The Light And Dark Of It
by Kevin Raub
IT'S NEARLT NINE A.M. when I arrive in Fairbanks on the
first of my five bone-rattlingly cold mornings, and there isn't a
light in the sky. I ask my taxi driver, "When can we expect the sun
to come up?" "What day is today?" he replies. "Monday? I'd say
around Wednesday." Fantastic.
To say things are done differently around Fairbanks is to say TiVo
has changed the way we watch television. For instance, nearly
everyone here plugs in their cars when they park them (almost all
public parking spaces are equipped with outlets). This is to keep
the engine block warm so it can start in -40 degree temperatures.
And they call snowmobiles "snow machines." They don't even have a
word for what we call snow machines (i.e., machines that make
snow), because, if you haven't figured it out by now, snow around
these parts is rarely in short supply. I mean, in December, people
here consider 10 degrees a heat wave.
Still, thousands flock to the Fairbanks area in winter, most coming
to view the aurora borealis (or northern lights) - the eerie,
greenish-reddish-purplish waves of light that move across the
extreme northern nighttime sky throughout winter. Nearly everything
that there is to do here (and there is plenty) is just for killing
time between chances to view the lights. Seeing them, I soon learn,
is easier said than done, but one meets a slew of interesting
characters along the way.
MY FIRST DISTACTION is Fairbanks's newest attraction, the
$42 million Museum of the North, on the campus of the University of
Alaska-Fairbanks. A work in progress, this striking building,
designed by architect Joan Soranno, is the most interesting piece
of contemporary architecture in all of
Alaska. Its entrance hall is
designed to evoke a glacial crevasse, which illuminates a stunning
pink glow at dawn. On a clear day, there are mesmerizing views of
the Alaska Range - including
Mount McKinley -from the heavily
windowed lobby.
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