The Hotel and Clerk
It was a brisk morning in Barrow Alaska, when I first arrived [June, l996 the Chuck chi Sea was close to the Hotel, Top of the World, hotel if I remember right; and you could see snow on the frozen waves of ice from a far distance with the naked eye, but I had brought along my binoculars nonethelessand that didnt take away from the beauty of the endless view of the frozen sea, while the Top of the World Hotel, the one I was staying at, guarded its shoresyes it was as if I was on top of it as Id look out the big bay window.
There was a TV in the hotel lobby and grand sofas to rest on, while a stuffed polar bear, surrounded by a glass encasement guarded the lobby. I sat there while I drank a Diet Pepsi checking the bear out, its height, the window the endless ice that went on over the horizon. Day was long, and night was but gray for a moment, and day was back again. Hard to sleep and hard to stay away at times; anyhow, back in the lobby:
the fist day, the Lady behind the desk came over to me and gave met my keys with the room number attached to a chain, I put the paper down on the table, stood up, I had already signed in at the desk:
I hope youll like your stay her sir the oriental young woman commented as she turned about, her back now facing me, doing her business.
Do you have everything you need? she asked, knowing I was still standing there by instinct.
YupsureI said, as I walked away.
Let me know if there is anything I can do for you, she added as I was halfway down the hall, heading towards my room, still doing her business and not looking at me; she had eyes under that pretty hair I think, in the back of her head.
Here I am, I told myself, walking down this maze of turns and steps going down and back up again, --then to the right, down a corridor, up a level to find my room, my little room on the second floor of the three story hotel.
They were all busy, the people around me: maids, desk clerks, janitors, everyone, so I added to my ongoing mumbling monologue; a ting talking out loud to myself, as I often do: thats what makes traveling so much fun, --to go somewhere then to say, I got there (and watching everyone else busy with their everyday life). And Barrow, Alaska, in the heart of the Arctic was no laughing matter; I mean it was not easy to get there. I had to take a plane from Minnesota, then onto Fairbanks, and then a small plane into the wild of thawing-ice lands, the desert-ice of the Arctic, then landing in Barrow, a community of about 3000-inhabidents (in l996; perhaps more now, or maybe less). It was a cherished moment to say the least when I landed, kind of a feat if I can say that. When I called North Western Airlines, I told them I wanted to go to Alaska, but didnt add Barrow yet into my conversation. I had the Frequent Flyer Miles to use up. And when I told them Barrow, they asked, Where is that? Looking on t he map I expect, the response over the phone was, I dont think we go there. And I said, Oh yes you do, and when she quite friendly and said, If we do, than you will be going there, she checked it out; she discovered she did, or they did. It was hard to believe it of course; and so that is how I got there.
Restaurants
During my five-day stay at the hotel, I found myself eating mostly at its attached Caf, a Mexican one at that, of all places to find a Mexican caf, in the middle of the Arctic I thought, in a village of some three-thousand people of which the majority were Inuits, or otherwise know as Eskimos.
In most of my travels I usually avoided eating exclusively at the hotel I stayed at so I could visit other places, but I found I only ventured to other eating establishments once in my four-day stay; there really wasnt a wide selection. I wanted to eat whale, but there was none to eat, or at least that is what the locals told me; they had killed a wh ale a few weeks before I had come. I had called up to the area before I came and was hoping to tag along on a whale hunt, but it didnt work out that way. (I would eat whale in Iceland, four years yet in the future, but that is another story). I should add, if you are not a native of the land, it was/is against the law to eat whale in the United States, in Iceland it is not. And so according to customs and the law is how I went about my stay. As I said, I had to wait another four years to eat whale, which I did while in Iceland it was very, very good.
The Midnight Sun
One evening I had stayed up most of the night talking to Jackie (the evening receptionist) and watching TV in the lobby. She was a young woman, well traveled; we had a very light, clear, quiet and tasteful conversationor should I say discussions
My tired and droopy eyes listened closely to her travels as she did to mineI think we both regretted not repeating that night again, a beautifu l night with a lovely woman of wise opinion and well groomed conversation. It was all worth while, how she felt I dont know, but it showed by her attentiveness.
What do you do? asked Jackie, How do you like Barrow so far? Was a question that came from her that evening?
Its fine to visit, I commented, adding: but Im afraid a little too speculative to keep a lasting relationship with
She turned to the side of me, thought a bit, said: My boyfriend works up here, pointing in a certain direction, I think northeast. She seemed excited when she said that, adding hes a pilot.
I found that not to be too unusual for this area in the Arctic, for there were a lot of small aircraft around, and a number of small villages for people to fly intomatter of fact, it was the only way to get into the villages, other than by foot or dog sled.
Do you fly with him?
Sure
I wrote a book, I commented.
Yes, is thats so; what kind?
A childrens book, I said.
She thought, then said, Thats great, as she got up to attend to business, walking over to the counter to insure all was well, for she had been sitting in them great sofa chairs going on two hours now.
You think it would be all right to give you some books for your, the hotel and for the children in Barrow, that is?
Oh yes she commented, That would be nice, very nice.
The Russian Pilot
The next afternoon I went to a small airport, cargo station more like, along side the unpaved road which was along side of the coast, leaving the residential area. The day was warmer than, the day before, and it was always light out I had noticed, hard to sleep, but I did get to see the famous Midnight-Sun, it is odd if anything, the sun coming up a little after midnight and darkening the day a little to gray and a sharp gloss as if rays were seeping through the atmosphere. Then after the event, the 22.5 hour day starts again.
At any means, the nex t day I went inside what was called the Air Station, and talked to a desk clerk about catching a ride here or there. He then talked to a Russia pilot, who was working as a roustabout for the delivery of mail to three villages in the vicinity. He then made a deal with the pilot to take me along for a mail run. Id pay for the space that was being used, and that was all and a little tip for the pilot. Thus, he took me on a most adventurous ride; over and around and down to 100-feet to see the caribou running. The beautiful brown tundra, as winter thawed to a minimum. And up wed go to five-hundred feet, than back down to 100. A roller coaster; we stopped in Port Lay, and a few other stops. It was all worth while.
Note: While putting together my second book of short stories, I had discovered a short story I had written August, l996 (more like journal notes), tucked away on the sides of the pages in a short story book I was reading at the time. Some times when I r un out of paper, or cannot find any, usually I find a book Ive brought along, in this case it was lost for eight-years, found on 12/18/02; tucked away again until now, revised 6/10/2005.
Author Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Short Story
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