moose walking down the middle of the road.

Before we arrived at our campsite, a new wow moment made its way into the top ten – a stunning view of Mount McKinley, the highest mountain in North America, and one some (mainly Americans) would claim to be the highest in the world.

Because of Alaska’s peculiar climate, getting to see the mountain in all its glory is pretty rare as it is normally shrouded in cloud. But, and not for the first time, Oz Bus weather luck struck again and we had an unrivalled view of the mountain as we travelled towards Denali.

Now, I’ve done a fair bit of camping in my time so was more than up for a couple of nights under canvas despite warnings of the possibility of close encounters with the odd grizzly bear, a moose or two or a wolf.

In fact, we were given a quick lesson in how to deal with a bear encounter as we arrived at Denali. It was a little confusing, I have to admit, as your actions depend on the type of bear whose path you happen to cross.

For a brown bear, for example, you are supposed to make yourself look big (not a problem for me), and wave your hands in the air. For a grizzly, you are supposed to remain still and quiet. For Yogi Bear, you are supposed to give him a pic-a-nick-a-basket! Bum bum! (For the younger readers out there, go to the Cartoon Network and you’ll soon see what I mean about Yogi and his baskets).

Please don’t take any of the above advice as gospel, as to be truthful, I’ve sort of forgotten what to do. What I do know, however, is that you do not run away, despite your natural instincts.

Our camp site – Ridge Creek – was just opening up for the season so not everything was up and running, including the flushing toilets. But, hey, I’ve done Glastonbury so I’m not afraid of the long drop, if you see what I mean.

The bus came fully stocked with a number of tents which (and I don’t want to sound smug) almost put themselves up, which is pretty handy. It’s even handier when you have to take them down at 6am.  

Tents up and a fire prepared, we headed for downtown Denali via the Joneseville Trail, a shortcut taking us to the main road a little quicker than going through the camp.

Downtown Denali is a row of shops, shacks, stores and a fab restaurant / pub called the Salmon Bake, which was given various different names over our two days there, including the Salmon Cake, the Fish Bake and the Hake Cake.

As we have a bus full of food, during our journey down the west coast, we are mostly making our own dinner at the Green Tortoise, with volunteers coming forward to prepare, cook, wash up and pack the gear away.

Yours truly would soon be testing his culinary skills by cooking a huge vat of pasta and chucking in some sauce – Gordon Ramsay would be so proud. Well, to be fair, my swearing was right out of the top drawer and I’m sure he would have approved.

But on the first night, it was Mary, Pam and Phebes who gave us delicious vegetable patties and a lovely salad, with a rather nice dressing, washed down with a couple of cold tinnies.

I should just mention the one and only similarity Alaska has with the Diamond Princess - its ability to completely bugger up your body clock.

You will remember that we were putting our clocks forward every day on the boat, causing untold mayhem and resulting in us all sleeping in until the early afternoon. I will maintain that staying up in the Skywalker Lounge until 3am every night before gorging on pizza and cookies until 5am had nothing to do with us kipping until mid afternoon.

And at this time of year in Alaska, daylight lasts for around 18 hours so it doesn’t get dark until around 2am. The fact that we can have a game of drunken frisbee in a huge national park at midnight is a whole new experience to me and one I am keen to repeat.

After dinner, we did pop into the Salmon Bake for a swifty on the way back and at 11pm I made my way along the Jonesville Trail in broad daylight – very weird.

I returned to find Duncan and Marlo had taken over from Freddie as the group’s twisted firestarters and both had created a massive blaze in the middle of the camp (in a designated fire hole, I hasten to add).

There’s something very blokey about sitting around a fire and throwing a stick on the flames once in a while and we did so until the wee small hours.

Day two in Denali and we decided to go on a bit of a hike in search of beer, sorry bear. Now, I’m not the fittest of blokes so after an hour or so when Marlo, Freddie and Barry said they wanted to head right to the top of a bloody great mountain, Mike and I decided to go in completely the opposite direction – down.

And I’m so glad we did for two reasons – the first being that I had managed to catch my breath within the next two days and the second being the moment we walked round the corner and almost straight into a moose grazing at the side of the trail.

I’m not a big one for nature as such, although I do like a nice view and a clear blue river, but being that close to an animal you would normally only see in a David Attenborough documentary on the box was utterly breathtaking and not a little scary and the beast was a shed load bigger than me. But he hardly batted either of his huge eyelids as we took a quick piccie and went on our way back to camp.

Instead of dining at the Green Tortoise on day two, we were all booked in to the Salmon Bake, but thanks to a few tinnies around the now burnt out campfire in the early evening, a few of us were a bit late but it didn’t seem to matter and we were all soon tucking into some pretty delicious Alaskan fare.

Looking out of the window, I could see this stunning mountain range looking down at us from across the road. I couldn’t help thinking I could spend an awful lot more time here.

After a rather cold night in the tent – despite the bloke who sold me my sleeping bag telling me I would be toasty even at the North Pole – we were back on the Tortoise and heading towards Chena hot springs – essentially a bloody great hot bath surrounded by ice capped mountains.

As I sat there at 11pm, just 130km from the Arctic Circle, slowly steaming in the middle of this natural hot spring, I thought to myself: “It doesn’t get much better than this.”

After scrubbing off the sulphur in a gloriously hot shower, it was back onto the bus for another new experience – the night drive.

While we are camping in tents most of the time, on the odd occasion Matty is driving on through the night and we are sleeping on the bus as we eat up the miles on the Alaskan highways.

There is plenty of room on the bus and the smaller ones among us volunteered to try out the bunks which hang (not far) from the roof. Obviously, I wanted to put myself forward for such a dangerous mission, but all the bunks were quickly snapped up.

I took up a spot under a bunk occupied by a female member of the group who warned me that during the night, some of her possessions may fall off her bunk and onto me due to the rocking of the bus.

So it was no surprise when I was first woken up by a bra falling from above, then a paperback book, and finally a dripping water bottle.

I was rather thankful for the second rude awakening as I opened my eyes just in time to see Matty driving behind a moose before it trotted off into the forest.

Ooh, you may be wondering what happened to Roger, the parrot who proved so popular at our pirate party on the Diamond Princess.

Well, he’s very much alive and clucking and I’m now taking pictures of him at various locations along the American highway which I will be posting on the blog.

Next episode: Freddie gets in hot soup in Chicken

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