The Here and Now

As I walked along the beach last night,
Really, I have nothing to say to finish that clause. I just wanted to point out that I live on the beach.
And that I walk on it.

Yesterday I had a conversation with a friend back in the lower 48. This friend was confused at a comment I made about cars.
He seemed unsure of how the village I now reside in might look.

After spending a very long year pushing people to a semi-clear understanding of the reality of Kasigluk, I flipped it up and have moved on to a “big” city.
Things here are a bit different.

This new place has a creature called a “road”.
That’s right there are roads.
Roads for driving cars.

Roads that don’t turn to liquid for half the year.
Unless you count all the mud.
None of them are paved. Or graveled.

But they watered on a regular basis.
(Water trucks drive all over town sprinkling fresh water on our pretty paths to prevent dust storms and promote muddiness.)

Dust storms are a serious problem on the slope.
This is after all, a desert.
Complete with the dehydration and tumbleweed.

As long as you count polar bears as tumbleweed, of course

When it comes to polar bears, you have to remember two things:
One, they are vicious man eating creatures with no remorse that tend to come on shore about a block and a half from my house.

Two, their teeth and claws are really quite pricey.
A bear tooth on a leather strap (for a necklace) was not under $100, and the tourists just eat them up.

Tourism is the most surprising thing about my new home in the top of the world.
There are people from all over that actually spend the necessary piles of cash to come to this isolated little town of 4000.
We have a tour company or two. There are a surprising number of large-camera owning Japanese tourists on busses traveling around town.
Clicky click, click.

You would think that these tourists would demand better roads.