We’ll meet again

My stay in Seward wouldn’t be utterly told, completely drawn, if I didn’t write about encounters that slowly weaved my days and nights, that intertwined hours and engraved my technicolor Alaskan first memories.

First, there was Adrienne who, if I had to recall one thing, gave me the most precious life lesson: the waffle machine theory… When you put too much batter in the machine, when you close it to cook your waffle, it starts overflowing and spiting to your face. It is a waffle batter eruption that would make the Etna blush! The first instinct is always to limit damages, to seal cracks and prevent it from overblowing, except, the more you try, the more it explodes, and it is chaos. And it is a slaughter impossible te clean! Whereas if you let it flow, it will cook and so does your waffle, and it will be so easy to scratch aftermath! And life is like a waffle machine, when everything goes wrong, the more you struggle, the worse it gets! So the idea is, when your thoughts or your world got messy and hurt you down, stop struggling, let the explosion happen and aftermath, the blowing waffle batter of life will be baked, and so will you. You will be ready to get rid of everything that bothers you, and with a smile please…
But Adrienne is way more than that… Adrienne wears colorful earrings she makes, different ones on each ear. Adrienne has a smile laughing to EVERY (yeah, EVERY! for those who still doubted I was funny!) of my jokes, a soft smile hiding a painful and generous heart. Adrienne doesn’t have a house anymore, she has several homes now, because she chose it, because she made the best out of what she got; she is from Boston – Red Sox fan please -, she is from Colorado – her kids grew up there -, she is from Alaska – first winter this year -, she is from all the places she loves and met more deeply. Adrienne has her own safe haven, the laundry where you will always find her. Adrienne has a little mermaid’s collection of stones, even gold stones sometimes and sings Part of your world anytime she cleans the kitchen. Adrienne was the protector of my stay, Adrienne was my laugh out loud every day. Adrienne still is my silver flower speaking telepathically with her own flower earring, she still is my silver flower whispering our past and future adventures to my ear.

Then, there were Devin & Jackie, Jackie & Devin, they always go together. They were like a mirror of my own path, arrived and left almost in the same time, weaving a peculiar and invisible string between us. Devin is my friend from Pennsylvania mistaken for a French because of her stripes shirt – everyone knows, or at least the US, this is THE French touch. Jackie is my friend from Kentucky, all her teeth in her smile broken by such a high-pitched laugh. With Devin, I compared our two nations’s cultures, habits and paradoxes in the Yukon Bar soft light. With Jackie, I survived to sea demons that challenge our stomachs, united forever by the vomit I didn’t throw and the one she fed to the fish. With both of them, I almost touched the sky, fliting from one tree to another, challenging and even taming my vertigo sometimes. With both of them, I wandered in Seward streets, along Resurrection Bay blue water, in a smoke day that grayed out our eyes but not our hearts. Because of them both, I spend the most boring minutes listening over and over about 1964 tsunami. And when they left, a bit earlier than my own goodbye, they made a void in my heart that hates farewell. They slowly invaded my friendship without my permission, with the untold smiles they gave to my sad thoughts, and when I got a chance to hug them in Anchorage night, I didn’t hesitate. I took those three and a half sleepy minutes for another see you soon.

There was also Nur… Nuria. Nur is from Barcelona, Nur is Catalan, not Spanish, Catalan! Nur has traveled for eight years. Nur fell in love with Alaska, or more exactly Seward. She will come back next year, she swore. Nur was heart broken when she left. Truly! Nur’s Seward is my Ireland. Nur broke into me without preamble, because Nur always breaks into anybody. You don’t have time to know you will like her she has already decided. I hadn’t said a word she knew who I was. Partly because of my backpack. She knew I was European, maybe even Spanish: but no, I was French which would explain every weird habit she will invent for me. I hadn’t said a word she knew who I was. Partly because our quills are the same and telepathically talk, the same enchanted poison go through us. With Nur, I hiked quiet and shadowed Tonsina Trail, our European hearts equally moved by untouched American magnificence. Nur was my Europe every morning, Nur was my Alaska every night. Anacondaaaaa!

There were also Charity, her son Masson and their dog Faith. And Mason’s bike on the car roof. And their precious treasures in the trunk, in Homer, in Seward and elsewhere. Charity needed to trust again and she got Faith for whom human heart hadn’t been very charitable until then. Charity was arriving from New Mexico, her sun freckles spoke for her, but she missed Alaska too much. Alaska is her home. Charity hugs everybody and can’t explain why her four-years-old little boy stops anyone in a grocery store to hug him as well. She doesn’t understand why he runs to me, the stranger, the first day we meet, after my Bear Lake walk, telling me: “I missed you so much!” when she will look for me all day long if she hasn’t give me a breakfast hug. Charity will almost leave me without word because she is EVERYTHING. She literally is everything. And its opposite, even hidden sometimes. Shinny. (Angry.) Loving. (Bitter.) Brave. (Sad.) Generous. (Hungry.) Concellor. (Lost.) Indestructible. (Broken.) The list could go on and on… Therefore, of Charity, I would only tell the stony earring she made for my departure and the salt that runs on my cheek for it. Of Charity, I will write the funniest scene I have had to live:
Charity: I am so sorry, Masson runs everywhere, I am exhausted and he bothers everyone. (or something like that)
Me, hugging her: Don’t worry, everything is fine, your son is just a little boy, and he doesn’t bother us. He is (and I was about to say something really nice about him)… PEEING ON YOUR CAR’S TIRE!

And lastly there was Emma, my Lost Lake hike Buddy. Emma gave me foreign poesy that feeds mine now; Chinese mountains, clouds, wind and lakes have a voice. We can hear their voice in the snow crunch, in the clouds travel, in the air whisper, in the water lapping. Chinese mountains, clouds, wind and lakes don’t make a sound, they have a voice. Emma has a voice as well, a crystal clear and secret voice that you can’t hear sometimes except when she becomes so roughly sincere it is hilarious. Emma has also a face, an unmoved and smooth face on which only her sparkling eye reads her shy state of mind. Emma is an unmoved secret who sparkled some tiny glitters upon us for a week.
And also Armin, Mexican to his toes. Wise with a child face. Musician and singer in his heart. With a grumpy mood when you don’t know he shines. A genuine good guy in love with chicken breast.
And also Juan. Spanish Vasco. Him too: he is Vasco, not Spanish, let’s be clear! With Juan, we will understand each other another day. On another planet. He will ask question, I will have my bear-spray on a boat, South Pole will look like Caribbean, and then, maybe, we will be able to have a proper conversation.
And also Sepideh and Ehsan, Iranian exiled in San Diego. Such a fleeting, softly kind, full of an another day promises encounter. Denali didn’t meet us again, but I go South with winter, who knows…

And there was some guests that sparkled more than others…

There was Valentina, an unbelievable and cheerful blend, shinning in a big smile. Valentina is Italian but she has some Irish roots. When I heard her ancestors’ history, I thought Italy was a strange exil for some famished Irish, for sure I never met such a fate in all my Irish researches… I got confused, I mixed my historical eras. Her great-great and some other great grand-father fled from Ireland to England during the Great Famine, it is only a century later that Valentina’s father left the Old Blighty for Valentina’s mother’s beautiful eyes. And Valentina has lived in Dublin for the last few years, she is working on some cure for cancer, preventing her from truly exploring and meeting her roots. Maybe does she need a French storm versed in Irish to travel further to the Wild West… ?

Then, there were Molly & Ben, two big and kind smiles. Molly & Ben both work for Southwest Airlines, the most hilarious air company in America which made me laugh so much with this video, way before I met them. Molly & Ben have known each other for a couple of months but you may think they have known each other for ever. They decided to travel to Alaska together without thought, for our greater pleasure! Molly is from Utah but she has to get along with a nomadic life from Los Angeles to Denver in between two lay over because of her work. Ben was born and raised in Denver, Colorado, but he toured in the whole country with his rock band (or any other kind of music actually, I don’t know why I decided it would be rock!) that didn’t make a breakthrough but gave him some freedom for a few years. Molly is partly Irish – her too! -, she visited the Emerald Island a long time ago and longs for another trip. Ben visited a piece of French but didn’t make it to Toulouse – traitor! – and got fooled by a French Brooklyn on Garonne’s banks that nobody from Bordeaux has ever heard of. But Molly & Ben are most of all a peaceful and a cheerful presence, they are like a golden light spreading from their sparkling eyes, their soft smiles, directly towards our gracile hearts. So, even if they abandoned us for our traditional karaoke night, we forgive them because having Molly & Ben at home means having a full fridge of raspberries when you come back late and drunk. Molly & Ben are one of those simple and easy encounters, quiet and smooth, that happen throughout the beauty of a moment, the frailty of fate, and give your soul a smile for each sad day.

Lastly, there was Eamonn, Eamonn Murphy. Yes for him, I write down last and first name, so beautifully and obviously Irish when he grew up in Australia. Eamonn’s ancestors were convicts, those Irish that stroke in the tamed British Empire pictures were transported, the politically English version of deportation, in other terms bundled onto convict-ships by force, towards colonies. First, in America and then, after American Independence, massively to Australia. As for his great-uncle, he was the North Cork section IRA leader when Ireland was struggling for freedom in the twenties. His story in itself, his Australian-Irishish accent, awake my Irish heart. His arrival here, in Seward, in this Inn, is a beautiful serendipity… Eamonn drove on the Alkan Highway from British Columbia, where he has lived for a year. On this scenic road, his car broke down and he met Charity and Masson’s bike on the roof arriving from New Mexico. She stopped, couldn’t really help and kept driving. But fate was not done with them two; they met again here, a few days later, at the Nauti Otter Inn. Those two driving strangers didn’t know Charity would cook Eamonn’s halibut for our dinner… And yet… What is meant to be is! For me, I intertwined our friend life strings differently. With Eamonn, I hiked Exit Glacier for my last day in Seward. With Eamonn, I wished Charity a happy birthday. With Eamonn, I packed my treasures and run to other destinies, leaving the peninsula and the fleeting clan that will always be part, indestructible, of my fate web. He was the coach of my path for a short moment, maybe his green string will meet my red one when I will pass by Canada. Maybe we will have other stories to understand about the world that kept our theories of life busy for a day.

There were also those who only pass. Brief and memorable. With whom I only share a word or a waffle, and whose faces will match the names I invented for them. Talkative juggler man. Clumsy New-Yorker. Unlucky Belgian Guy. Red beard Man. His early bird dad. Puzzling model. Half dark-half white beard man. His Californian wine girlfriend.

And there were of course, Heather & Clint, wise and cheerful stars that led us, invisible and necessary angels that gave kindness and warmth to all those encounters. Both Texan, they met a bit more than three years ago as Heather already spent her summer at the Nauti Otter Inn she just bought. Since then, they got married on a glacier and spend each summertime in Kenai cool air. They share their warmth and fun attitude with the place. Heather popped my first S’Mores cherry, Clint took care of my seasickness. They joined our merry-go-round of life from time to time, always timely, always smiley.

All these intertwined destinies, blend into mine, maybe only for this short Alaskan summer, all changed us. It may have been star dust in our lives. It may have been a firework in our eyes. But our paths crossed, they rocked our worlds. Now everybody came back to his own fate, but if we thoroughly look on the big universal spinning wheel, there will always be that minute, that week, that moment, when our strings met to make a flower or a sunshine. And my big picture is full of flowers and sunshine, there is plenty more to come…

We’ll meet again, my friends!

Justine T.Annezo – Aug 14th-30th 2019, Seward – GTM-8