III. Cambridge is different from Anchorage 24 November 1992 It's been almost two months since we left Anchorage, and in some ways I can feel every day of it. On a day-to-day basis here life is very different than home -- and, in many ways, much harder. Things that would be so easy at home (going to the market, seeing the doctor, getting my bike fixed) are all a big hassle here. I don't think it's just that we don't know our way around yet, either. Retail-for good and ill-is simply closer to the American core than it is here. Living in two-room apartment takes a little getting used to, and so does the English climate: very damp, very chilly most of the time since we arrived. I heard somebody from New York complain about the cold here and somebody told him, "But the winter is much colder in New York than in England." "Yeah," he said, "the winter in New York is colder -- outdoors." It seems somehow inappropriate to be the guy from Alaska studying at the Scott Polar Research Institute and still be cold, but the truth is, I am. All those stories about central heating and insulated windows turned out to be true ... Still, like a former Alaskan living in Seattle tells me, "It may rain all the time, but I ain't shovelling it out of my driveway." Barb and I have decided that the Brits must believe a certain amount of suffering is simply good for building character. Thus, you shouldn't ask for better brakes on your bike, or for double-glazed windows, or a 68-degree living room. Stiff upper lip, and all that. In many other ways, Cambridge remains a great feast for us. The first treat is spending so much time together, away from the constant demands of the paper. The intellectual climate is (as you might expect) rich beyond description. In two months we've been to see the Royal Philharmonic, the King's College choir, organ concerts, Tosca, Peer Gynt, a Stephen Hawking lecture and a Smokey Robinson concert. We've made weekend trips into the country (even though I had to take my laptop and work some) to see castles and ancient houses and seashores. Barb spent four days in Paris with the wife of a classmate, and we plan to spend Christmas in Provence. And in the midst of all this, I am doing a little school work, too. As a matter of fact, the academic demands are more intense than I imagined. I don't feel intimidated, but the pace is pretty quick. I have been trying to maintain a high standard and that means that I need to bear down pretty hard. The course is satisfying. It is decidedly interdisciplinary, which I think is a great strength. We are exposed to an extraordinary variety of topics. So far we've done seminars on everything from "Physical Oceanography of the Arctic and Antarctic" to "Economic Development and Subsistence in the north-east of Russia." I really enjoy the variety; I will never know much about polar oceanography, but I now know something about it, at least. By the end of the second term in the spring, we'll have finished with the hard science and moved on through sociology, history and art of polar regions. The final term will be devoted to writing our 20,000-word thesis, which is finished and defended by early July. Based on experience to date, I think we'll be ready. I expect this experience will get easier and more satisfying as we acclimatize (culturally and physically) but one of the lessons we seem to be learning is how much we really value the sense of community we have in Anchorage. It makes for interesting reflection, I'll tell you. Perhaps there is some golden mean to be sought here somewhere; I hope so.