We may have finally pushed these kids too far. In six and a half summer trips — 134 days of traveling — we’ve all stayed relatively healthy, save for a few of Clare’s carsick episodes.
Last night our streak came to an end, as Natalie was up all night with an upset stomach. She slept all day in the back of the car, and when we arrived at our cabin in Homer, she climbed straight into bed.
We left Annika’s Guesthouse this morning and hit the Seward Highway heading north, until we found the Sterling Highway and turned west. Basically, we made a loop around the Kenai Peninsula, from Seward to Homer, on the southwest side.
After Soldotna, a largish town choked with traffic and strip malls, the road gets wide and flat, and for a bit, I thought I was cruising a northern Minnesota highway — broad ditches brimming with wildflowers, the occasional B&B, a souvenir stand, an auto repair shop. But then, through the trees, I caught glimpses of Cook Inlet, and beyond that, the jagged, snowcapped peaks of the Aleutian Range, and I remembered that — wow! — I am in Alaska.
We pulled into Homer, and I was awed by the setting. Homer itself, situated on the north side of Kachemak Bay, is relatively flat and pretty spread out. But from just about any vantage point in town, you can look up and see these godsmackingly stunning mountains soaring from the other side of the bay, with glaciers spilling out of them.
Our cabin overlooks Kachemak Bay, and so we get this view from just about any window.
Our “cabin,” by the way, is actually an old shrimp boat that had been decommissioned, disassembled and then rebuilt on land. It’s got three levels, three decks, a full galley, two bedrooms and three bathrooms. It was recommended to me by a friend in Lafayette who stayed here with her family in 2012. So, several months ago, when I started making Alaska reservations, I saw that this place was available, and I snatched it right up; I didn’t bother researching any other accommodations.
But now I kind of wish I had. Charlie and Clare are over the moon to be staying on a boat, and they are having a dizzyingly good time racing up and down between the levels and “piloting” the ship from the bridge. But for anyone over 5-feet tall and 15 years of age, the space is very wonky. The floors are curved to fit the shape of the hull, so nothing is level, and nothing is plumb. Keith and I are lurching around trying to find our footing. I’ve already hit my head a few times — on the cabinets, on the ceiling, on the bathroom door. I keep imagining what would happen to a marble if I dropped it inside the front door; it would whirl and roil on a mad spin through the entire boat before finally settling at the lowest point, two levels below.
(And I’m not even mentioning the terribly strong odor of varnish that permeates the cabin, or the thin curtains that barely cover the weirdly shaped windows.)
On the plus side: We do have our own kitchen, and for the first time in long stretch, we enjoyed a home-cooked meal on the deck!
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