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ilaiIt was 9am this morning. The sun had just barely begun to rise. Off in the distance rested mountains of snow and ice... along with a couple of Korean Air jets, a hanger just large enough to fit them, and a brightly-lit terminal building.
Who would have thought of Anchorage as a hub full of Asians and a massive duty-free shop? Then again, it does seem to be a popular refueling station for trans-Pacific flights whose route along a Great Circle takes them deep into Alaska.
On Thursday, my father drove my mother and me to Bangkio to get my vision checked and to replace the lenses in my glasses. It turned out that Tekbing Watches and Glasses also sold lottery tickets and cheap name labels, so my mom got 500 stickers made for her on the spot. Upon my mentioning a need for clip-on sunglasses, the shopkeeper picked up a pair from a rack behind the counter and proudly showed it to us--the smoked lenses were cleverly held in place by a permanent magnet on the frame, right over the bridge of the nose. So now I have a spare pair of glasses, should I somehow get into an unprovoked fistfight while in a drunken stupor... er, yeah.
A cultural experience was in order on Friday, for my mom and I rode the train to Engko to the Ceramics Museum. She had been there a million times, so I took the audio tour and scrutinized every piece of pottery while she sat impatiently in front of the TV screens interspersed throughout the exhibit. The museum had all the different methods and tools for creating ceramics on display, from liquid clay to pottery wheels. A walk-in kiln dominated the firing exhibit, and an entire room as dedicated to the history of ceramics, with a few mounted but obviously non-functional toilet bowls.
Since the museum was aptly located in the ceramics district of Engko, Mom and I took a stroll there and found a myriad of cheap tableware. We decided not to buy the USD$500 vases; it was enough to just admire their delicate glazing and artwork. Nor did we buy the giant ocarina duck with a mouthpiece in its tail. But I did end up getting some spoons and a plate, and a wooden ladle that should be much more resistant to bending, should I need to scoop out chicken-soup-turned-into-rice-porridge again (but that's a story for another time).
Who would have thought of Anchorage as a hub full of Asians and a massive duty-free shop? Then again, it does seem to be a popular refueling station for trans-Pacific flights whose route along a Great Circle takes them deep into Alaska.
On Thursday, my father drove my mother and me to Bangkio to get my vision checked and to replace the lenses in my glasses. It turned out that Tekbing Watches and Glasses also sold lottery tickets and cheap name labels, so my mom got 500 stickers made for her on the spot. Upon my mentioning a need for clip-on sunglasses, the shopkeeper picked up a pair from a rack behind the counter and proudly showed it to us--the smoked lenses were cleverly held in place by a permanent magnet on the frame, right over the bridge of the nose. So now I have a spare pair of glasses, should I somehow get into an unprovoked fistfight while in a drunken stupor... er, yeah.
A cultural experience was in order on Friday, for my mom and I rode the train to Engko to the Ceramics Museum. She had been there a million times, so I took the audio tour and scrutinized every piece of pottery while she sat impatiently in front of the TV screens interspersed throughout the exhibit. The museum had all the different methods and tools for creating ceramics on display, from liquid clay to pottery wheels. A walk-in kiln dominated the firing exhibit, and an entire room as dedicated to the history of ceramics, with a few mounted but obviously non-functional toilet bowls.
Since the museum was aptly located in the ceramics district of Engko, Mom and I took a stroll there and found a myriad of cheap tableware. We decided not to buy the USD$500 vases; it was enough to just admire their delicate glazing and artwork. Nor did we buy the giant ocarina duck with a mouthpiece in its tail. But I did end up getting some spoons and a plate, and a wooden ladle that should be much more resistant to bending, should I need to scoop out chicken-soup-turned-into-rice-porridge again (but that's a story for another time).
