We millions with our phones held high

 The “bucket list” is yet another dubious gift from baby boomers to younger generations. It’s this idea that one is finally old enough to consider the possibility of death, and thus had better experience (like, pronto) all those destinations that web sites and periodicals and influencers say must be experienced as proof of a full and vibrant life. The phrase entered the lexicon via a dumb movie of the same name in 2007 – significantly, the same year the iPhone came on the scene.

  Now we all have our bucket lists. It’s why so many dopes still try to run with the bulls at Pamplona. It’s why the locals in Venice and Barcelona and Machu Picchu have come to despise tourists. I too hate the phrase and the concept, but I’m as prone to its pull as any other old bastard.

 Thus, our recent trip to Alaska. See, I’ve occasionally told people that I’ve been to every state in the Union except Alaska and Maine. Now I’ve crossed another one off the list. Was that the sole reason for the trip? I guess it was. Next year, on to Maine.

Hard to explain why. We live in an age of profligate tourism, where the object is not so much to see as to be seen, via social media. I’m aware that nobody cares if I fulfill the dubious goal of being on the ground (airports don’t count) in all 50 of these United States. It won’t be in the lead of my obituary. As achievements go, it’s about as impressive as earning a free coffee after 10 visits to Starbucks.

Yet here I sit with my Talkeetna t-shirt and so-so pics of Denali. Never wrote a best-seller or saved a life, but I’ve damned sure been to Alaska.

I’ve written before about visiting the Louvre, wandering the quiet corridors and then coming upon an unruly mob bristling with cell phones and selfie sticks. I thought maybe it was two girls fighting. What else could attract such interest? But no: they were all jostling for a shot of the Mona Lisa, with themselves in the foreground. The Mona Lisa is maybe the least impressive artwork in the Louvre, but it was one they all recognized and knew their followers would too. 

My wife tells about when she lived in Paris as a young woman. One day she decided to climb to the top of Notre Dame and did so. No lines, no reservations needed; back then it was something you could do on a whim. She has no pictures from that day, but maybe the memory is better by itself. The thing is, she was alone in a foreign country, discovering it as she went. That was before bucket-list tourism, with its packed buses and giant cruise ships, ruined everything.

Back to Alaska. No cruise for us. We flew to Anchorage and rented a car. We drove a thousand miles and hiked 20 or so. We went deep into Denali. We took a boat to see some shrinking glaciers. It was near the close of the tourist season and there were no crowds at all.

I live in scenic Montana, but it kind of pales in comparison to Alaska. Instead of just one landmark like Mount Rainier or Mount Shasta, Alaska has dozens of them, arrayed along both sides of the open highway for a hundred miles. Seen in autumn sunlight, which is rare, they inspire genuine awe. Maybe we went there for the wrong reason, but I’m very glad we did.


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