I made my way to Anchorage on Cinco de Mayo from New York, with a stop in Ohio to bid my family farewell. At the Chicago airport, I sat next to an Anchorage boy fresh from college with that fratty pretty-boy smile and a timid confidence. The bartender did his spiel and some ladies at the bar screamed, "Tequila!"
Anchorage boy was sold. I shook my head, jet-lagged from five months of cross-country travel that began in Vermont. "No judgment here; welcome to Alaska, I guess," I said. I made my way down to Seward by way of the Seward Bus line, where Bob entertained us with his half-commentary, half-tour-guide bit. As we passed Kenai Lake, it all came together, taking my breath away.
It's been almost four months, and I am close to the end of my Seward experience. The season is winding down. The sun is playing coy again. Fourth of July came and went. Karaoke Wednesdays and Dance Night Thursdays are still in full swing.
As I reflect on the long nights I have had here, I think of my midnight walks home from work. The soothing sighs that those once snow-capped mountains produce. The rambunctious laughter of long nights of dancing and frolicking on the docks.
Everyone works so much here, but there is a sweet rebellion that this lifestyle creates. Not quite teenage-like; more comparable to a prolonged youth that will eventually come to an end. Probably back to somewhere in the Lower 48, where most of our other lives await.
It's not just a seasonal thing, either, as even the locals like to partake in it from time to time. In bigger cities, it's expected and almost forced. In Seward, you can get your sun and hiking fix and still have time for a grocery run and a nightcap. With an hour or two to spare, you can drift off to Netflix and still wake up before your alarm.
There is the matter of the Alaska sun, though. Early risers like myself, who are used to beating the sun, have learned a hard lesson here. Try as you might, it will always rise before you. You may have better luck ordering tequila at Chicago O'Hare. "No judgment here, thanks, Alaska."
— Sahra Ali
Seward
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