148. Proof of age

Sunday, 19 May 2019

Seward, Alaska, USA

Really enjoyed the week’s cruising. Am now seriously thinking of changing my plans and rather than fly back to Seattle (for my flight home to the UK) from Anchorage, as originally intended, am now looking at cruising back. Such was the enjoyment. If you’ve never done a cruise, dear reader, then may I suggest you look at Alaskan Inside Passage cruise. Surprised by how many people I know have done it.

Thankfully I have a late disembarkation of 0900hrs. The first wave were pushed off at 0630hrs this morning. My base for the next few days is the Harbor Hotel 360 (https://harbor360hotel.com/). Can see it from the ship. Not far. At the end of the cruise ship pier and a few minutes walk. Doesn’t necessitate a taxi. Far too short a trip. But it’s chucking it down with rain. So all suited and booted in waterproofs. It’s exactly as it was when I disembarked the Stella Australis in Ushuaia. That was January!

The parallels are spooky. Bottom of the planet and now at the top of the planet.

Same wet weather.

Same sort of port town.

Same short walk from ship to hotel.

Same soggy and bedraggled TT checking in early morning as breakfast being served.

Same wait for a couple of hours whilst room is made up.

Same sitting in the hotel lounge with crap wifi trying to update blog.

Same view from room across the harbour.

Same long hours of daylight.

Ah yes.

The more life changes, the more it stays the same.

This is it folks.

We’re on the final furlong.

Not far to the final destination at Prudhoe Bay.

And the Arctic Ocean.

Lunch at a local crab shack with excellent fresh halibut tacos, served by a Bulgarian girl, of all things. Local clientele is very Jeremy Kyle. One morbidly obese, and coarse, mother with her brood of six children ranging in age from late teens to a toddler. Different fathers for all of them, I bet. It’s that sort of place.

Rain prevents play but that’s OK as need to catch up on blog, emails and news having not had internet access for seven whole days. First world problems, I know.

Can’t be bothered with going far for dinner and decide on pizza takeaway and beer to go and eat back in hotel room, watching TV and admiring the fantastic view. Another Bulgarian girl serves up the pizza. Nip into the adjoining petrol station for a couple of beers. Young lad assistant is clearly two cobs short of a picnic and seems to struggle to understand my clear English. He wouldn’t be out of place in the retards class at my old school.

He asks for proof of age. Really? Why? I ask. The mere fact I’ve questioned him throws him off. Asks for my date of birth. 26…4…70. Now, as you may know. Americans don’t know how to write dates properly. Unlike the British. Whose language it really is. Americans do dates back to front. Hence 9/11. Month first. Then day. So. You can imagine his confusion when some Englishman walks in and tells him his date of birth is 26…4…70. I can see the very small cogs whirring in his pea sized brain. He can’t work out what month 26 is. Can tell he’s getting agitated. He starts raising his voice. What is your date of birth. Again. 26…4…70. Struggling not to snigger, it’s so silly. Still can’t work it out. It’s resolved when, with an agitated raised voice that makes me think I might get shot if I continue being playful, he asks what the ‘proper date’ is. 26 April 1970. He bangs in the date on his terminal. Hitting the keys quite hard. Venting his frustration with the Englishman.

As you will see from the sunset photo below. There’s a reason why I was happy to have dinner in my room. The views of the snowcapped mountains across the harbour are memorable. Subtly going through shades of orange as the sun sets.

Room with a view.

Again.