Alaska became our 49th state when I was in grade school, but I didn't visit it until I needed research material for the next book in my Passport to Peril mystery series, Catch Me if Yukon. (I realize the Yukon isn't in Alaska, but the title was too good to pass up.) I wasn't surprised by the glorious scenery or the fact that people could live in extremely remote areas and actually flourish, but I was surprised by a couple of things that I'd like to share with you.
There were no mosquitoes!
(Okay, there was one rogue mosquito lurking in the bathroom of our cabin in Denali, but it was flying solo.) People had warned me that mosquitoes in Alaska were at least an inch long and so numerous that they traveled in death squads. (Perhaps they were thinking of Lapland, where hats with mosquito netting are a welcome addition to the fashionable tourist's wardrobe.) Happily, all the bug spray I'd packed went unused. There were more mosquitoes in my little flower garden in Wisconsin last summer than in the whole state of Alaska.
Alaska has an unexpectedly international flavor. Who knew?
I'd imagined rugged mountain men types. Flowing beards. An array of suspenders. Twangy speech. What I found was a portly restaurateur with a charming accent who was seated at a cooking station in the middle of his eatery in Seward, whipping up crepes and Belgian waffles as if he were demonstrating the technique in a storefront window. And the reason why Belgian waffles were his specialty? He was an immigrant. From Belgium.
In a town called Girdwood we ate in a restaurant named The Bakery, which offered outdoor seating amid a profusion of hanging baskets and oversized flower pots. It reminded me of the iconic restaurant in Oberammergau, Germany, whose balconies dripped with flowers. After reading the headlines of a framed newspaper inside the restaurant, I learned the reason why The Bakery reminded me of Europe. Its owner had emigrated from…Germany.
Near Girdwood we participated in a dog mushing adventure, run by a young man who was an annual contestant in the Iditarod. He spoke with an accent I couldn't identify, so when I asked him where he was from, he said Normandy. And not Normandy, Texas or Normandy, Tennessee. Normandy, France. An Alaskan dog musher from Normandy, France. Seriously. How does that happen?
Farther north, in Denali, the only road that snakes through the national park terminates at a resort whose dining hall is almost as big as the park itself. There's an army of wait staff who scurry around the room, refilling chafing dishes and clearing tables, but there's so little help available domestically, the resort is forced to hire workers from Eastern Europe. I tried speaking to our waitress, but she spoke so little English that our conversation was limited to smiles and hand gestures, which no doubt explains why buffet-style is the meal plan of choice at the facility.
In a little place called Healy, we crammed into a muddy UTV and drove three bumpy miles into the woods to arrive at our zip-lining venue, where our instructor for the adventure turned out to be a young woman from…wait for it…Bulgaria! She traveled to Alaska on a work visa, fell in love with a man and married him, so she was there permanently.
I came to the conclusion that foreign visitors find Alaska so hypnotic that they decide to stay. So if you happen to be passing through out 49th state, don't be surprised if you hear a delightful assortment of languages and accents. If you stay long enough, you might even hear the hard vowel sounds of a few transplanted Midwesterners. The two bus drivers who transported us through Denali and down the road to Healy? Turns out they used to live right down the street from me in Wisconsin. Go figure.
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Emily and her traveling seniors must solve yeti nother mystery as they trek through the Alaskan wildernessAs tour escort Emily Andrew-Miceli leads her globetrotting band of Iowa seniors into the wilds of Alaska, she discovers that whales aren't the only killers on the prowl. When a tour member turns up dead on a mountainous hiking trail, Emily blames herself for the mishap—until she learns that something far hairier might be the cause.
One of the seniors snaps a photo of what looks like Bigfoot, raising questions about what happened to the victim. But the elusive sasquatch is just a legend, isn't it? Between whale watching in the glacial waters near Seward and ziplining in the primal forests of Denali, Emily finds herself locked in a game of cat and mouse with a killer who may or may not be mere myth.
Praise for the Passport to Peril Mystery Series:
"A bit of humor, a bit of travel information and a bit of mystery add up to some pleasant light reading."—Kirkus Reviews
"The cast of characters is highly entertaining and the murder mystery mixed with good humor!"—Suspense Magazine
"Maddy Hunter's Passport to Peril series is a first-class ticket to entertainment."—Carrie Bebris, award-winning author of the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery series
Maddy Hunter has endured disastrous vacations on three continents in the past five years. The first six titles in the Passport to Peril Mystery series are available from Pocket Books; books seven through twelve are available through Midnight Ink Books. The first in the series, Alpine for You, was an Agatha Award finalist and a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist. Also, Hula Done It?, Pasta Imperfect, and Top O' the Mournin' were named to the Independent Mystery Bookseller's Association bestseller list. The author resides in Madison, Wisconsin. For more information, go to MaddyHunter.com.
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