In 1998, I got a notice from the Australian National University that I had been awarded a PhD scholarship. I immediately called the Murrays bus service and booked a return bus trip to Canberra from Wollongong. The bus started early in the morning and continued climbing up the meandering roads of Illawarra escarpment. The hairpin turns of the road reminded me of the roads between Murree and Nathiagali but the experience of the public bus ride and the attitude of the driver were totally different. The driver was very professional and, wherever the road was single, he was constantly using his two-way radio system to announce his arrival and was asking if there was a heavy vehicle nearby whenever the other side of the road was invisible because of a sharp or steep turn. The bus driver knew exactly how many passengers had booked a pickup on the different towns on highway and the timing and the duration of the stops was precise. The bus seats were spacious and there was toilet in the rear. The interesting thing was that I had not opted for any luxury bus service. This was the lowest standard for the public transport permitted by the law. When I discussed the quality of the bus with a fellow passenger, he complained that the toilet was not accessible for anyone using a wheelchair.

Soon, we arrived in Robertson, the town famous for its potatoes and the shooting site of the film Babe. One passenger joked with another: "the Hollywood people spray-painted these lush green fields to make them look even greener." Outside the bus window on the right side of the road was the sculpture of a big potato for the less knowledgeable tourists like me. On the left side were shops selling the country produce and homemade jams, marmalades and jellies. And there was no sign of the usual degradation caused by tourism and consumerism. Either people were conscious about protecting the environment or the area was off the beaten track. The bus started rolling again through the lush foliage of the National Park and arrived at Moss Vale, a historical town established in the 1880s with many buildings from the Victorian era, preserved or restored in their original style.

After Moss Vale, the bus joined the Hume Highway which connects Sydney with Melbourne. The landscape on both sides was planes with the low hills in the background. The planes on the left showed occasional small lakes or and on the right glimpses of what Australians call ‘the Great Outback.’ The landscape and the road became more intriguing once the bus left the Hume Highway and started on the smooth 81 kilometres stretch of the Federal Highway to Canberra. The hills surrounding the planes made a semi-circular bowl like structure which functioned as a trap for moisture in the air. After the rains, the planes trap water into many temporary lakes.

Many of my fellow students at the University of Wollongong had told me Canberra was a boring place to spend four years. But for me it did not matter because Canberra had some of the best libraries. The National Library of Australia was and, still is, the copyright library. It meant all Australian publishers had to submit at least one copy of all their journals and books to register their rights. The Australian National University’s library was also famous for its 2 million volumes. If all the books failed to entertain me, the city was also famous for Lake Burley Griffin, one of the largest artificial lakes in the world. The National Art Gallery and many other federal institutions were there.

When the bus arrived in the city, the first feeling was similar to arriving in Islamabad, another purpose-built and spaciously designed capital city like Canberra. There was plenty of open space between the office buildings of the Central Business District and the town centre had fewer people walking around. The bus terminal was at a walking distance from the university, which sprawled from the centre of the city to the edge of the lake behind it without any boundary walls or gates. I arrived in the administration building and signed a form, which legally bound me with the university for the next four years.

I spent four years in Canberra, a city considered boring by many Australians. I did not feel any boredom because the city had many things to see and do, including an almost daily walk along the shore of the lake with other students who lived on campus. The trees on the lakeshore changed colours with every season and on weekends the blue water surface was dotted by sailing boats and tourist cruises. The Scrivener Dam which controlled the water flow into the lake was built to such a rigorous standard that it was famous for its potential to withstand a once-in-a-5000-years flood event.

The New Graduate House, accommodation for research students, provided by the university was excellent: the independent single bedrooms apartments were almost sound-proof and looked out on the lawns on both sides. In Junes, Canberra became really cold because the sun was in the Northern hemisphere. The temperatures fell below zero and in the mornings the frost covered everything. The white landscape without the snow was something to cherish from the cozy rooms provided by the university.

The city had many shops selling second-hand books and when I was leaving after four years I had 120 kilograms of books with me which had to be mailed to Pakistan through the surface mail route. All this was possible because Australia had the IPRS (International Postgraduate Research Scholarship) program a generous educational grants program for international students.

I often accuse myself of spending too much time on the internet to plan a trip. The surprise element is killed, I tell myself. I know the weather, sights to see, festivals if any, hotels to stay in and restaurants to eat at — exactly what to expect before taking off. Itinerary is well chalked-out and the place is distinctly pictured in the mind — courtesy innumerable travel web sites.

I surf, unable to resist information on bargains, especially the last minute ones, tour operators, the best of them and many other travel tips. I view pictures, sometimes three-dimensional too. But deep down, and rather gladly, I’m convinced internet is handicapped: It’ll never give me the real ‘feel’ of the place. And so I take off.

Early July 2008, we, a group of eight including adults and children, landed in Anchorage, Alaska, after midnight. The sunlight was dim; couldn’t tell if it was dawn or dusk. I realised instantly, "no!, internet cannot do justice to this land of the midnight sun. You have to be there to feel it."

During our six-day stay in Alaska we did not experience complete darkness. The moon and the stars were on a summer vacation, as is commonly said. Where summer solstice gave us more time to explore the outdoors; we at the same time lost its track. It got more tiring too. The two golfers in our group did not miss the rare opportunity to tee off at midnight in the northern-most city of Fairbanks. What they got in return was some thrill and a certificate to prove their deed. Such pleasures the non-golfers can hardly relate to!

Like most first-timers visiting Alaska, we too felt compelled to see all of it in one go. But following Frommer’s advice — "trying to go everywhere is a fool’s errand" — we decided to define our interests. So with only six days reserved for this state we tried to make the most — landing in Anchorage, opting to cruise the Kenai Peninsula, moving north to Denali and further up to Fairbanks for an air ride over the Arctic Circle aboard a twin engine plane. The infamous Inside Passage and capital city of Januea was saved for another trip in future.

Our selected mode of transport for most part of the visit was an eight-seater van. The idea of being immersed in nature tempts thousands of tourists to visit Alaska every year. The country’s national parks and the unspoiled beauty is of course the biggest draw. But that’s not the focus of this article. Here, I’m going to dwell on other things. Not facts and figures the travel websites are littered with; rather what made the trip so special. What I remember of it.

My very first recollection of Alaska is: The land’s vastness, wilderness and pristine beauty. "It’s awesome" (it must be said in the true American style — with a twist of the tongue, sparkle in the eyes and punctuated with the essential ahs! and ohhs!). Its lush green is incepted by the white of the glaciers that on a clear day leave a mirror image in the waters of Alaska. For instance, the magnificent Chugach Mountains along the Seward Highway. The green pinnacles of the mountain appeared smeared by the white of the glacier and together forming a reflection in the clear pristine waters of Cook Inlet.

Alaska is not like the rest of the US — it seemed I was in a different country. Just about 670,000 people live in this state that’s larger than Texas, California and Montana combined. Alaska is the least densely populated state, at 1.1 people per square mile. Tgat is precisely the reason one can drive on for miles without crossing a village or a town. The ones that do come across after a daunting wait are not cluttered with food chains and shopping malls that America has begun to be deeply associated with. That’s what makes it so interesting and shockingly beautiful — and rightly the most unspoiled place on earth. In contrast, however, are the major Alaskan cities — Anchorage, Fairbanks, Wasilla etc. They’re just about the same as any American city, stretches of malls, petrol stations and supermarkets.

Denali National Park is another Alaskan treat. Much for its size (six million acres of absolute wilderness) for the mighty Mount McKinley (the highest mountain peak in North America) even for the rich tundra vegetation that feeds a variety of wildlife; grizzly bears, caribou, moose etc — more importantly for how the Alaskans are determined to preserve their parkland. Entry of private vehicles inside the park is prohibited (unless a special permit is acquired by the vehicle owner). Only mode of transport available to keen explorers is the shuttle bus — not luxury coaches rather very basic school buses. (Interestingly most of the buses traversing the narrow road inside Denali are driven by females, at least in the last summer season). Adventurers are advised to carry their own food as supermarkets are conspicuously missing and restaurants are attached to the few and sparse lodging facilities available inside the park. The entire focus is on leave the area as you found it.

Perhaps the highlight of the six-day visit was the flight across the Arctic Circle. The flight in the tiny plane that seats eight plus the pilot is not comfortable. But the experience is overwhelming. (Before boarding one is required to inform the air tour company how much each person weighs). The 45-minute long flight land at Coldfoot; after soaring over miles and miles of tundra region; over hundreds of lakes interconnected with streams, producing a natural landscape better than an immaculately designed golf course.

Alaska, the last frontier of US, is a long long way away from the world. Indeed the entire state cannot be explored in one trip — I’ll have to return, hopefully soon! Better still with the same group of eight.