Alaskan Expatriate

Every time I watch High Fidelity, I find myself making lists… “Top 5….” So here’s my request from you: Pick one or both.

• Best album track one to end for a roadtrip.
• Top 5 songs necessary for any roadtrip mix tape.

I’ll share mine in a few days. Sorry for all the pictureless posts. Here’s a random pic, just because.

These are the deer I saw hanging out in someone’s yard. I thought they were fake at first.

Staycationing is the new fad. I curse whoever coined this phrase for staying home (or near home) for vacationing. I understand the logic, but don’t appreciate the competition. A week ago, I got an itch to go camping. The idea of throwing your tent in the car and finding a patch of dirt to sleep on for the night is relaxing. It’s cheap, and as long as you bring matches, relatively enjoyable and relaxing. Leave it to Seattlites (and the burb-dwellers surrounding) to take all of the relaxation out of it.

First of all, dragging a 30 foot trailer or lassoing the family apartment on wheels is not camping. That is visiting your second home, which happens to be portable. Camping requires a fire pit and hoping it doesn’t rain until the tent is up. There’s a sense of accomplishment when your tent is standing and will probably stay that way through the night. Pulling into a parking spot surrounded by trees is not camping.

With that in mind though, I do appreciate the convenience of car camping. In that I don’t have to pack in everything I’ll need for the next two days. Instead, I just fill my trunk. Call me a hypocrite.

Most of the state run campgrounds are suited for the vehicular camper, especially those with children. I would like my “staycation” to be as far away from most children as possible. I don’t make friends with the small humans unless necessary.

The process of camping in Washington is complicated by reservations. What probably began as a convenience is now customary. If you would like a spot to camp, make a reservation… three months in advance, or for dates in the middle of the week. Here I am, staring at my computer, thinking about getting away from the damn thing for a few days, little red Xs staring back at me — no sites available on those dates, please choose another park or date. Every weekend is packed at any of the sites worth visiting, and from the maps, you can see that most of them are RVers and the like. If I book now, I may be able to see the woods by… October.

It’s difficult to describe Ikea to someone who’s never visited one. It’s hard to imagine the actual size, but for me Ikea is more of a feeling — an overwhelming, joyful, frustrating and tear inducing feeling.

Ikea is the size of a city block, at least. It requires a map to maneuver, especially if you go in looking for something specific. It is not designed for in and out shopping. Half of the building is show room, with switch back “trails” guiding you through living rooms, offices, kitchens, kid’s crap, bedrooms and on and on and on. You use your map to track the warehouse location numbers of the items you want. Then you grab a flat cart and retrieve those items from the never ending warehouse. By the time you find the exit on the other side, it’s a bit like finally seeing the finish line. There’s a sigh of relief and just the slight urge to sprint the rest of the way.

The main problems with Ikea:

1. Too many items to choose from, many of which are too similar.
2. A more than useless staff to assist you.
3. Again, TOO MANY CHOICES!

Every time I’ve been in, I’ve wasted at least 90 minutes. I say wasted because I never feel like I’ve accomplished anything when I leave. Even if I do buy something, I still have to go home and assemble the damn thing.

Why I keep going back:

1. It’s so cheap! I mean, really cheap for a lot of stuff.
2. I like a lot of the stuff, but in that “hip” it’s only going to make me happy for nine months sort of way.
3. Everyone else is there. It’s like a social event. There’s even a restaurant in the middle of the place.

I’ll go again, but I much prefer to browse the catalog on the toilet and dog ear the stuff I like, but don’t really need. Things I have purchased at Ikea, and their approximate prices: 5-quart pot for boiling ($14), kitchen table ($50), two kitchen chairs ($15/ea), a rug for the entry ($5). Maybe when I get an apartment I care about I’ll reconsider just what it is I need at Ikea, and only then will I brave the tears.

This is very late in terms of blogging about it, but I’ll share nonetheless. Going to Gay Pride in Anchorage did not prepare me in any way for Pride in Seattle. The weather was in the 90s, so I opted to avoid the parade — I figured standing on pavement in the heat for 3 hours wasn’t going to be my idea of a fun Sunday. The parade is followed by a festival at Seattle Center (down by the Space Needle). The booths were anticlimactic and pretty standard — PFLAG, health clinics, out and proud clothing, groups, sports teams, services, etc. What I wasn’t prepared for was the people. 400,000 according to news reports.

That’s more people than Anchorage! It was intense. Everywhere you walked was crowded. There was something for everyone, which is something hidden in Anchorage. Anchorage’s Pride is subdued, sure there’s a handful of boys sporting body glitter and short shorts, but it’s NOTHING compared to Seattle. There was nudity of all sorts, people dressed in bondage, leather gear, gays, lesbians, poly folks, trannies, drag queens, and more and more and more. I will admit that I was a little overwhelmed, but definitely not disappointed. The music was really good, the crowds were tolerable, the nudity only occasionally offensive. It’s no wonder the event draws 400,000.

I’m not in the mood to write today, I’m exhausted. Mostly because I slept on the floor last night. I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress, but ran out of patch a week ago and have been coping with an increasing leak since. It’s to the point that after three hours I’m on the floor. It’s a bit like camping really, laying on the ground, waking up unrested. I’ve done the research — where to go, what to look for, what questions to ask. But I can’t seem to commit to anything.

Ikea was my first stop because their mattresses are cheap. Well, were-ish. I picked out the style I wanted and held off for a couple of weeks, saving up the cash. When I returned, they had re-named their products and raised the prices by at least $50. Completely unwilling to negotiate with Ikea, not to mention being overwhelmed by the place (I’ll have to write about that soon). I left defeated. The cost of the mattress and box spring, or bed frame  is the same as a low end standard mattress. If I’m going to spend $400, why would I waste it at Ikea?

So I went standard mattress shopping, finding something I liked and asking all those “right” questions. The answers felt contrived and a bit shady. One discount place was reasonably priced and the guy was knowledgeable, but it’s one of those “close out” places where all sales are final. I didn’t commit to anything, mostly because I don’t believe in the pillow top crap I keep being fed.

It seems all mid-level mattresses have pillow tops, which would be nice for the first six months, but I expect that soon the cotton batting (probably polyfil) would clump and lump just like a pillow. So I began considering a cheap, but study mattress and a nice foam pad to go on top. That way I could replace it when it went limp.

I think there’s just too many choices, after some internet searches, I even started considering buying my own raw foam and layering my own mattress. Or trying to find someone to sell me raw wool. I looked at organic, Japanese style futons, Sleep Numbers, Tempurpedic and everything in between. I’m trying to tell myself it’s OK to spend that kind of money on something that will last 10 years. Sometimes I frustrate myself.

I went on a little trip to Cicily, Alaska. No need to refer to your atlas, Cicily is the fictitious town featured in Northern Exposure. Outside of the glowing box, Cicily is Roslynn, Washington.

Roslynn was a coal mining town until the shutdown in the 1960s. The architecture of downtown looks exactly as you might imagine a coal town. The buildings are small and crowded together, hastily built and rough.

The popularity of Northern Exposure set the town as its own landmark. There isn’t much to see, even with the TV show references. Northern Exposure went off the air in the mid-90s and Roslyn tried to continue to draw on the popularity. They hosted a festival annually for a few years following the show finale, but as far as I can tell, that’s been postponed indefinitely.

You can peek into the radio station featured in the show (it’s a set, not a real station), where Chris would go on philosophical rants. The bar is real and the building that was the doctor’s office is too, but the latter is a strange gift shop now.

OK, maybe not all the news, but at least this badass dog. Other news I’m reading can be found in the top left sidebar.

I’m always tempted to stop by the random businesses and tourist attractions on roadside signs along the highways. I know that the business owners pay good money for the spots, so I’m always intrigued by the ones that aren’t Burger King or Holiday Inn. There’s one on the way to Olympia called “Norma’s Burgers.” I did a search and must take a meat eater there to experience it on my behalf.

Tempted by the sign on I-5 and pressured by a Seattle PI article, I headed off to Kubota Gardens. I didn’t expect much – I’m so often disappointed by the smaller state and city run parks that have some sort of attraction, but Kubota Gardens surprised me. The parking lot was crowded for a cloudy, afternoon in the middle of the week. There are park maps, which attempt to guide you through the park. The maps are eventually useless because there are many more trails than the map shows and without signposts you will eventually be lost. It is inevitable.

The 20-acre park is nestled into the surrounding neighborhood. It was first established in 1927 by Fujitaro Kubota and started as just five acres. An immigrant from Japan, Kubota was a self-taught gardener and even started his own gardening company shortly before acquiring the property. Eventually, he bought the surrounding property and expanded to the 20 acres. He worked tirelessly in the gardens, creating a variety of landscapes. The park is divided by shrubs into different styles, all based on Japanese landscape design. Most have waterfalls or other water accents. He finished the garden late in his life and only was able to enjoy it in its completion for a few years before he died.

I was intrigued by the various flowering trees, which I am always drawn to. It’s something that you don’t find naturally is Alaska, so it’s something of an oddity to me. The park is kept very well by a number of volunteers. It’s almost like a coloring book and the volunteers are keeping the plants from coloring outside the lines.

It’s July 4, and I’m spending the day in Battle Ground, Washington. No idea what to expect, but there will be a barbecue and hopefully sun. That’s all I need.

There are strange little towns scattered across the U.S. that look like little towns scattered across Europe. There is Solvang in California, a little Danish in America. In Washington, there’s Leavenworth.

Leavenworth is three hours east of Seattle, where Washington starts to look like Alaska (just a little bit). There was still snow on the mountains, which reminded me of the drive to Seward with a few differences – the inlet is replaced by lakes and reservoirs; the fireweed with lupine; the marsh areas with meadows. As you drive east, the land opens up into fields with bison grazing and orchards of pears, apples, and cherries.

With beginnings as a small railroad community, railroad construction in the 1890s established Leavenworth as the headquarters for the Great North Railroad. In the late 1920s, the railroad relocated to Wenatchee, throwing their economy into a draught. It wasn’t until 1962 that the city formed a committee to revitalize the economy and attract commerce.

The faux Bavarian village concept took off and slowly began to draw tourists. It was a muggy Saturday afternoon when I drove into town, giggling at the little signs dressed up in calligraphy. Add a fancy font and Das to the beginning of your store name and you’ve got yourself a little bit of Bavaria. Or so they’d like you to think.

It’s a bit of a novelty to see the 76 station sign dressed up with embroidery style flowers and made to appear hand painted. The chain stores all seem out of place, but you soon realize that “Bavaria” has to support everyday life as well. So despite that lack of imagination, “Das Copy Shoppe” has a purpose to fulfill.

A three-block strip just off the main street serves as the tourist destination. Most of the commerce is meant to insinuate Bavaria, but harshly falls short. Everything feels contrived and unconvincing.

I won’t even go into the food, but I eventually found something that slightly resembled something German. I’m going to blame the hordes of tourists and heat for my grumpiness, but to be honest, I was probably just disappointed that this chuck of Bavaria was such a poor excuse for the real thing. Sure, if you’re in the area, you should stop. Get a sausage at the Munchen Haus. Drink a beer.