Tag Archives: History

Totem gesture

Monday 15 August 2022 – Today, the Silver Muse visited Sitka for a brief sojourn; arriving at 0900 and leaving at 1600. The ship was anchored out in the harbour, meaning a tender was the only way to get ashore. (Even if we’d scored a land-based mooring, we’d have been in the cruise terminal, five miles out of town, so there was little practical difference.) Our scheduled excursion when we booked it was a “Waterfall and Champagne Toast Hike”. By this morning, it was called an “Exclusive Rainforest Waterfall Hike”. In any case, our instructions were to assemble in the Venetian Lounge (normally used for cabaret, presentations and films) at 0835 because we had a special early tender to take us ashore. As usual, I was concerned about the weather because I don’t like being rained on and rain is not good for my camera. The forecast was not optimistic, but then none of them have been, so that offered no practical clue.

We had a swift early breakfast, once again sitting out on the rear of the ship to help us judge the conditions. It was a little cool, but not actually raining, and actually the view was rather nice – many, many fishing boats

against a backdrop of small islands, some of which had evidence of habitation.

However, by the time we boarded the tender, the weather had changed. I didn’t find that the view I had of the driver offered much hope for a rain-free day.

When we got ashore, it was still raining and the outlook was gloomy.

However, Silversea’s efficiency meant we had a quarter of an hour to wait for a coach to take us to our hike’s starting point, and by the time we climbed on board, things had cleared considerably.

We were driven some seven miles along the coast, to Herring Cove, and when we set off for our hike, the rain had stopped. Eric, our guide, gathered us round for some introductory remarks,

including such topics as: what to do when we get charged by a bear (let him handle it and don’t run away); avoid the plant called Devil’s Club

because leaves and stems have barbed spikes which will cause you real discomfort and which are very difficult to remove; and watch your step, because the locals are dog-loving, but, more importantly there might be banana slugs on the path – their slime, when it comes into contact with water (e.g. on the sole of your shoe) turns to glue, so it’s not wise to tread on them. We did see a couple, such as this one, which was sporting “chocolate chip cookie” colouring.

That said, Eric explained that the local, Tlingit, natives knew that Devil’s Club plant leaves could be made into a tea which was therapeutic treatment for lung problems, and roots, bark and stems also had medicinal value which is currently being scientifically investigated; and the banana slug’s slime, as it trailed along, trapped and dispersed seeds and pine cones which promoted further forest growth. Not all bad, then.

Although it wasn’t actually raining, we were in rainforest, and Eric showed us what that meant for the local vegetation. Much new growth comes from old stumps

and some trees that grow this way can throw roots round the stump they grow from and eventually overwhelm it.

To English eyes, it’s a weird woodscape

but there are many undeniably attractive sylvan scenes

and occasional glimpses of the sense of humour of the locals who maintain the tracks and look after the forest.

It’s clear that there’s a solid maintenance effort along the trail

though there are places where nature has made her own pathway for hikers as well.

The river which flowed alongside much of our walk is a delightful accompaniment.

In places the trail was quite steep

(you can spot Eric way up the trail)

but overall it wasn’t a hard as the Mount Roberts trail we’d done a couple of days ago – better maintained, less muddy and, most importantly, shorter; we climbed just 186m before we saw the Bear Mountain Falls

(sorry – difficult to do the view justice in a photo, but a lovely sight). At this point Eric produced the aforementioned champagne and we all drank a (very small) toast – can’t have drunken tourists stumbling about the rain forest!

We retraced our steps to the bottom of the hike and were taken back to downtown Sitka. Rather than take an immediate tender back to the ship, we decided to go for an amble, with the main objective being the Totem Park. The route took us through downtown Sitka

where the totem pole influence was difficult to miss.

Another key influence from history is clear to see, in the shape of the Russian Orthodox Church, St. Michael’s Cathedral, which is central in downtown Sitka.

The Russians first came as a consequence of Tsar Peter I’s Great Northern Expedition, which spilled over into Alaska. The Russians wanted to exploit the area to expand the Siberian fur trade, but when they expanded to south east Alaska, the Tlingit resisted this expansion because they already had deals with America and Britain. It didn’t end well; in 1802 the Tlingit destroyed the Russian outpost north of modern day Sitka and in response the Russians returned in 1804 and fought to establish a new settlement, which was contested by the Tlingit for many years until a settlement was eventually reached in 1867.

On our stroll through the downtown area, we stopped off to get some reindeer dogs at a recommended place

and ate them sitting opposite a local ukelele band

who did their best, bless them, to overcome the ukelele’s fundamental drawbacks when harnessed as backing for popular songs.

There are some undeniably attractive buildings and some other quirks in Sitka

(let’s complete the set, here….)

(oh, the dolphin is in front of the Episcopalian Church and, in the competitive nature of these things, there’s a Catholic one close by).

There’s a very extensive marina

and even a local salmon ladder, part of the Science Centre Hatchery, which we watched a few fish try to climb; but somehow we didn’t find Sitka as attractive as we had found Skagway, I’m not quite sure why. Sitka has the amenities and the facilities but somehow, it seemed to us, lacked the charm.

However, one thing it does have which is fairly unique is the Sitka National Historical Park, or the Totem Park for short.

This features, unsurprisingly, many totem poles along a forest trail. But before we got there, a chap engaged us in conversation, which often is a heartsink moment. However, this chap turned out to be Edward Milan, a Tlingit Indian who had actually carved the pole in the foreground here (and has written books on the subject, it turns out), with whom we (mainly Jane, I was taking photos) had a gentle conversation about the history and the modern practice of creating totem poles.

We also found the workshop where poles are being carved.

Just entering on the right above is Tommy Joseph, who showed us some of the tools he works with and helps create for his students.

Our claim to fame, then, is that we have talked to the man who created the Blue Peter Totem Pole. He is justifiably proud that he got a Blue Peter Badge for it.

We walked a trail through the park. There are several totem poles along it, collected from various south eastern Alaskan villages by Alaska Governor John Brady and erected in this special park after the poles had been displayed at two world fairs in an attempt to attract newcomers to the area. In many cases the older ones have been refurbished and/or re-carved by Tommy Joseph who has also created new poles addressing modern life.

Totem poles originally stood in villages near the ocean where travellers could see them, advertising the wealth of the village and/or commemorating important people, events and legends. Often the modern world doesn’t even know what the symbols originally meant. Here’s a montage of some of the things we saw.

We then hastened back to one of Sitka’s landmarks and useful navigational aids – the bridge

where we awaited the tender to take us back to the ship.

For some reason, I find the head poking out of the top of it amusing – it’s the chap who’s driving the thing. Anyway, aside from a small collision with Silver Muse, we got safely back, having had an engaging conversation on the way with a father-and-son combo – Dad from Virginia, son from San Francisco.

And that ends the story of the day – yet another fairly full-on one. We treated ourselves to in-suite dining whilst I cobbled these words together, and now it’s time to get our heads down before our next and final Alaskan port of call – Ketchikan. We’re booked on a “photo safari”, which I hope I will find interesting, but during which I can imagine Jane will be quietly rolling her eyes on occasions. Come back tomorrow and see whether I got the “iconic images” that the blurb promises!

Up Ship Creek in Anchorage

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Wednesday 10 August 2022 – Long Read Alert!

Anchorage! Such a lot packed into a single day! I recommend you get yourself a stiff drink and settle in for a long session if you want to read this at a single sitting.

The main task for the day was to take a Covid test as a pre-requisite for being allowed to join the cruise that starts tomorrow. We’d tried to pre-empt it yesterday by going to the Egan Congress Center in the optimistic hope that the testing facility might be open. It wasn’t – we’d arrived too late – but at least we now knew where the testing facility was. Optimism ruled our hearts once again as we headed there just after 8am today hoping that it might be open. Again, the Congress Centre appeared to be still closed, so we retired to the hotel for breakfast before trying again just after 9am, by which time it had opened its doors. The testing process was efficient – a QR code to register on-site, test kits ready to hand out, a promise of results by e-mail within 20 minutes and contactless payment to relieve you of the fee – $89 per person, which is a scandalous amount, but if it gets us on to the boat, then that’s a win.

By the time we’d walked the two blocks back to the hotel and got a coffee from the lobby café, the results were in, and we were officially declared free of the Dreaded Lurgy, which should make the blog entries for the next few days a little more interesting than they might otherwise have been. To add further to our joy, the sun had come out and the day was warming up nicely. We had decided to take a Trolleybus Tour to give us some idea of what Anchorage had to offer, so we wandered off in the general direction of the Visitor Center to see what the deal was.

The Visitor Center features a log cabin, which is quite fetching, particularly when viewed through the Spirit Bridge, a 1985 sculpture by Roger Barr.

You can also see our hotel in the background. Nearby the Visitor Center is a hot dog stand with some interesting wares.

Had we not just had breakfast, the spicy reindeer dog would have exerted a strong draw, I think. Also by the centre is a statue along a rather common theme in these here parts.

Wherever you look, it seems there are references to bears. Our hotel’s bar/restaurant is called Bruins, for example, and just outside its doors is the reason why.

Trolleybus tour operators proselytise tirelessly outside the center, happy to explain what was on offer, and they proved as efficient at parting us wirelessly from our dollars as was the Covid Test site. The deal we settled on was the Luxury version of the tour, distinguished from the standard version by occasional stops with the opportunity to get off and take photos. That started at midday and it was just 10.30 when we bought the tickets, so we had an hour and a half to kill. This we did by our normal tactic of Going Off For A Wander. We had a vague idea of a direction to go in, as we’d seen some pleasant-looking timber houses on the taxi ride in from the airport. Jane accordingly navigated us in the general direction that we thought we might have seen them.

On the way, we passed some quirky street art touches,

the local take on Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia, the Sacred Family Cathedral of Anchorage

and the Veterans Memorial

before reaching the area we’d sought, which did indeed have a very nice selection of timber buildings.

By this stage we were at Delaney Park, a long stretch of green space between 9th and 10th Avenues, which was originally cleared in the early 20th century as a firebreak to stop the wildfires that are part of the warp and weft of life in Alaska from destroying the developing city. From the park, you can see distant mountains.

We passed the First Presbyterian Church

and “556”, an S-160 class steam locomotive built in 1943, one of 2,300 built for the American army and missing the typical steam engine domes because many were used for the war in Europe and Africa, where tunnels and bridges were lower than in the USA.

(Very creative use of rolling stock wheels for seating purposes, I thought.)

Around here, we met a Friendly Native (there seem to be plenty of them hereabouts – it’s a very amiable place) who suggested a couple of things we should have seen, so we tucked them away for future use after we’d finished our trolleybus tour. As we worked our way back towards the tour meeting place, we passed some striking murals.

The Trolleybus tour was delightfully led by a lady called Donna who was a mine of interesting information, leavened by very good humour.

One of the strongest threads running through her commentary concerned a major event, not only for Alaskans, but with global impact – the 1964 Earthquake. This was absolutely massive – 9.2 on the Richter scale, thus the most powerful earthquake recorded in North American history, and the second most powerful earthquake recorded in world history. Six hundred miles of fault ruptured at once and moved up to 60 ft. Post-quake tsunamis severely affected Whittier, Seward, Kodiak, and other Alaskan communities, as well as people and property in British Columbia, Washington, Oregon, and California. Tsunamis also caused damage in Hawaii and Japan. Evidence of motion directly related to the earthquake was also reported from Florida and Texas. The repercussions even caused church bells in Johannesburg to ring. It is a candidate to be the third most massive shock to the planet after the Chicxulub meteorite which did for the dinosaurs 66 million years ago and the meteorite which exploded over Antarctica 430,000 years ago.

The incredible thing about the Alaskan earthquake is that although property damage was huge, very few people in Anchorage were killed, because it happened on Good Friday – schools and businesses were closed and the areas affected were largely deserted.

The tour route took us to the James Cook monument, where Donna gave a summary of the huge (but not quite earth-shaking) impact that Cook had had on our knowledge of the world in the 18th century;

he discovered and mapped Alaska as he searched for the fabled North Western Passage that, were it found, would open up trade to Asia. The monument site offers views across the water to distant mountains

and to the “Sleeping Lady”, Mount Susitna, which has an Athabascan mythical story attached to it.

From there, we went to Earthquake Park, where the Pacific and American tectonic plates meet, enabling someone to stand with a foot on each.

A short walk into the woods reveals the waves that were caused as the surface moved up and down during the earthquake.

Shortly afterwards we came to the point on the coast which enables a view back over downtown Anchorage

as well as two significant mountains over the water – Denali, also known as Mount McKinley, on the right in this picture

and Mount Foraker on the left. Denali, at over 20,000 feet, is the highest mountain peak in North America, as well as the third most prominent and third most isolated peak on Earth, after Everest and Aconcagua (in Argentina).

The route back to town took us past Lake Spenard (named for Joe Spenard, a significant player in the development of Alaska in the early 20th century) and the site of a vast number of “float planes”.

Aeroplanes are hugely important in Alaska, as they are often the only way to reach places because building roads is made difficult by the permafrost which is often only feet below the surface in the state. Trying to develop on such land is challenging as the permafrost melts, meaning you’re now trying to build on water.

The lake is near to Anchorage’s international airport, and one can see huge warehouses in the area, which belong to logistics giants such as Fedex and UPS. This comes about because Anchorage has a critical role to play in the air freight business. Since it’s a maximum of 9 air hours away from the majority of the planet’s major cities, going via Anchorage is often the most efficient way to move cargo. It’s notable that the airport was at its busiest during the pandemic as delivery operations became more and more important to people who were in lockdown.

And that was our trolleybus tour – fascinating and entertaining.

We’d learned so much – and it was only lunchtime! We headed to the Glacier Brewhouse, a recommendation from the hotel receptionist, which served us a very agreeable lunch, and then, in order to take advantage of the superb weather, went out and about again.

Going along with the recommendations from our Friendly Native, we headed back down to Delaney Park and struck out west towards the water’s edge. We’d already seen one Interesting Church (the Presbyterian one) and we soon passed another, the First Baptist Church.

I wonder if there’s a link between being in the far north and building interesting churches – we’d seen a plethora in Iceland also.

We worked our way along the length of the park (which is 14 blocks from end to end) and came to the water. We’d planned to take a path back along beside the water but there was the inconvenient matter of a railway between us and it. So we zig-zagged our way back up towards the city in search of the place where the path crosses the track so we could join it. There was a steady stream of interesting and attractive buildings.

Outside the one shown just above, we noticed that the trees are encircled by metal. This is to protect them from moose, which would otherwise simply eat them.

Moose play a more important role in Alaskan life than simply being a road hazard in the winter. They wander quite freely and whilst they’ll eat practically any vegetation, they have a special relationship with willow; not the weeping willow that’s familiar in the UK, but feltleaf or diamond willow. And there’s a link with the original firebreak role for Delaney Park. It’s an interesting, but complicated story.

Willow trees shed their leaves every year, and the leaf mould is gradually compacted over the years by the snow, eventually forming a thick layer of a substance called duff, which prevents further growth. When the duff dries out in summer, lightning strikes can cause it to burn, giving rise to the wildfires which are common all over the state. These clear the duff, allowing for new willow growth which is food for moose, which, in turn are food for the apex predators – wolves and bears. Moose are unusual in that they can eat the bark as well as the leaves of willow, which is why it plays such a key role as a foodstuff. But protection round trees is a common sight, as mooses’ appetites aren’t limited just to willow.

Another botanical nugget concerns “fireweed” – what we’d call rosebay willowherb. This can be found growing all over

and according to local lore, each year the height it grows to predicts the depth of the snows in the coming winter. (Our guide Donna’s family did a project over 15 years of monitoring this, and she asserted that this was true each year they measured it to within an inch or two.)

The final chapter of this extraordinarily content-filled day concerned salmon, a high-profile industry in Alaska. The salmon harvest in Alaska is the largest in North America and represents about 80% of the total wild-caught catch, with harvests from Canada and the Pacific Northwest representing the remainder. You can see salmon all over the place as artwork

but, more to the point, this is the time of year where they run upriver to spawn and Donna had told us about a place where we could maybe see them in action – the Ship Creek Overlook Park. This was the final stop on our walkabout. We made our way to the bridge which offered the best viewing possibilities and, sure enough, there they were, in profusion.

But, accompanying this was the (very laid-back) cabaret of people fishing for salmon in the river. There were lots of them

and indeed watching them appears to be a spectator sport, too.

There’s a restaurant built on a bridge over the river

and, just to the side, a place which is famous for its superb fish processing knives

(Ulu is derived from an indigenous people’s word for knife, apparently).

And this completed the walkabout for the day. We’d covered around nine miles as well as going on the bus tour and our brains were full of all the things we’d learned and the sights we’d seen. For such a small town, Anchorage had given us a marvellous and varied day out, enhanced by some lovely weather.

I’ve just taken a look at the forecast for Seward, which is where we will board our cruise, some 120 miles south of Anchorage. It looks like it will be raining there, not only when we arrive, but for the whole week, which emphasises how fortunate we have been today.

Tomorrow, then, will be taken up by the transit to Silver Muse and the concomitant fuss about boarding, and getting to know the layout of the ship (particularly where we can find gin). So it will be a couple of days before I report anything, and, given the length of this entry, I should think you’re quite relieved about that. Anyway, do come back in a couple of days to see how we’ve got on, won’t you?

Day 14 – Comin’ For To Carry Us Home

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Saturday 28 May 2022 – Rather surprisingly, the wedding didn’t prevent us from sleeping reasonably well. Come the dawn, there was time for a final cup of Twining’s finest Earl Grey as we got up, and another with a brisk breakfast, blessedly (for me) possible as my ulcers were finally beginning to cede control of my mouth back to me. We also got a reasonably close view of the starlings which are ubiquitous in Jordan and quite melodious. These two were making the most of the breakfast buffet.

Saeed, prompt as ever, came to collect us to take us out of the Dead Sea area. He gave us a parting present of some olive oil soap (first experienced at Feynan – it’s a good soap) and, bless him, some local variant of sage – the same herb that we believe had caused the ulcers that had bedevilled the last few days. However, his instructions were to serve it as tea, rather than just stuff it in your mouth, which will probably give a better result.

There followed a long, long climb to 600m above mean sea level (or 1km above Dead Sea level), past a ceaseless succession of big, big, heavy lorries, carrying mainly minerals from the Dead Sea area. The route goes through a very green area, fed by natural springs, and there were many cars stopped by the roadside as people took advantage of spring outlets of fresh, potable water, something that doesn’t come out of the taps in Jordan.

And then we were at the airport, saying goodbye to Saeed and thanking him for the truly excellent job he had done of looking after us for a fortnight, before coming back into the care of Edward (he who greeted us a fortnight ago, you’ll remember), which meant something of a canter trying to keep up with him as he took us to a fast-track side entrance and ushered us into the tender care of the Royal Jordanian airline Crown service.

The check-in process had much in common with the Virgin Upper Class check-in at Heathrow Terminal 3 in the Good Old Days when I occasionally managed to score this for business travel: a separate, private entrance; its own dedicated passport control; and its own dedicated security scan. You’d have thought that the security johnnies would be familiar with ostrich eggs as a concept, given their prominent role among tourist purchases in Jordan, but Jane had a bit of a struggle explaining the one she’d bought; and they insisted on swiping both her egg and my camera for traces of explosive, but at least the chap nodded and said “good” as he handed me back my Nikon. Nice that he approved.

(Parenthetical and post-factum note, here, penned later in the day with gin in hand. Prior to disappearing through the apparently wonderful, dedicated passport and security facilities, Edward had handed our bags over to two guys with a set of scales, checked us in with the desk and then told us to take those annoying long thin baggage tagging strips back to the two guys. We (rather trustingly) did this and they assured us that they would handle the tagging and passing on the bags. When we got to Heathrow, being Crown Class got us off the plane nice and quickly, and the passport gates were working, so we were the first two at Belt 7 in the T3 baggage hall, arriving there by about 16.45. Some 10 minutes later, bags started appearing in desultory fashion on the carousel. These included a succession of boxes, which were picked up by various different people. Wonder what was going on?

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As time ticked by, more and more people came to the belt, waited a while, eventually picked up bags and left. Eventually, there were fewer and fewer people standing by the belt, and still our bags hadn’t come through. An hour after the first bags had appeared, we’d just about given up hope and Jane had worked out where the “Lost Baggage” desk was – and then our bags finally appeared. Specially labelled “PRIORITY” – and, as far as we could tell, the last ones off the plane. Harrumph! Cost us an extra tenner for the waiting taxi, as well as an unwanted surge of cortisol.

Anyway, where were we? We were in the Jordan airport departure lounge…..)

We had to ask someone how to find the RJ Lounge, because the signposting at Queen Alia airport is less lavish than at other airports, but here we are and I need to update the blog, so an 0930 gin (we’re still on holiday, OK?) to fuel the creative flow seems to be acceptable. Yes, it is.

So, whilst waitin’ for the Dreamliner that is comin’ for to carry us home, we’ve looked over Jordan, and what have we seen?

A wonderfully heterogeneous culture, drawing on religious, historical and popular influences from the vast range of the different peoples who have come through, stayed to add to indigenous ways and maybe moved on. Yes, it’s basically an Arab country with Arab customs, but it’s also very diverse in its attitudes towards other mores. Given that 20% of its GDP is through tourism, this is just as well, really.
(Hand in hand with the above, Jane found it a comfortable place to be as an un-veiled (Western) woman, which is not always the case in the Middle East, in our experience.)
An astonishing history, contributing hugely to the way the world as we know it today works.
A very welcoming people. It seems that “Welcome” is the first word in English that Jordanians learn, they use it a lot and, by and large, seem to mean it.
Quite often, as a tourist, when you hear the word “Welcome” on the lips of someone in Jordan, it is followed, implicitly or explicitly, by a solicitation to talk, have tea, whatever – but basically to buy something. Although there are some very rich people in Jordan, there are also some very poor people; very rarely is an opportunity to earn a dollar or two spurned. There are two clear consequences: one is that contactless or card payments are taken in the most surprising places; the other is that people are grateful for tips. If you’re thinking of visiting and using services such as guide or driver, it’s a very good idea to arm yourself with a selection of 1, 5 and 10-Dinar notes.
A highly opportunistic entrepreneurial attitude, combined with a ramshackle retail experience. Wherever you go, there are people selling stuff – on the roadside (of a motorway, for heaven’s sake!), up a mountain, in a desert, often out of the back of a a ramshackle, probably Toyota, pickup truck. Saeed told us that he’d simply built up, over the years, a knowledge of which are the best places to go to buy cheese, or watermelons or mulukhiyah, or whatever.
A “long game” approach to property development. Similar to what we’ve seen in Spain and Portugal, there’s a developmental attitude to domestic and small business properties; this was something I’d meant to refer to earlier, but, well, didn’t: wherever you go, there are businesses apparently trading out of unfinished buildings, with reinforced concrete rods sticking out of the top, and houses, some apparently lived in, in the same state. The reason is that the family has built enough to go on with for now, and the next generation will come along and add the next storey. Or that they’re still waiting for money to complete the works.
A ridiculous driving experience. My strongest advice to anyone considering renting a car whilst being unfamiliar with the “Insh’Allah” roadcraft of the locals, the apparently negligent approach to road surface maintenance and the “this looks as good a place as any” speed bump placement philosophy on the part of The Powers That Be is – don’t. Just don’t.
An expensive currency. The Jordanian Dinar is currently worth more than a Pound Sterling and some of the prices charged might seem high relative to other places you’ve visited (particularly for booze and items that have to be imported). In your financial planning for a holiday visit, try not to compare the prices with, e.g. European norms, which will only cause you angst; be lavish in your estimates of cash needed and relax and enjoy the service.
A varied climate. If you hate the heat, avoid the peak summer months and the south of the country. If you hate the cold and wet, avoid the winter.
Overall, a great tourist experience – based, that is, on our limited statistical sample of one. Our particular priority has been seeing as much of a country as makes sense in one trip, and the size of Jordan is perfect for visiting a wide range of places over two weeks. But you can find intense concentrations of specific activities – hiking, diving, camping, sunbathing – if that’s your bag. We’ve had a fantastic fortnight and would unhesitatingly recommend it as a place to visit. Would we come back? There’s a good question. The answer is a probable “yes” – a bit earlier in the year, and with a more focussed plan – fly and flop to the Dead Sea; stay at Feynan – but better equipped, emotionally and packing-wise for the experience – and go hiking or experience more of the local culture; even (sigh!) go canyoning at Mujib or snorkelling in Aqaba. Whatever, as I bring this section of the blog to a close, we’ve had a blast and hope that you’ve enjoyed reading about it. Interested in Canada? Come back in August…..