So I left the boat with a phone number and a rendezvous the following week in Anchorage. At the Moby Dick hostel, I ran into Matthias, whose big toe had turned green from frostbite (no one leaves McKinley completely unscathed). Latecomer to the party was the Scottish guy from the Denali, who brought me an endearing letter from Rick.
By now, even I was wondering what all the fuss was about. Mind you, I looked like a skinny, androgynous boy from afar. No make-up, loose clothing, and striped fedora hat that covered half my face and all of my hair. My philosophy was to be as inconspicuous as possible when traveling. If you're too pretty, you're a target. If you look rich, you get mugged. The idea was to fly under the radar.
My wise cousin Paul likened life to the theory of inertia. "Everything will keep happening the way it always has until you do something or something happens to dramatically change course."
Up until now, my story has been fairly consistent: a profound sense of inadequacy prevented me from becoming the best version of myself. While I always had good jobs, dated good-looking guys with money, and stayed trim myself, something was always missing. I always felt inhibited. I attracted folks who were controlling, egocentric, and materialistic. I was hurt by their behaviors. I was always a victim.
Alaska was a fundamental break with my lifestyle and up to that point, my mode of thinking. It was risky, spontaneous, and absolutely impractical, spurred by some vague yearning of the heart. Here I met a completely different type of man, free-spirited and outdoorsy and unconstrained by expectations. They all affirmed me. Granted, the ratio of men to women was 2 to 1 in this state, so it was by no means completely a function of my feminine charms. For you single gals out there, Alaska is a fantastic place to meet someone.
Back to the Fourth of July. Matthias and I took a walk through the streets of Seward, narrow and dusty and very small-town despite seasonal activities. There was a street fair; children were climbing into small-scale, carnival-like contraptions that spun them around or revolving globes that made them feel weightless. Between bites of hot dogs and funnel cakes, I was impressed by how brilliant Matthias was. Logical and scientific, his approach to life was purely deductive. Then he confided in me about his family, how his parents pinned all their hopes on him because his sister had special mental needs.
Half German, half Swiss, Matthias lived in Zurich, where he was studying for his PHD in economics. I was most curious about Switzerland, as my well-traveled friend Jenny described it as the most beautiful country in Europe. He mentioned that I ever visited, to give him a call.
I'd love to hang out, I replied.
No, he corrected, to stay. We have a couch for visitors.
What?
Apparently, this is a common phenomenon with backpackers, a sort of bohemian hospitality among transient soul-searchers. Not one to refuse free lodging, I nodded.
Lola was waiting for him when we returned to the hostel. Evidently, she had invited Mattias among several others to party that night, and he reluctantly followed her (Swiss Germans are iron-bound by their word). I wasn't invited.
Not to worry, I soon procured an invitation by a girl I peripherally knew from Denali, a biologist who presented her thesis (or was it dissertation?) in Fairbanks. Now, Seward was not exactly hopping with bars; there were precisely two joints occupying the same space, separate by a half wall that allowed glimpses into the opposite side.
So I wound up on one side of the bar and spotted Matthias on the other. Lola was dancing extremely close to him, her arms all over him, and he seemed markedly uncomfortable. Hoping to relieve him from his misery, I sauntered over only to find that he had disappeared.
News coverage of Michael Jackson's memorial service flickered; no sound was audible as clips of the famous videos Beat It, Thriller, and Billie Jean flashed across TV screens. I stifled a cry and willed back tear; it was the end of an era, the break dancing, the moonwalk, and that omnipresent glittering glove.
I bumped into Matthias teary-eyed and all; he had come looking for me. I glanced back at Lola, now seducing another guy.
We talked, we danced, we drank mediocre Alaskan beer, and I found Swiss men absolutely divine.
Despite the fact that Matthias and I didn't have a thing in common.
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