When I told people at the beginning of February that I was planning a trip to Alaska at the end of the month, I met with some resistance. Just try telling winter-weary New Yorkers that your vacation destination is Alaska. They don't get it. In fact, they thought I was crazy. And though they assumed my travel plans were inspired by a bout of insanity, they attempted to reason with me nonetheless. Hoping to dissuade me, they spoke of barren, treacherous stretches of snowy flatlands occupied by savage polar bears and abominable snowmen. They warned me of the months in which flesh would never feel the warmth of the sun. They urged caution when speaking of the kind of cold that causes eyelids to freeze shut. They wondered why I might subject myself to this kind of torture.

Well, it was not for no reason that I went. The mid-winter trip to Alaska was inspired by a rare set of special circumstances. What, you might wonder, would inspire a girl to leave a cold place only to arrive in a colder place? No, not skiing ­ this girl is not a skier. Scientific research? No, wrong again ­ I am no ecologist, or any other kind of -ologist who would subject themselves to extreme temperatures for the sake of gene or other sorts of research. Did you guess yet? Well, yes, my boyfriend is out there for two months. So, as you might imagine, I decided to ignore the Popular Opinion Travel Advisory Board and just go. And I don't know about how it is in the rest of Alaska, but when it comes to Juneau, I am happy to report that popular opinion is way off.

Having lived in San Francisco, I have witnessed the phenomenon of misguided popular opinion firsthand. But the popular misconceptions of San Francisco, as hopefully believed by first-time tourists, are positive rather than negative. Virgin San Francisco tourists universally anticipate the city to be a hot, sun-drenched land of tan blondes. This is why all tourists in San Francisco can be spotted wearing their uniform of shorts coupled with big, heavy sweatshirts that say "San Francisco." Because first-time SF visitors never fail to believe that shorts and tee shirts are what one is supposed to wear in California, and yet they always get so cold that they are forced to buy a souvenir sweatshirt. These sweatshirts either tout their supposed escape from Alcatraz or their membership to its swim team. And sometimes, if it's really cold, they'll buy a zip-up fleece to throw over the sweatshirt, for when it drops to approximately 20 below zero at night. They just don't realize that San Francisco is not like the rest of California. The truth is, the city is almost never really hot, and although many people are blonde, few people are tan. No, months of fog and rain do not lend themselves to cultivating a good tan. In fact, I would bet that the tan people in the Bay Area are all recently back from vacations. But I digress. San Francisco is wonderful, and the weather is always better than it is in New York, but I am here to tell you about Alaska.

The Alaska people spoke of must be north of my destination, because Juneau turned out to be a great vacation spot. It was 40 degrees, there were no polar bears, and the green hills rose high into the sky. I didn¹t even need the boots that my mother was hounding me to buy for weeks before I left. Were there glaciers? You bet there were! Did I go to see them? You bet I did! Did I climb on them? Oh, come on! No, I did not. I am not the kind of girl who owns ice-climbing equipment ­ yet. But I was inspired by Alaska. I want to live there someday, for sometime, and be a Last Frontier Pioneer Girl who climbs glaciers and owns her own crampons. The glacier had electric blue streaks! I love electric blue! And there were tons of waterfalls. When was the last time you saw a waterfall in New York, let alone a glacier?

Bald eagles soared above us as we walked along beaches lined with evergreens. A trail though the moist, green woods was lined with trees heavy with moss. The ruins of an old mining town were stood out like a temple in the thick fog. Everywhere we went the scenery was like a picture perfect picture.

A minor flaw with Alaska would have to be the food. I had imagined myself eating Alaskan king crab and salmon for three meals a day, at cozy little waterfront shacks and maybe a few nice restaurants. But in February, nothing is in season, so the eating options leave a little something to be desired. At a 'nice' restaurant in the downtown area, my boyfriend ordered a T-bone steak that would have been more aptly described as "Fatty Fat Clinging to a Bone Raft." Thinking I should be adventurous, I ordered the shark. It tasted like a Filet O Fish sandwich. And now I feel certain that my lifelong fear of being eaten by a shark will probably come true, because everyone knows sharks believe in revenge, and I ate one! Oh, if only the salmon had been in season! I would have had the tasty meals, minus the potential for vengeance. Everyone knows salmon are a peaceful fish.

Oh, Alaska, I recommend you! You, the most northern state! You, the largest state! You, the state that sells donuts the size of loaves of bread! You, the land of electric blue glaciers! You, the Last Frontier! And I didn¹t even get to see your Iditarod, or your Northern Lights, or your polar bears or your killer whales, but I still adore you! Yes, now that I've seen you, Alaska, I only want to see more of you. And that is a sign of true love.