This is Who's Been Keeping Me Up All Night

The past two nights I've fallen asleep to the barks, yelps, and whines of this little guy. He belongs to the people who live across the street. He's left outside all night and all day, tied on a short leash to his dog house. I wish I could say this is rare in Barrow, but it's not. I've been barked at some many times by the same dogs tied to their houses, to fences, to anything that's outside in the cold and wind. Usually I've been pretty scared of these dogs. But not this guy. Look at him. I played with him for a short while, as much as one can play with a dog that's tied up so tightly. He was desperate to be pet.

Yum(?)

Lining the top of the plate is muktuk - the white fat attached to the black skin. Below the muktuk and to the right are pieces of the tail. Right in the center of the plate is a piece of intestine. The two dark pieces to the left of the intestine are meat. And those three pieces on the bottom of the plate are a mystery.

The day after a whale is caught, it is customary for the family to hold a feed. The whole community is welcome to come in and eat whale. All parts of the whale - the muktuk, the meat, the heart, the intestine, the tail, all of it. Each part is served in a separate bowl - meaning there's a big bowl of muktuk, a big bowl of intestine, and so on. It's served with rolls, tea and coffee, and salt. One is supposed to sit down with a plate, grab pieces of whale, slice each part with a knife or ulu, and eat it with your hands, sprinkling salt on each piece. The women of the family are in the kitchen cutting of the whale and putting them in totes and then into little bags for people to take home, like goodie bags. As soon as I entered the house, one of these goodie bags was pushed into my hand, the contents of which is displayed in the above picture. At the house, I tried more muktuk, some of the heart, and some more of the meat. I took small pieces and sprinkled salt on each bite. This is my third time now eating whale and I just don't know if I'll ever actually start liking it, but I'm always willing to try.

Thursday's whale

This whale was caught by Jacob Adam's crew, and it fulfilled Barrow's quota for the fall whale hunt.

Some fast numbers:
- the male whale measured 27 feet and a little bit
- a wildlife person, Robert, estimated the whale was 5 years old
- I tried 1 piece of freshly boiled muktuk and took about 3 bites before I couldn't eat it anymore
- Barrow whalers were allowed 15 strikes for this fall hunting season
- this one was whale #12

(Check out the guy who tries to sit on the whale. It's like America's Funniest Home Videos. Also, that flag that's waving on the boat, that's the sign of success.)

Staying Fit

When I lived in Hong Kong, people there used to say I looked “fit.” “Fit,” in Hong Kong meant, “skinny,” or “thin.” And I suppose I was at the time, but I certainly was not fit. I don’t think I’ve ever been fit. “Fit” to me means going to the gym, running on a treadmill, lifting weights. I’ve never done any of these things. Even in my prime – by “prime” I mean when I was in highs school dancing five or six times a week and, in the spring, also doing track – I wouldn’t say I was ever “fit.” So when Hong Kong people used that word in relation to me I always thought it was humorous. Me, fit?

I continued dancing in college, as much as I could, but it still never compared to what I did in high school. But I was still being active, which is why when I arrived in Hong Kong, I appeared “fit.”

In Hong Kong, I took dance once a week. But I walked a ton in that city, a lot of the times uphill, so remaining “fit” wasn’t a problem.

Once I moved to Alaska, “fit” wasn’t a word one would apply to me, even the politest of Hong Kong people. There are no dance classes to take in Wrangell, so I created my own, for little kids and middle school students. It went well for a little bit, but I ended up discontinuing the classes – I’ve never been a good teacher to little kids and there weren’t enough middle school students who signed up. I walk in Wrangell, to get around and to walk Cyrus. Sometimes I hike, but not enough to show. For a while I was pretty good at going to the pool. Before Wrangell, it had been maybe ten years since I swam laps in a pool. But once summer rolled around and the sun was sometimes out, I excused myself from swimming indoors.

Overall, I’ve been pretty unfit in Wrangell. Plus, we have potlucks there and at them, I eat. I’ve also grown a fondness to cooking. Perhaps it was the moving in with Scott and being in love that made me “fat and happy.” Eating – and cooking – with someone else is a hundred times better than doing it solo.

So now I’m in Barrow. There are a few things to take into account when I consider my “fit” options. Food is terribly expensive, and I’m once again solo. Neither eating or cooking is as fun; therefore I eat less. I’m not walking nearly as much because the weather conditions are harsher; plus there’s no Cyrus to walk. There are still no dance classes. Before moving here I heard that Barrow had a great pool. I tried going last week, but it was closed. I ended up going to the pool in Barrow for the first time last night.

Con: The pool in Barrow is half the size of Wrangell's. I don’t know why I expected it to be the same size as Wrangell, but I did. I imagined with all the money Barrow has, it would have as good of a pool as Wrangell’s, if not better. Pro: It’s free. All I had to do was sign in on a sheet. No one checked my ID or anything. I could’ve put the name “Angelina Jolie;” it wouldn’t have mattered. Con: When you enter the locker room, there is an extremely large puddle of water. I never thought I’d miss the locker room in Wrangell, but I do. Pro: Someone’s iPod was playing through speakers in the pool and one of the songs was "Don't Drink the Water." Con: Free swim was right before Lap swim and all these kids were playing around, splashing and jumping in and all I could think about was how they probably all pee in the pool. Con: I came to my senses and realized the kids probably pee in the pool in Wrangell also.

Lap swim, which lasts from 7:15 pm to 7:50 pm went fine. I got to swim and this, I figured, was how I would attempt to stay “fit” in Barrow. I would try to do it four times a week – Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday (I was hoping to try out the library on Wednesday nights when people get together for “knitwits”). So I went to the pool tonight, but it was closed. A sign on the door read, “Evening recreation closed this week.” Despite the sign, I continued to pull on the door. It’s not a holiday, I thought, it was just opened last night. But the door would not open.

I left wondering what I would do for the rest of the week to stay active, to be physical. As I drove home, I passed the Piuraagvik “Place to Play” athletic center, and saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. I’ve never been a gym person. I’ve only ever been to a gym twice, maybe thee times, in my entire life. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself in one. But – at least for the rest of the week until the pool opens again – it seems like I may have to go to the gym and find my way.

Saturday in Barrow

Barrow is still so much a foreign land to me. It certainly does not feel like America. It almost feels like I’m in space, not that I have any notion of what space feels like or have even tried to imagine what space feels like. I took a walk today, as the sun was setting, perhaps around 6:45 or 7. I could see the reddish orange glow in the distance as well as the bright moon. Everything is just white and flat.

I tried to walk on some streets I haven’t before and came across a couple of restaurants. Most of the restaurants I had encountered before were on the other side of town, Barrow-side; I live on the side of town known as Browerville. First I saw Northern Lights restaurant with its sign that’s a neon outline of a whale. I walked a little further and saw the Thai Restaurant. Next door to that was a Thai Massage place, and then a barbershop. And then I spotted the Oriental Store, a tiny building. I couldn’t tell if it was even open until I walked in and sure enough there were shelves of Asian food. It was a little sparse but they had some amazing items like dried mango from the Philippines and rice flour. And behind the counter was Ernie, a long haired Filipino man. He’s lived in Barrow for a few years. His brother owns the store. His English wasn’t that good, but I could get the gist. There’s a large Filipino population in Barrow as well as Korean. I guess all of the cabs are driven by Filipinos and many of the restaurants are run by Koreans.

It was a nice walk.

Earlier today, after Doreen and I did a StoryCorps presentation to a crowd of 37, we drove out toward Point Barrow to try and spot polar bears. We heard there was a mom and cub hanging out. We didn’t see any, but I took some pictures of what we did see.

Below, a boat launch.



And here are a couple of pictures of the Arctic Ocean. It’s just starting to freeze. When I first arrived last Saturday, there was no slush or ice in the ocean.

Whaling

All that blood quickly freezes.



I heard that in the spring hunt, the whaling teams go out in seal skin boats. But for the fall hunt, they go out in normal aluminum boats, like the one pictured above.




After the families of the whaling team get all the meat and muktuk they want, what's remaining is up for grabs. Doreen and Edith started cutting away, first with one of the long handled tools,


then with Doreen's ulu. Doreen said she was told the whale they were cutting from had been 26 feet long.


The meat is so dark. Bloody and black.


Edith was laughing with glee as she cut the meat. "Glory to God," she kept exclaiming. "Glory to God."

The muktuk and meat were pushed into thin plastic bags and later hauled into the back of the van by some men. I managed to get two bags in and they were indeed heavy. Blocks of fat.

Three

My job was a bust today. An absolute bust. We had all the equipment set up and no one showed up for an interview.

But…

Three whales were caught today!

I heard about it this afternoon but I wasn’t able to get out there until around 6 pm. By that time the whales had been cut into pretty good. I rode out with Edith, Doreen, and their friend whose name now escapes me. Edith had told me to wear my warmest clothes. I did pretty well except I forgot my gloves and since I was taking pictures, my hands instantly froze. Standing out there amongst the whale harvesting was by far the coldest I’ve ever been.

I’m going to post pictures tomorrow. I’ve never been good at writing descriptively anyway, and for something like this, you just have to see it.

(This is fair warning for anyone who does not want to see bloody whale. Do not look at the pictures on tomorrow’s post.)

Snow and Shorts

The forecast of clear skies was dead wrong. I woke up to snow and it remained that way all morning. Since there was already snow on the ground, when I looked out the window, all I could see was white. White on white.

The window I’m looking out of is not that of the Polar Bear Theater bunkhouse; it is out of 7077 Uula Street, which is on the corner of Uula and North Star. It is the home of David Ongley, the librarian at the Tuzzy Library, and I will be housesitting it for the duration of my stay in Barrow. David is in and out of town constantly so he likes to have someone checking in on it or, in my case, living in it. I have my own room, wireless, laundry, and all the amenities of a real, lived in home. It’s amazing and a hundred times better (as well as cheaper) than the bunkhouse.

I took my first trip to the AC, the grocery store in town. Things seemed to generally be $5 more than what I’m used to. A block of cheese is $15 instead of $10, although I never buy blocks of cheese. Today I bought four cans of soup for $10; ordinarily it would’ve cost over $6 for one. Not everything is outrageously more. The carton of eggs I bought was $4.50. Anyway, enough about grocery prices. Even though things were more expensive, it was still great to see what I could buy, what’s available, which is more than what’s available in Wrangell.

Also, at the grocery store as well as on my walk home, I got to see some of Barrow’s youth. They were buying pizza and sandwiches and walking home and, not surprisingly, some of them looked like me. I even saw, as I had heard about prior to coming, two kids wearing shorts.

Barrow: Day 1

Mark lives upstairs of the Polar Bear Theater. He’s the engineer for KBRW, Barrow’s public radio station, which runs an AM channel and an FM. Mark also runs a pirate station.

Doreen and him are good friends and she had told me about him and apparently had told him about me. So when I knocked on his door last night in somewhat of a panic, he may have answered wearing nothing but a parka (he must have been wearing underwear or boxers; all I could tell was that he had on no shirt and no pants, so I didn’t look further. Perhaps he was getting ready to shower?), but at least he knew who I was. He ended up (after getting dressed first) coming down to the bunkhouse and calmed me down. He said the bunkhouse has heat, laundry machines, hot water, and internet. He said I wouldn’t find much else that was better in Barrow. We’ll see about that.

Mark describes himself as semi retired. He’s only here for part of the year. He has big grey hair and a big beard which he has a tendency to grab and stroke a lot.

Today, he took me out to brunch at the Ilisagvik College dining room, which was very nice of him as it cost $13 for a dining hall type of buffet. I filled up on eggs, corned beef hash and salad and heard about Mark’s three sons, one of whom is a tattoo artist in Humboldt County.

After brunch he took me for a drive out to Point Barrow, which runs along the Arctic Ocean. Some of the waves were five feet tall.

Barrow is flat, as flat as can be. Right now it’s covered in probably six or seven inches of snow that Mark says will just blow back and forth all winter, as it’ll never melt. The houses here are made of wood and ugly. They don’t look fit to live in, especially in this climate, but they are inhabited. Mark says everything looks better under snow; otherwise it looks like a junkyard.

On the drive we passed a spot where a whale had been drug in. You could see blood smeared on the ground. It’s currently whaling season, but I think it’s been suspended due to a recent death of an elder. In the Native community, when someone dies, many things take a rest. Elsewhere on the drive we even saw a piece of a whale that had been left behind. There were tons of seagulls.

On our way back to town, I thought I spotted a polar bear. I got really excited until I realized it was just a big white dog.

High today was 23 degrees. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be clear and 21. Nothing seems real right now.

"Enigma of Arrival"

During my last day in Fairbanks I decided at the last minute to pick up some fresh vegetables. I packed them in my carry-on and for a split second had this worry that customs may not let me have them. Of course, there was no need to worry about customs; Barrow is in the United States. It’s just that, in my mind, Barrow has always seemed like a faraway, distant land, foreign almost.

Although I did not have to show a passport to get into Barrow, last night I did feel like I was arriving in a different country. A highly respected Barrow elder recently passed away and his funeral is tomorrow, so there were a lot of people coming in for it. The airport was filled with Inupiat people, which makes sense as Barrow is an Inupiat village. People in Barrow wear these fur-lined parkas and one woman was carrying her baby in the hood of it, on her back. The layout of the Barrow airport is, for lack of a better word, retarded. The luggage comes out of these rectangular holes in the wall, not unlike Wrangell, and the space that the luggage falls onto is maybe 15 feet in length, again not unlike Wrangell. But the area surrounding it is very small. Everyone crowds in this very tight space waiting for luggage and it’s just so congested. The luggage (which includes plastic totes and buckets and cardboard boxes) piles up and up; it’s so disorganized. The situation, which Doreen had warned me about, reminded me of a third world country, the chaos of it. Scott from BASC was waiting to pick me up. He drove Edith and I to the Inupiat Heritage Center to drop off the StoryCorps equipments. On the way there, the two of them spoke in Yup’ik, a totally foreign language to me. And it really felt, at that moment, surrounded by all the foreign sights and sounds that I had entered into a different country.

Shopping in Fairbanks

After Doreen, my co-StoryCorps facilitator, told me that milk in Barrow costs $10 a gallon, I decided that going to Fred Meyers and filling a tote with groceries was not uncalled for. And that’s what I did. I bought a $130 worth of groceries, including a 20-lb bag of rice, loaded them into a tote, and a friendly Fred Meyer employee helped me weigh it on a bathroom scale. Hopefully it will not exceed the Alaska Airlines 50-lb limit.

I also bought a rabbit fur lined, ear-flap hat and a pair of Extreme Arctic Carhartt bibs. I feel prepared.

Group Crying (almost)

Training in Fairbanks has been going well so far. There are many technical aspects to the job. Each team will be bringing $10,000 worth of equipment into each town, none of which has been tested in -40 degree weather or withstood a bumpy snow machine ride.

My favorite part of training so far has been learning about production because we got to just listen to a bunch of StoryCorps clips. And that’s when it hit me, how great this whole thing is. In the training room, I was surrounded by other people who got choked up and a bit teary-eyed listening to these 2-3 minute clips of other people’s stories. It was such a great feeling to know that, while I’ve only just met these people and will most likely never see them again after we all go our separate ways, we all had this thing in common – the knowledge that StoryCorps is important and that what we’re about to embark on has the potential to be truly remarkable.

Fairbanks for the First Time

Scott and I left the Austin Hyatt (Austin, 90 degree weather) around 4 am this morning and, 21 hours later, I am sitting at a desk in the Westmark Hotel in Fairbanks (Fairbanks, snow on the ground). Tomorrow I start training for StoryCorps, an organization that I’ve wanted to work for since July 2005. This is when I first visited their website (storycorps.net) and listened to their stories from a dorm room in York University, England, and cried from being so touched.

I never got the internship I applied and interviewed for in Brooklyn, in August that same year. But now I am here, about to learn how to become a StoryCorps facilitator, and I am thrilled.

(Laura and Jonathan’s wedding was superb. Laura was beautiful. Scott and I danced till my legs hurt. I finally met Jonathan, which was as natural as seeing an old friend. And I spent time with Amanda and Jason.)