Arrival into Haines Alaska

My last post was typed up in the air, probably somewhere over the Midwest. What a great clear day to fly from sea to shining sea. The view got even better as we crossed over Montana, and better still as the plane reached Western Washington State to begin its descent into Sea-Tac Airport. I noticed a couple of downtown areas from the air of the Seattle area, but a closer inspection and I saw the Space Needle, and I immediately got my bearings. As we got down a little lower, Mount Rainier backdropped the cityscape of Seattle perfectly on a clear day, so far from the stereotypical rain of Seattle.

Unfortunately, my time in the Seattle was too short between the connecting flight to Juneau, so I couldn't leave the airport. However, Sea-Tac has changed loads from what I remembered in 1994, and the central food court gave me a wealth of options. I had not eaten since the bagel in JFK. I chose Fish and Chips, and they were not too bad. I think I like the North American idea of Fish and Chips, being large chicken nugget type bites and 4 or 5 of them. And plenty of tartare sauce to dip into. Closer to Scandinavian F&C, than British.

After eating I made my way to gate N1 for my 2:10pm flight to Juneau. My ears pricked up when the announcing ground staff sounded exactly like Sarah Palin. I also noticed many of my co-passengers were guys looking like they were off on an adventure holiday into Alaska, and they would have excellent weather for it.

My assigned seat, 7B, caused the split of two friends. One of the ladies asked if I minded switching. Of course not, I was on my own anyway and I'm never too fussy where I sit. As it turned out she took my middle seat and gave me a window seat next to the emergency door, which had huge legroom. I sat in comfort as the plane took off providing me a view of the majestical Puget Sound Islands. More beautiful than Ha Long Bay in Vietnam I will say. The islands dotted more or less all the way up the North Pacific coast, as we flew into Canadian Airspace and back into US Airspace again.

I formed a conversation with my seat neighbours. Stuart and (sugar I forgot hers). They were off on a fishing vacation, but live in Vegas and both work in tree genetics. A lovely outdoorsy pair. He opened the conversation saying he liked my shoes, a pair of cheap Karrimor walking shoes. He probably thought I was more outdoorsy that I am. Of course they asked my story, and I said I now live in Haines. "How do you like it?" "Don't know, I'm about to see it for the first time". So I described the situation. I shortened the amount of time the wife and I had been apart to last seeing her in February. I didn't want to discuss the separation. In any case they said "that's a long time". I remember Stuart saying "well she must be some girl to some all this way". Of course she is, I thought.

The descent into Juneau was exciting. My father told me about the time he flew into the old Hong Kong Airport and the plane flew between skyscrapers before landing. This was the mountain version of that. You don't expect to be on a Jumbo but seeing the wing so close to the mountains, as you glide into this titchy little airport. An airport you would not believe serves a state capital.

My final flight was scheduled for 7pm from Juneau into Haines, on Wings of Alaska. I managed to talk my way onto the 4:45pm flight, and told Sarah I would arrive about 2 hours earlier than arranged. I knew I was going to exceed my baggage allowance of 70lbs, but not sure by how much. These small planes weigh everything including hand baggage and me. I was charged 50c for every pound over, which came to about $11. Pretty good as I paid $60 for the baggage from JFK to Juneau.

Another thing I noticed and gave me some minor stress, my cheap Sports Direct bag was even more ripped up than when I left in in JFK. I prayed to atheist god for it to just last one more frickin journey. Gladly it did make the last flight without spilling all my clothes and stuff everywhere.

The flight on this small plane was a great experience. The pilot turns round in his 'driving' chair and gives you the safety instructions. He starts the plane up like it is a Mini Cooper, then to the runway and you are off. Once flying, the plane doesn't seem to move fast. It's like you bob in the air. But the views as follow The Favorite Chanel into the Chilkat Inlet (not to be confused with the Chilkoot Inlet - which is right next to it) before bobbing into tiny Haines airport. As the plane was landing I saw Sarah's Suburu Forester pulling into the car park.

As I got out and reached for my bags which are stowed underneath like a National Express coach. I made my way to Sarah who had her dog Horton. We hugged and kissed. Horton was more obsessed with barking at another dog.

The thing I was concerned about was meeting the dog. Dogs are territorial and protective of lady owners. Its one reason I love them. He barked at me a bit in the beginning. I got down as low as I could, and trusted that he wouldn't bite my face off. Maybe making myself vulnerable to him, to show I'm no threat. When dogs play, one dog is dominant and the other submissive, hence the play bow. I thought I'd do the play bow, and it may have worked. By the end of the evening, Horton and I were fine together. He's an amazing dog.

Our house here in Haines is situated on a the Inlet. Out the window are year round snow capped mountains. To the rear of the house is a trail where we took Horton for a walk. Or rather he takes us for a walk as he finds the trail better than even Sarah knows. But I had jet lag and it hit me a bit. Plus I became acquainted with the infamous Alaskan Mosquitoes. They are vicious. I think I passed out on the sofa back at the house. Then came to bed and slept in a patchy way the entire night.

The next day, 15th July, Sarah took me for a drive around my new area. We started for a walk to Battery Point, through a woodland trail. I'm going to refrain from describing the landscape too much and just start by saying it is dramatic and serene all at once. Every now and then I kept asking what the postman from Liskeard, Cornwall is doing here.

We stopped for lunch and a fish and chip van. That's two meals in the USA and both fish and chips. I love the way Salmon is more on the menu than in the UK. Then Sarah showed me how we get the post, which is a PO Box, as the mailman doesn't come to our door. Sarah also showed me her Radio Station and introduced me to her co-workers. They all seem so nice and friendly and welcoming. That goes for some others I met. It seems Sarah has made quite a few acquaintances, and done a good job of stamping her life within the community. Something else I like about Haines, which I will join in on. Cycling seems quite big. Possibly as the roads seldom rise very high, and seem like a cyclists dream. I'm going to get me a bike a.s.a.p. I also noted some bikes with really thick tractor type tires, this must be for year round cycling.

After lunch we took a quick drive to Chilkat Lake (maybe Chilkoot). Again mesmerized by the turquoise waters, the snow peaked mountains, and crystal waterfalls running down the mountains from the melting ice. Captivating!

That evening Sarah took me out to dinner at the local hotel. It's my birthday today, but she has to work, so she gave me a great day the day prior. I tried the local beer Haines Amber, a refreshing red ale. Authentic, but not too bitter and cloudy. I think I will be ok with the local brew.

Today is the first day of a few where I am home alone. I am without transport so I am a bit stuck in the house. I took the dog up the trail and I may do that a few more times today. I am concerned that he runs near the road when returning. I am drinking my Yorkshire Tea with milk, and I feel a bit like Alexander McKeig in Centennial who soothes his solitary state in the Colorado wilderness during the late 18th Century with cups of Lapsang Suchon.

The milk looks like something I have to give up. A small bottle (less than a pint) costs $1.39. Potatoes cost a fair bit, as does much fresh produce. The price we pay for this scenery is covering the cost of transporting food all this way to us.

Also alongside no door to door mail service, neither is our trash picked up. We have to take it somewhere and there is a charge for it. Its inconvenient but I like it. It makes us think about what we throw away and therefore what we consume.

More than anything else, I have to pinch myself that this isn't a holiday and I have to find a job. It looks like I may not be in an office again, which I think suits me fine.

Right now I am typing this occasionally looking out the window at the mountains on the Inlet. Sarah kindly asked her radio show to wish me a happy birthday which I heard just now. That was nice.

I'm sure there are many things I have found out in the last few days which I have forgotten, and there is so much for me to find out. Anyway I am here and all is good.

New World

The days were really leading up to this for a long time, the final piece to the jigsaw. Entering America as a permanent resident. People can be snide about America, but there are many people around the developed world, let alone poverty who would love a green card. So as casual as I can pretend to be, the stamp in my battered passport in my left pocket is something quite valuable. I must never forget this. 

My final week was one of saying goodbyes. Being asked to stay in touch and offers to visit at anytime. I know a very small minority of those offered will actually consider it properly. Therefore, there are a great many people I have come to love, I will never see again. But that is a negative thought as I was overwhelmed by the sincere congratulations and hugs I received. I want to describe a few as its my policy to try and not name people (bar my wife) on here. If they read this, this is a shout out to them. My long-term buddy from Wigan, my comedy writing partner, apart from the fact we never actually wrote it. A tall handsome Yorkshire fellow, who cuts his hair at Tony and Guys, wears tweed but wants us to know he isn't posh at all. To that gentleman; go the blades (or something). To a "nasty beyotch" who I spent 3 years sitting across from me and making my blood boil constantly, bringing me to tears...mostly tears of laughter. She will be missed. How can I forget the Americanophile from the Mersey. There is no one who can tell a story like her. To her and her husband, the most made for each other couple I have ever met. There are many more, and just because I haven't hinted at them here, doesn't mean anything less.

I will certainly miss my sister and her wonderful children. My four neicphews, loud, disobedient, embarrassing in Ikea but I don't think I would want them any different. The windup one, the fairy one, the boastful one, the OCD one. Let me describe them in a different way. The loving one, the funny articulate one, the tech-savvy one, and the one with eye for detail. And my sister who does a wonderful job with all of them, while others sit in squalor criticizing, disrupting, never working, lying. To that person... I tried hard to know you, and wished I hadn't as you are the most hopeless person in this world. My only problem is your wonderful kids miss you, one of them believes in you and may always do that while most the world has rightfully given up on you. Someone who surprises me the amount of times a person can fuck up yet never learn. It's the only gift you have. 

To my other sister and brother. I'm sorry we left without saying goodbye properly. But I'm glad we built bridges a little at the end. I'm grateful to my sister for the text, and I'm excited that my brother was asking me the price of airfares to Alaska. 

My last few hours in the UK were spent with my sister and two neicphews. The weather in the week prior my departure was perfect. The UK was being like an ex-wife dolling herself up, just to show you what you will miss. My last meal was a Gregg's before I hugged my sister goodbye, thanked her for a fabulous 9 months, and off they went. As I stood on the escalators, I took one last look back and my sister walking off with two of her amazing kids and wished I'd said more before I left. But that's not the family we are. My only moment of adult affection was Dad seeing me off to America in 94, and wanting to hug, but patting my arm instead. But saying "I'm proud of you". That's the most important bit of validation a child can hear from a parent. So important I've clung to this one and only time almost 20 years later. 

The flight on over was without too much incident. I was one of only 3 white people of a full flight on Pakistan Airlines. I felt slightly awkward eating in the month of Ramadan, but looking around their were enough Pakistanis doing the same. In any case - why go in holiday on the one month you can't eat. And also the time of peak fares to the US. The curry on board was pretty good. They weren't serving beer, that was a bridge too far.

On arrival at New York, JFK I was faced with a confusing choice of lanes. One lane said visitors and the other Citizens and Permanent Residents. I was unsure as to my present status. A helpful customs officer told me "if its your first time, you use the visitors line". So for the last time I took the queue with visitors. 

When I finally got to the desk. I received a polite "hello sir". I kicked off by saying "I have a Permament Resident visa which I'm using for the first time". I'm not sure if that was the right terminology but it was ok. "So you have a package for me?". I handed him the package I was told to leave completely sealed, and he ripped it open. "Who's Sarah xxxx?" "My wife" I replied as fast and confidently as I could. He scribbled on my passport a bit. Then he tucked the file, my immigration file, into my passport  and asked me to step to one side so he could serve one more visitor. When he was done "follow me sir" I walked obediently beside him, in awe of his crisp uniform and shiny gun on his side. We came to a room which I think is called secondary immigration, the place if you are a tourist you don't want to be taken. If the border control at the front desk can be deemed rude and abrupt then they look like pussies compared to the secondary area. Firstly it seemed most my co-passengers on PIA were also in there. The room is blank and three 5 desks are seeing people who they need to check twice. I was forewarned that all first time Perm Res's will go here first. It was intimidating and I was wondering when I would see the cameras for Border Control USA. 

My file and passport got placed to the bottom of the pile, and I guess I just had to wait until they got to me. When they did I heard a shout "Christopher Novell". I jumped up. He gave me a form to sign. Then I had to make use of the ink pad to place my finger print on file. Then they handed me a tissue for my inky index finger, handed me my stamped passport and said "ok you're all set". That was it, the real culmination of all this. I'm now a permanent resident, and as long as I commit no crimes and always file my taxes, it's mine for always. 

Then out the door into America. I picked up my bags, one of which is a cheap Sports Direct bag which I doubt will make the journey all the way to Haines, the bottom is badly ripped. To the extent I no longer wheel it, which is the main function of a wheelie suitcase. 

Out the door to the airtrain, direction Howard Beach and to alight at Federal Circle. From there I dialed a toll free number and requested a free shuttle from the hotel. Up until now I always had great things to say about hotels in the USA. This was an exception. Not the room, the room was perfect, the staff. Firstly the receptionist took her time to deal with me, which not acknowledging my presence. When she did she picked up the phone constantly and forgot what she was doing. This could have benefitted me as she tried to pass me back my credit card before registering it, but I was too honest and reminded her. I asked her where there is to eat and she said "walking distance there is a Burger King, and a KFC, but I can give you some menus to order food". Later on in the evening I wanted to make use of this, but her colleague said "just dial from the room, we aren't waitresses". Ok then! I looked at the menus. Originally I wanted to toast my arrival into the USA with Philly Cheese Steak or something of the like. But this woman put me off and I didn't feel so hungry. 

I spent my evening in NYC  with a water watching the result of the George Zimmerman trial on the TV. It was amazing. Britain doesn't allow cameras into courtrooms, so a similar thing in the UK would be hard to do with all the lawyer drama, and witness statements etc etc. Those drawn sketches we see on the news of a major trial in the UK wouldn't cut it for the drama at all. That said we were waiting for the Zimmerman verdict, and while it is probably the most exciting part of the trial, it is arguably the most stagnant. The jury are away to deliberate and they come back and you think you have a verdict, but no they have a question regarding the definition of manslaughter. Counsel approaches the bench and some excited debate happens, but what have the TV got to show? Well to fill TV time, they had 6 lawyers trying to double guess what the manslaughter verdict would mean, how the jury would vote. The only agreement was basically, "no one knows". Which I guess is the idea about a closed jury session. But the excitement over nothing happening was so incredibly American TV. 

I tried to read the Zimmerman trial and understand what it was about. Well it became a race issue. America finds race issues in every case (Rodney King, OJ), Britain finds class issues in every case (Maddy Mcgann). On the Zimmerman side, we had an over zealous neighbourhoods watch who questioned a black youth for acting suspiciously in a gated community, a fight resulting in the black kid getting shot. The other side says he had a reason to be in the area, he was visiting relatives and on his way to a shop, some vigilante sudo-racist tries to thwart his freedom of movement, and ends up shooting him. This was no American Stephen Lawrence. Trayvon Martin (the victim) wasn't just a promising black student. He had races of marijuana on him, he had a past for handling stolen goods. Zimmerman also had a past for domestic violence, so we have two less than perfect people. Aren't we all less than perfect, who would look bad if our past was reborn in a murder trial? 

The final verdict was Not Guilty for Zimmerman. My verdict is; not guilty either but a few comments. If Zimmerman had not got out his car, none of this would have happened. And had he not been carrying a concealed weapon he would have just walked away with a few bruises, and Trayvon would be alive, and possibly facing court for aggravated assault on Zimmerman. This has been going on for over a year for Zimmerman. He may now face vigilantes from team Trayvon, so maybe he's suffered enough from a scuffle that went too far. I guess the legality of concealed weapons is what should be on trial here.  I think you can tell by my last three paragraphs, I was spell-bound by this trial. 

I tried to stay awake late to set my body clock on US time, but I failed come 9pm (2am according to my British body clock). So asleep I went in the crisp sheets, to wake up at 4:30am, and be fully awake by 5am. So coffee and TV, and I was making the right start for my journey to Alaska.

The shuttle arrived at 6:30am and myself and about 18 others, including some US soldiers, were on the ride to JFK. The driver hinted at tips at every stop, but I only had $20s on me. Can I ask him to break a $20? Is asking for change from a $20 to tip ok? I'm as unclear on American tipping etiquette as Americans are using a knife and fork. My wife will kill me for what I did next. Once he dropped my two heavy bags on the sidewalk (pavement), I took advantage of the other passengers looking for $1s and $5s and I made a dart for it. Fuck it, I will never see them again, and if that unlikely scenario happens, I will say "tip? But you aren't waitresses!". I believe the term for that would be "you have been served".

Bags checked in, through security and even though I had spent one night in NYC, I still hadn't had any American food at all. I envisaged some pancakes, bacon or steak and eggs with gravy at the airport. In the end my first American food was a bacon, egg and cheese bagel with a large French Roast coffee. Probably the American opposite of the Gregg's I had as my last meal in Britain.

I'm typing this somewhere over the USA, some miles up in the air en route to Seattle. I'm sat by the wing, but it's a clear day and I can see down at the country side divided in squares by the neat grids of roads. I can see the big sky, I can see the country which has graciously taken me in.

However, most importantly I have a wife waiting for me all the way over there in Alaska. I can't wait to see her and the dog and my new life. I have missed her, and at times wondered when I would see her again. I just know she has done a fantastic job of creating a life over there.

I'm glad we chose Alaska, or at least she did. It's the last frontier. For years reading American historical novels and reading of settlers, I realized that coming to Alaska is the nearest I will ever get to that. A frontier of my own, only with wifi. It presents challenges, but if I didn't want challenges I'd still be a postman in Liskeard, Cornwall. But from the postman, who went to the city to get he-self an education, to London to Manchester to travelling the world on every windfall that arrived to settling in the USA. I believe I may have a life that is worthy of a blog - oh here it is.