Korea’s Incheon Airport rocks my little world

My bed for 5 hours

Despite my best intentions over a six-week trip to Thailand, I wrote very little for personal reasons since I was writing a lot for business reasons. My detailed journaling stopped after about a week and a half, and I even stopped taking a lot of photographs with my crappy, blurry, out-of-date camera. Nevertheless, I kept track of things I wanted to write about, so following is one of those topics.

We all know that air travel is a degrading, soul-sucking experience that can turn even the best travelers (me) into enraged, tantrum-throwing toddlers (me after my seatmate not only monopolizes the armrest, but also my personal space both with his elbow and his smelly farts).

I arrived in Seoul after such a twelve-hour flight, which was preceded by a wedding in Santa Barbara and not much sleep. I miscalculated some times – as usual – and what I thought was an eight-hour layover en route to Bangkok was actually twelve. I grabbed a blanket from my flight, preparing myself to find a corner somewhere and sack out on the hard floor. But as I plodded through the airport in silent pre-dawn, I immediately noticed that this airport seemed different from the chaotic mess of many travel hubs. Sure, it was early and therefore less crowded than usual. But it was also polished and clean, with some of the spic-n-span-iest Asian restrooms I’ve been privileged enough to sample.

I wandered into a large hall and saw a sign that read “Rest and Relaxation.” That sounded exactly like what I needed, so I followed the sign and took the escalator up to a small area furnished with leather cots. A few other travelers were sleeping, so I decided to look no further and passed out for a few hours. I should’ve kept going, as leather cots weren’t the best thing yet. After I woke up, I explored the floor a little further and found a clean and bright spa, complete with a shower room, massage chairs, and salon. Further on were tables and leather lounge chairs, with nearby outlets that I used for my laptop. Free wireless meant I could entertain myself with the Internet for as long as I wanted. Leather recliners looked out over the main hall, where shops like Burberry and Coach glam it up. There’s even a transit hotel – I didn’t look into prices but I wish I would have. Twelve hours is long enough to warrant a hotel room rental, especially when I’m traveling for work.

Though the airport is a bit sterile, there were still little memory cues that reminded me I was in Asia: despite air conditioning there was a slight humidity in the air. Every now and then I’d catch a familiar savory scent from a restaurant. Little clues like that got me excited for my upcoming trip; they were small, familiar sensory hints of what was to come.

I still can’t get over the fact that Incheon caters to travelers who are in transit. I mean, it’s not such a novel idea, yet this is the first airport where I haven’t spent a long layover either crashed out on the floor or wishing I practiced yoga as I tried to mold my body around the inconveniently-protruding armrests of the dirty seats at some departure gate.  I slept and worked – comfortably – free of charge for a whole 12 hours.  Plus, as I noted on my way back from Thailand (and therefore a 6-week-deep coffee deprivation), you can buy a decent Americano. There’s not much else I can ask for of an airport.

Free wi-fi, baby!

My bed for 5 hours

Enough cots for a slumber party

Lounge chairs = divine

My booty makes its Internet debut

In September, I took visiting couchsurfer and videographer Nick Vivion on a berry-picking jaunt up Mt. Alice. Nick was researching Seward for Trip Films, which produces video guides. I (or, my booty) happened to make it into some of the footage. Enjoy!

more about “Berry Picking in Alaska Video – Sewar…“, posted with vodpod

September in Alaska

More than any other place I’ve lived, Alaska reminds you that you’re a mammal. You’re forced to live with the seasons, and their dramatic pendulum. You pack weight on in the winter, and shed it in the summer. Come October, you’re craving carbs and fat and you’re sleeping more.

As far as I’m concerned, this behavior is not due to the weather so much as the daylight. It’s impossible not to feel somewhat manic when it’s light out all the time, and to feel like you’re sleepwalking when the sun barely rises.

Because my moods can be so closely tied to the time of year, I love September more than any other month. For whatever reason, it evokes the strongest emotions, even more so than a sunny day in July. September is a winding-down, preparing-for-winter month. The tourists are heading back south. We have normal daylight hours, but we know we’re swiftly losing them. It’s colder and rainier and everyone comments on how dark it is, even though the daylight disappears every year. Termination dust coats the top of the mountains. You’re able to hang out with your friends since they’re slowing down, too, and a feeling of community surfaces again. The freezer is full of fish, and the garden is ready to be turned.

And one of the best parts of September is berry picking. The act of tromping through the woods looking for plump berries awakens something primal in me. It’s as if I’ve always been a gatherer. My mind focuses, my eyes narrow, and suddenly all I see in the forest are blueberries. Then I zone out, my hands and mind working automatically to collect a winter’s supply of wild blueberries.

Riding the Alaska Ferry

Alaska is one of the those places that feels so far removed from the rest of the world, it may as well be another country. I realized this on my first flight to Anchorage from Seattle, which took three and a half hours. In my mind I’d pictured the distance to Anchorage to be about the same as from Seattle to Los Angeles, but I was way off. It’s more like flying from Seattle to Dallas.

But the Alaska Ferry is an unexpected link to the Far North. It departs Bellingham, Washington (just over an hour north of Seattle), every Friday. The amount of time it takes to reach its first stop, Ketchikan, is certainly a reminder of how far removed Alaska is (about 36 hours), but the fact that you can walk or drive on to a ferry in Washington somehow makes Alaska more tangible.

The ferry was what I expected from public transportation — utilitarian and plain. Budget travelers set up tents on the back deck or nabbed lounge chairs in the solarium (hint: that’s the way to go), while others laid out blankets on the floors inside. There was a snack bar with electrical outlets, and I spent a lot of my time in there working on my laptop. Wireless Internet was available but intermittent.

I brought duct tape to secure my tent pulls to the cement, but the amount of rain soon peeled the tape up. The family next to me woke up the next morning with an inch of standing water in their tent, and when the ferry arrived in Ketchikan the second morning, I found that I was collecting water in my tent as well and grabbed a lounge chair when people disembarked. That worked out well, since I was able to dry everything out and also didn’t have to take my tent down at 4am when we docked in Juneau the next morning.

The second day was spent squeezing through the Wrangell Narrows, and hushing by manned lighthouses and tiny fishing villages. We pulled in to Wrangell, where I totally regret not jogging out to Petroglyph Beach in the 30 minutes available. In Petersburg, small purse-seiners cruised into port with the day’s catch, and all seemed soggy and somewhat idyllic.

I sacked out under my heatlamp with a headlamp and a novel, and awoke to the fog horn early the next morning. We docked in Juneau in pitch black rain, and I walked off the ferry with a giant backpack, hoping to hitch a ride to the airport rather than pay for a taxi. The ferry terminal is a good 15 miles or so outside the city center, so there was no breakfast or coffee shop for me while I waited for my flight. I did manage to catch a ride, and worked in the airport for several hours before boarding.

I had to fly on the milk run, which made several stops before landing in Anchorage. One of the coolest was flying over Yakutat, which has an improbable stretch of sandy beach. A few years ago Yakutat got some media attention for its cold-water surfing. Outside Magazine ran an article, and Yakutat was put on the map. I couldn’t spot any surfers from the air. My camera wouldn’t pick them up, but there were 10,000-plus foot peaks in the background.

Welcome to Alaska.

The entire month of July

So I kind of suck at blogging. Sorry.

There were two main events this July, with a lot of little ones beaten in for texture. The first is that I completed Mt. Marathon without injury or incident, save for some uncomfortable chafing in some uncomfortable places. The other is that I spent 3 nights camped on the Alaska Ferry, a trip from Bellingham to Juneau that I’ve wanted to take for years.

First, Mt. Marathon: As my previous posts note, I trained very little for this race. I was in reasonably good shape, but Marathon is the type of mountain that requires strategy. Two days before the race I climbed halfway up just to try to pick a route up. There are three options: 1) Run past the chute and take switchbacks up; 2) Stop in front of the chute and climb a near-vertical hillside covered in trees, called “The Roots” because you climb up tree roots like a ladder; 3) Go directly up the chute, which involves scaling a rock face — I’ve never tried it, but I’ve heard that’s what some of the winners do. I chose the roots, because I figured it’s the most direct route, and you’re using your arms for that part and in doing so taking some pressure off your legs.

Mt. Marathon from town.

The race starts about a half-mile from the trail in downtown Seward. The men’s and women’s races are split into two waves 5 minutes apart. I made it into the first wave (thanks Laura!), which is better since the trail is single file and you want to be near the front. I made it to the root trail, got in line, and started climbing. The climb itself doesn’t have much to describe — it’s long, and it’s hard. I had a strained calf muscle, so instead of climbing on my toes as usual I put my heels down. This meant I used my quads almost exclusively, instead of my calves taking some heat. But it saved me from injury.

The chute just above treeline. Scary!

Here’s how long and steep Mt. Marathon is: Picture the Empire State Building. Tall, right? Stack two and a half of those buildings together, and you’ve got the vertical height of Marathon: 3022 feet. So, let’s say you’re climbing to the top of those ES buildings. You take the stairs, but to make it like the Marathon race, you need to take every other stair to lengthen your stride. Then, take away the stairs, leaving just the incline, which is so steep you can’t put your heels down (unless you’re injured). Add some mud — I slipped flat on my front a few times, with women behind me grabbing my calves and ankles. Throw in rocks and snow, and you’ve got a difficult climb. That’s Marathon. Now imagine going back down.

I hadn’t practiced going down from the top part of the mountain. Again, there were choices: go straight down a snow field, or go around it. I chose the snow field. A deep luge had been carved out, and I jumped in and started sliding. Bad move. I was wearing running shorts, which immediately slid right up. I tried using my hands and feet to stop myself, but the incline was too great. The result: chafing. I managed to hop out of the luge at some point, as other racers were bearing down on me and they were out of control. I stood there for a few moments, watching them go by while I tried to figure out how to get down. Finally I just started running down, digging my heels in the snow.

The rest of the way down was uneventful. At the bottom, I had to run through a creek, swinging over small waterfalls and over rocks, but that was child’s play next to the snow. Once I made it half way down realized I was going to complete the race, and that felt great. I honestly didn’t know when I started if I would finish because of my calf.

I felt strong when I hit the street, and I heard my name all over. I didn’t look too sexy, but I was in good company. My time was nothing fantastic, but it wasn’t horrible either and might even be fast enough to keep me in the first wave next year.

Up next: the Alaska Ferry and why it’s one of the coolest trips ever.