Memories of the Final Frontier,
or, Why Fairbanks Was Not Walt Disney's First Choice

By Dan Corsetti
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April 6, 2000 | Page 1

In the summer of 1999, the Corsetti Family took its last family vacation. Gone are the days of hours and hours in the family station wagon. No more fighting over who gets the cot in the hotel room, no more sharing sodas at Disney World or Busch Gardens because they were $6 a piece, getting Dad drunk at the hospitality house so he would ride the Loch Ness Monster, license plate bingo, threats of turning the car around, fighting over a restaurant, finding a suitable (i.e., clean and cheap) hotel, and, thank God, the end of the rule that, no matter where the trip, something educational would be included. Sorry, Mom and Dad, but three extra hours in the back seat of the Aries wagon just to drive over the Chesapeake Bridge on the way to Busch Gardens just doesn't cut it.

This summer, for our swan song, we decided to tour the state of Alaska. Understand, I was completely outvoted on this. I was pushing for someplace a little more (what's the word) warm, sandy, and bikini-clad. Alas I was overruled by the powers-that-be: namely my sister who was graduating from college, thus giving her vote some sort of fictitious weight. For their part, my parents were celebrating their 25th anniversary and could have very well left us home, risking the homeowners insurance on the "revenge party" my brother and I would have thrown. Not that Joe and I have ever done anything like that before.......much.

Our Alaskan experience is best epitomized by our first night in Fairbanks - a flat, sprawling city in the center of the state. We checked into our hotel and headed to Fairbanks second most popular attraction (the county fair was going on, but you've seen one 600 pound squash...) aptly named: Alaskaland. Classified as an amusement park/convention center/museum, Alaskaland fell somewhere between a really good playscape and Quassy Amusement Park for thrills and chills. This was no Six Flags and there was no 6 foot tall mouse. If we were still little kids, and we had traveled 5,000 miles for this result, you can bet we would have put our collective heads together and found a way to get Dad to turn the car around in a hurry.

But we were not kids, and we had traveled halfway around the world, so we were going in. The first stop in Alaskaland was dinner, where we feasted in a faux gold mine camp setting on grilled salmon (before I go on, let me just explain that there are about 14 billion salmon for every person in Alaska, and just as many way to cook it, so you learn to like it quickly) about the size of sirloin steaks, beef ribs that would have made Fred Flintstone jealous, slow-cooked baked beans, corn, a huge salad bar, and homemade strawberry shortcake. This feast was complemented by Alaska's finest brew, Alaska Pale Ale. There have been few meals in my lifetime (and I have had a lot of meals) that compared to this one. As I think of it now, I recall the smell of the barbecue permeating every inch of my clothing, to be remembered fondly for days afterward. I recall the sweet taste of the barbecue ribs, and the flaky tenderness of the salmon. I think it might have even tempted my vegetarian sister into returning to the world of carnivores. Suddenly, Alaskaland didn't seem so bad.

After dinner, the five of us headed into the "park," which consisted of a playground for the kids, a petting zoo, a carousel, and a number of houses and buildings and houses and log cabins taken from the original city, restored and placed strategically to re-create Fairbanks in 1900. There was also the train car in which President McKinley had lived when he made his historic visit to Fairbanks, and a riverboat which used to transport people before the rail was made available to normal folk. We then headed into the central building, which served as Fairbanks' convention center, as well as a museum for local artists. As we perused paintings and sculptures, wood and metal carvings, as well as photographs taken over the last hundred years, we observed these artists' reflections of the essence of what it means to be Alaskan - a cold, often harsh, sometimes primitive life, but full of color and life and the pride of carving out a niche in a place that sees about 80 days of sunlight per year.

The final event of the evening was the "Show." In my lifetime, I have had the misfortune of witnessing many, stupid, mundane, boring stage reviews, magic shows, and animal shows, but no matter how bad we knew they were going to be, it seemed a necessary part of experience, like we would be selling ourselves short if we didn't spend at least a half hour bored to tears. That evening would be no different, as we were treated to silly songs and poor choreography by four seasonal out-of-work actors who, at the very least, looked like they were having a good time. Probably the only thing that made this particular stage review stand out was the alcohol served. Eventually, you found yourself up in the act, laughing at the dumb jokes and songs.

So our first night in Alaska consisted of a great meal, a cheesy amusement park, and a forgettable stage show. You might be ask yourself - how does something like this night be used to describe Alaska? You would think that something more awe-inspiring - the giant mountains, the glaciers carving their way through the earth, the lakes so clear you can see the reflections of the land in them, the river so filled with salmon you think you could just reach down and grab a few dozen, the grizzly bears - would leave much more of an impression on me. But to the Corsettis, Alaskaland was about something else. It was about a state not requiring fast rides and Fantasyland to make people happy, rather choosing to bank on people appreciating the simplicity, the toughness of this land. It was about remembering the sights and sounds and smells of childhood daytrips to tiny amusement parks that seemed like Disneyworld until you saw the real thing. It was about witnessing the art, the life and the pride Alaskans have, and have always had, for their home. Mostly, however, it was about the five of us, on our last vacation, connecting, as friends, and as family, to our surroundings, and to each other. To me, that is what Alaska is about. Dan Corsetti lives and writes in Walligford Connecticut. He's a government employee.

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Dan Corsetti lives and writes in Wallingford, Connecticut. He's a government employee.