Home

I'm writing this in a strange state, a glow of optimism with a wretched hangover as a backdrop.

Last night we had our work party, and with a staff headcount of 11, a turn up of 9 people was a success.

We started the night at the US Coastguards bar, sat on tall tables drinking wine and ale, with fingers sticky from the cheese, chilli fries. It was the works Christmas do.

Earlier in the day I cracked a joke on Facebook, accompanied by a picture of our Christmas meal at The Broiler on Nugget Mall. I compared that Christmas party with that enjoyed by my ex-colleagues in Manchester, who enjoyed an extravaganza with footballers and Leona Lewis. My jealousy was artificial and pure pantomime in the pathetic search for Facebook 'likes'. In reality I have just finished the last of the best work christmas' in my office working life. Something tells me I am now with my people. A rag-tag group of lovable individuals which form a kind of loose gang as popularised in Richard Curtis films like Four Weddings and Notting Hill. So much in common, yet figuring out a single denominator is completely impossible.

A colleagues husband turned to me and asked "where do you call home?". This is such a hard question for me to answer. I really don't know. The easy answer I gave to this, and "where in England are you from?" is; "The West Country" or "West England". But defining me geographically is impossible, even if I wish it weren't.

I like to think as the city where I was born, and educated me, Bristol is my home town. But I don't know it anymore. Cornwall; where I grew up as a child but I don't identify with it. I should though. Cornwall is a beautiful county, with the rolling hills, quaint villages and dramatic coastline. A culturally rich part of the UK with its own language. Its waiting for me to claim it as my culture. But I can't, I reject it. I'm even in almost denial of it, with an occasional desire to wipe it from the pages of my history. I understand why, I just wanted to get out of the place, which offered so much to everyone but me. Maybe I didn't reject Cornwall, Cornwall rejected me. And the secret of my nomadic soul, is not so much as that of an explorer, more an outcast.

London, now I love to say how I was there, and why not? I overplay how the city influenced me. But really I have to report, probably only 2 out of the 6 years there were bathed in contentment, the first year and the last year.

Am I at home now? How the fuck can I answer that? Its been far too soon. In reality I'm still travelling in my mind. For despite the job, the cell phone, the health insurance, I'm still travelling and running from something. It lives in my mind most Fridays when I grab my ruck-sack early in the morning, and sleep in a sleeping bag on a top of a ship heading through the inside passage. I still feel like a traveller those days. Sometime soon it will register, this is home now. I fear my response to the realization.

Life is a ship at the moment, with the UK as a shoreline that is getting fainter on the horizon. I'm forgetting what living there is. I forget what a five pound note looks like. I go onto the BBC News website out of habit, but being on a US server it defaults to the US news. I less frequently check the UK news. But like all ships, to continue the analogy, its still on the water, and not into port yet.

Where is home if not geographically? I'm not the person who will ever know. If that place turns up which throws an economical and spiritual paradise (maybe like I have found presently), I will spend too much time trying to work out the catch, cynic that I am. Some souls live in torment of their place in the world spiritually more than others. I'm clearly one of those people.

I gave up on happiness over ten years ago, and settled for the search for contentment instead, as recommended by The Dalai Lama. Contentment seems more stable, more conducive to maintenance. Happiness seems like a rush. There is no such thing as a 'happy ever after', yet we all search for it. In that respect the downside for me is, I will always view happiness with some suspicion. I will see it for the temporary dopamine release that it is. No better than a Prodigy gig in 1997, dancing with passion and warmth. But accepting of the fact that this emotional elation will be offset by tears the next day. You never hear of people taking drugs or drinking or gambling to feel content. They do it because it makes them feel happy.

My happiness tangent, wasn't really a tangent. My problem is I relate home with happiness, when really, I need to relate home with contentment.

So my psychological education continues.

Independence Day

I often forget about October 27th, until it is upon me. It's not a happy day in the least. It's a day of tragedy. Yet of tragedy, oftentimes something is born that is good. Tragedies can end chapters. This will force a new chapter. New chapters are always seen as positive, therapeutic, not always pleasant. 

October 27, is my reset day, my year zero, my Independence Day. From that point, some years ago, my life became set on a differing trajectory. It was a day where the disaster of another freed me to pursue a life free from fear, free from squalor. Free to follow a path of my choosing in the general direction of happiness. 

You are waiting for me to be less vague, and give details of the tragedy. Well I won't. Just the same as no one else observes October 27 as my Independence Day. I observe it solemnly myself. I use it as another marker on life's journey as I enter the second half of it. I reset the mileage.

So with you not knowing what I am necessarily on about, and me staring out the window at those mountains interrupting the turquoise still waters of Lynn Canal. I grab my $1.50 coffee, I toast myself not in celebration - but in recognition that I am alive and well and free in the pursuit of happiness.

Happy sailing!

Winter is a-coming!

 

The first thing anyone thinks about when they think about Alaska is the cold. Second to that, possibly very short days in Winter to compensate the long summer days. Now the cold view of Alaska is deserved, even if the great summers are a little less known.

Since arriving I have braced myself for the winter. I have asked advice from everyone about what to expect and how to plan and importantly what to wear.

Back in the UK, my winter prep would be minimal. I'd use a winter coat which is 3 years old of little use or possibly a water proof coat with changing layers underneath. Winter foot ware was very low on my radar. Why should it be? At worse in Britain it will snow for 2 weeks of the year. If it is really bad - work would accept a snow day off. So I always considered it best to wait until the January Sales to buy winter gear. When the January Sales were upon me - what small tolerance I have for wandering round busy consumer districts has been stripped by Christmas shopping a week earlier. In any case - spring will be here soon and paying £70 for a North Face jacket seemed redundant. 

Now I'm guessing with Alaska - even my sissy southeastern part of Alaska - having snow from November through Feb the following year, Alaska has found a way to work around snow with no need to alert the American version of COBRA - if they even have one. It also is something I have to work through. My winter clothing is no longer a matter of comfort over personal economics. It is now about survival. So last Saturday I spent the most I've ever spent on a coat; $130 (£87). A heavy duty thing which when I tried on in the store - immediately drops of sweat poured over my top lip. It's a heavy canvass, which I'm told is also waterproof - though I'm not convinced about that.

Everything changes over winter. The cruise ships have all left Juneau, and the businesses supported by the cruise ships - most of downtown Juneau, feel this is a good time to shut down also. Who can blame them? This includes a Filipino burger stall called Manila Bay, near the Cruise Ship dock. The owner, I have met. In winter she goes down to San Francisco to look after her other business down there. Definitely who can blame her? 

My base town of Haines, has turned into almost a ghost town. The tourist places which dot 2nd Avenue are redundant. The restaurants are closed - bar a few cosy soft lit havens. Winter is upon us all.

Those who saw Haines in the summer and said they would live there, found a way to before experiencing a winter, are now considering moving on. And it's the movers on who are making me proud of myself - or at least they will make me proud of myself. Because in four months from now, I will puff forward my chest and say I made it through an Alaskan winter. Of course my colleagues in Anchorage would scoff that this could be a source of pride. But for me, it will be something. 

Lets be honest. I am living in two heated houses. Neither are isolated. My commute to work will be changing from the bike to the bus. The bus stop being a 5 minute walk from the house. On Fridays the taxi will pick me up and take me to the ferry - which I'm told chugs up the Lynn Canal to Haines whatever the weather - even if sometimes the ferry gets tossed around like a rag doll (I can occasionally suffer sea sickness). 

However, I see the mountains behind my home in Juneau dusted with snow, and I can see the snow approaching. On my way home from work last week, I saw a rare break in the cloudy Juneau sky, and like a badly photoshopped picture there was this snowier than usual mountain, the mountain overhanging Mendenhall Glacier. It looked unreal. Like those old epic movies where the landscape was obviously just an impressive painting. But it was real, it was winter on its way. What was happening on that mountain, an flurry of wind and snow, will soon be down in the valley where I live.

Winter won't be spent as I imagined it back in the UK; gathering wood for a fire. Feeding the fire all night or waking to Artic temperatures. But I know it will be a new experience and will bring a few stories to tell. I am eagerly awaiting you winter, and I want you to give it your best shot. 

Now all I need is a pair of Tuffs!

 

Life goes on....

I have passed 2 months in the USA and most notable is; I feel I really belong as I have a physical social security card and an actual green card. Getting a green card is often a term used to describe the process of becoming a permanent resident. However, eventually after entering the USA you get the actual green card - and it is actually green in colour.

I remember my first few months of arriving in Bristol in 1995, then London in 2003. I spent so much time looking around and not believing I was really here. And I guess the same is true here. Interesting too, is I have found the adjustment a little easier than adjusting to life in London. Maybe I am older, and not so wide eyed about the world. I realize that wherever I am in the world, I have to get up, put on my trousers and go to work. And that work will probably be an office. In that respect, the USA has been easy.

I may as well list things I miss. Clover Butter Spread is one. There is nothing I've found similar. I live as a single person for 4/7 days of the week and everything seems in large portions. So I either eat too much or nothing. But these are minor things. What do I prefer?

Above all I like, what I've always liked about Americans and America. The enthusiasm and optimism. This is over all 50 states, but more profound in Alaska. I feel like I am sitting on the shoulders of giants when I think of those who came here 100 years ago. What they did to make Alaskan Territory into the State of Alaska. Living alongside bears. Surviving bitter winters. It's a place where people come not to make it, but to survive. A snowy California I've heard some say. People come from all over the USA to Alaska to discover something new. In California they will probably return, realizing the house on the hill, or beside the beach will never be theirs. In Alaska, they will make it past a winter, feel proud to have done so and stay on forever. Or they find they can never afford to leave. 

This leads me onto another type that stays in Alaska. Those that feel trapped. The vibrant city of Seattle looks so cruelly close. It's an hour or two by plane from Juneau. Yet a most flights cost $500 one way. The ferry to nearby Bellingham is $350, and another $300 if you want a cabin for the 3 day trip. In so many ways, once you are in Alaska you are stuck here. But the isolation brings rewards also. The crap of Washington seems further away. It seems London is more tied to decisions in Washington, than Juneau is. The irony of Alaska is supreme. An independent state, with more in common with Canada than the lower 48. Yet completely dependent on federal handouts. A beautiful snowy or green paradise, mostly untouched by man, but at most risk from jobs effected by green legislation with so much of the state reliant on the energy industry for jobs. 

Mostly I get Alaskans, and they get me it seems. That is because most Alaskans, are not Alaskans by birth. They are those like me who at one point stepped off a plane or ferry, intimidated and excited all at once. Knowing that pride should be left for another year, as for now you need all the help and advice you can get.

This is more profound where I work, with young people from all over the USA. One of our corps members arrived today. No car, just like me. No place, just like me a month ago in Juneau. He is from Mississippi, but he may as well be from Romania. This is all new and exciting for him. 

Life is easier in the USA. It's a service industry country and wherever there is someone available to help, they almost always do it to the best of their ability. With one eye on customer service. I enjoy my day to day routine in Juneau. I rise early, and not really because I have to, I get up with ease at 6:30am. Often waking an hour before me alarm, restless and willing to start the day. I look outside my window and survey the day. I cycle the 2 miles to work, so rain (and Juneau rains a lot) has a bearing on what I will wear. A rainy day brings out the cycling lycra. Yes I'm often a MAMIL. The cycling is my exercise so I say, but really it's so flat, my journey, I don't change gear all week. I arrive about 7:15am at the office and grind the coffee beans for a fresh cup of coffee. I do my best work from then to 11am, my most productive part of the day. 

I work 40 hours over 4 days, and return to Haines by ferry often on Friday mornings. This journey I love. The taxi arrives early, to take me to the ferry terminal. I board and wait until 7am for a ferry breakfast - usually of eggs with biscuits and gravy. Several refills of coffee later, I climb up to the solarium, climb inside my sleeping back. There I read for a bit struggling to keep my arms warm from the crisp air. Then often I drift off to sleep with an hour on the water before I arrive in Haines. Again each week doing this, I find it hard to believe I'm really here.

Sometimes I feel guilty of my present blissful life, and feel so undeserving of happiness - I've been less than a good person. Then I cast my mind back to a dark evening in early 2007. When a bitter voice, stinking of cheap wine, told me I better not sleep, or my pretty throat would get cut. I lay awake, and just prayed to anything that I just get through to morning. I also thought at that point that life has got as low for me as it will ever get. And I measure much since from that point. Then I have other points of measurement too. When I was a young boy - 14 or so, growing up in the drabness of small town Cornwall. Strangled by close-mindedness, and mental dictatorship. At points in my life, I often wanted to go back to that boy and show him, this is what happens. Sometime the ghost from Chris-mas (see what I did there) future flies back from his uni days in Bristol. Passing the course his mother said he was too thick to pass. Show him having fun living in a city for the first time. Showing 14 year old Chris his desk in Canary Wharf tower, his travels around the world. And of course I would show him the last part of his life, in America. Then I'd tell him to take heart, that all those around you, the ones who see you as simple, unworthy. Well you will see them on Facebook (ofcourse this is 1985 so explaining FB may take a while) and they will be still cleaning windows and having nothing but procreation to be proud of. Then again - 14 year old Chris pretty much knew life was going to be eventful anyway. The restless always know this.

Something my restless soul knows is, I identify with Alaskans. And as I identify more with Alaskans, my memories of Britain fade. Yes, after just two months. I always thought I'd keep an interest in Britain, and have British pride. Well I guess I do, a Union Jack flies proudly in my office. But apart from that, I have no idea what is happening on my island? I don't think I will ever voluntarily go back to the UK. Then again, decisions to move are seldom made when life is good. Maybe something will happen that soils paradise. Who knows, good or bad, up or down, life goes on!

A month and a week later

When I arrived in New York over a month ago, I had ideas and dreams but without knowing the future, you can never precisely know where you will end up. So here I am a month and a week later in Juneau, capital of Alaska and a 4 hour ferry ride from my wife and home in Haines.

It wasn't easy adjusting to the USA, not really. I didn't expect it to be, but most disconcerting was seeing how limited work was. Sarah was working 50 hour weeks and it wasn't fair to be choosy, so I was looking at jobs doing anything. Cleaning buses, bar work, gas station attendant. But no joy. Each day I felt incredibly guilty that Sarah would get up at 6am, and I would have to sit through boredom. To fill the day. Luckily I had a dog and a cat to keep me company. 

Some days, I would get the car and I would take Horton on the local trails. Other days, I wouldn't have the car and Horton and I would go up the trail behind the house. I tried to get some structure. 8am make the bed. 8:30am have breakfast then do the dishes. 9am, allocate an hour to job hunting. And of course plenty of Internet and tea breaks. 

It wasn't all boredom. One Saturday we helped out at the state fair. Sarah and I volunteered at the Haines Animal Rescue Kennel (HARK) stall. Sarah sold tickets for a duck game and I sold raffle tickets at $20 a pop, for a $1500 holiday. I thought 20 bucks would be a tall order, but I was surprised to see how many I sold. My sales were helped by nationality when I heard a British accent and the camera crew for Discovery Channel were at the fair. I got a hug and raffle sale. We saw a few bands, ate cheesecake on a stick, and had a couple of drinks in The Klondike Bar. The weather was perfect, a perfect day. 

A couple of occasions I helped Sarah. Well I didn't help, I guested on her radio show. Her idea was to have banter about music. I wasn't sure about this. If there is one thing we disagree over is music, a lot. I foresaw a domestic in the radio. In all, it went very smoothly. 

I love Haines. I like all the people I've met thus far (bar only one). But I needed work and one day I got a bite. However it was a job in Juneau. At first I inquired about working remotely, but it seemed that wasn't possible. But the job looked exactly the thing I wanted not just in America but anywhere. For ages I lamented that my only contribution to society by way of occupation is by paying tax. After almost a decade in useless advertising and TV, I now had the chance to work for a company which helps teenagers get on the right track. And not a bad salary to do it either. I was interviewed twice over the phone. On Friday August 9th, I received a call. "Hello Chris, I'd like to offer you your first job in America, when can you come in?". "Next Tuesday?" I replied. "Great, see you then". I booked a hostel and ferry for Juneau and paced the room with excitement for a while. 

The weekend went too fast. I booked on the 7pm ferry to Juneau, getting me in at 11:45pm. Sarah dropped me off. With my rucksack and man-bag I boarded the boat, and told myself how confident I should be. I watched the night fall in, and the mountains each side of Chanel become golden as the last of the sun splashed the snowy peaks. I went to the bar and had myself one or two Alaskan Summer Ales. Golden bubbles dancing in a frosted glass, I became self conscious how fast it went down. But it felt good. I returned to my seat now darkness had descended, and fell asleep. I awoke 30 minutes outside of Juneau. 

Auke Ferry terminal is at least 15 miles outside of downtown Juneau where I was staying. And I wondered how I would get into town. There must be taxis waiting. Actually there aren't, but luckily I found a couple of Aussies who offered to share a cab with me. The total was $36 for the ride, and with a tip we paid $40 between us. The Aussies were staying at the Alaskan Hotel on Franklin Street, and as they were dropped off I first saw Juneau night life. The ferries of tourists had left, those who worked for a living, paid their bar tab over an hour ago. Only left were the drunks. The place reminded me of the old west. Compact and lawless. I was staying up the road at the hostel. Little did I know, they locked up after 11pm. If you turned up after then, tough luck basically. I hammered on the door without luck. After a while a guest talked to me through the door and said she can't let me in. Disgruntled and tired I made my way back down the hill to the Alaskan Hotel and got a half decent room for $70. It was at least 1:30am before my head hit the pillow properly and I fell asleep. I was up again at 6am. Tuesday was a big day.

My new boss offered to pick me up from the hostel, so I walked up and waited there for her. Storing my bag in the hostel. Before work she drove me around Juneau giving me the tour.  So nice of her and  I struggled to take it all in. What I did notice thought, were coffee shops, Walmarts, Fred Meyers and freeways. Haines is lovely, but for some reason I felt I'd really now arrived in America. 

My office is lovely, and my own office I will add, which is quite new to me after years in open-plan big buildings. Straight away I knew I'd be ok. All my co-workers are great. I seriously like each one I've met. I know I'm a bother for the company in not having a place sorted or a vehicle, but it's like they wanted to help so much. And this is normal. Most of those at my organization came from somewhere else and came off the ferry in Alaska confused, bewildered and needing all the help and advice they could get.

My first week was brilliant in Juneau outside of work. At the hostel I met Iain from Ohio, Basil from Harvard, Emilie and Sarah from England and for 3 days on the trot we made The Alaskan Hotel Bar our haunt. On the last Friday, we extended our bar crawl one place to The Red Dog Saloon. A great place on the corner of Franklin and Marine, with saloon doors and sawdust on the floor. With the bar lady dressed as a Wild West whore, it is obviously touristy, but with the tourists gone and a bar full of stuffed hunted animals, it's a must. Of my three nights at the Alaskan Bar, listening to live bands, I thought to myself in my beer buzzed haze, Juneau is a place I could love. And even though settling in is unsettling, I think settling couldn't be much easier, being fresh off the boat, no social security card, no car and only Craigslist for a chance of a home. 

Throughout the week, finding a place to stay was a worry. Particularly as the hostel only allowed 5 nights in any 3 month period. And it's the only hostel in Juneau. I emailed as best I could. I don't have a cell so email was all I had. Many replies that the places had been filled had come through. I was also in competition with another hosteller to find a place, although I was a lot less fussy. However, come Friday I found a place 2 miles from work. A room in a house.  I moved in on Tuesday August 20th. The plus side is, that the place is near work and some stores so its functional without a car. The downside is, I wanted a downtown place, as I wanted The Alaskan to be my local. That said, it's probably for the best. 

With the mountains surrounding me in a spaced middle-class part of Juneau. A glacier looming in the near distance as I walk home from work, life is pretty good. I need my bike, and I'm pushing for that this weekend. The snow is coming soon and I'm worried there isn't much cycling left. 

So my routine is work all week, and an early ferry on Friday or Saturday back to Haines to see Sarah and Horton (and Vlad the annoying cat). Life is pretty good. America is pretty good. 

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.