Any too-good-to-be-true claim elicits an automatic cynical response from me. That goes for destinations as well as phone wars. Well-known sights have occasionally been less than overwhelming. Considering that our 49th state is always described using superlatives, I expected at least some least some disappointment. I left for an Alaska cruise unsure how I would react.

I never expected to come home sounding like an advertisement. I found everything there exists on a different scale, a giant oversized version of the ordinary world, from expansive mountains, picturesque coasts, huge icefields and glaciers, and majestic bald eagles, to totems bigger than life, bigger than the animal spirits they represent. Alaska diminishes everyone, from the thousands of miners seeking their fortunes years ago to the thousands of tourists now coming. Everything manmade shrinks. Towns, set in protected harbors surrounded by mountains, are dwarfed.

There are many trips to Alaska. Each year hundreds of visitors return to take another one. History buffs can follow the Goldrush trail listening to stories of the 1890's, or learn about the rich history of the Tlinglits, Haidas, and Kwakiutl. Wildlife enthusiasts, from birdwatchers to marine biologists, claim Alaska. It is easy to spend hours, as I did, watching whales spout and breach, laughing at playful otters, and staring through binoculars at dozens of puffins, cormorants, eagles, or a lone albatross.

While nature is pre-eminent in Alaska, each town along the Inside Passage from the southern tip to Seward has its own character. Wrangell, my first stop, is a microcosm of Alaska. Even in this small town there is a ceremonial house with a Tlingit woman explaining her history, restored totems, a picturesque harbor, and a charming little museum with native and Russian artifacts.

The entrance to Juneau, Alaska's capitol, is unique and spectacular. First the ship sails through the often-misty Gastineau Channel, then to a dock dominated by a wonderful 20-foot picture painted on a wall commemorating Juneau's founding fathers. Buildings are dwarfed by the surrounding mountains, and city size diminished by the surrounding four glaciers, especially the Mendenhall. Riding up the Mt. Roberts tramway to is an appropriate way to experience the enormity of everything surrounding Juneau.

Alaskan cities are made for walking. In Juneau favorite stops are St. Nicholas church, a delightful coffee shop, the Heritage, and galleries full of beautiful native art. Exquisitely carved fossilized ivory was tempting, as were the handknit sweaters, but I eventually decided to buy an eagle and raven print that now hangs above my computer.

Skagway has a reputation bigger than the town. The free 45-minute walking tours given by local Park Rangers tell its colorful history, with stories about con artist "Soapy" Smith, his righteous killer Jeff Reed, saloon ladies, land stakes, and false front buildings. The main (and practically only) street is lined with shops, with Corrigan's probably the most interesting. In the back of the shop is a little museum with exquisite scrimshaw and explanations of native legends.

If there is one image associated with Alaska it is glaciers. Cruising either Glacier Bay or Hubbard Glacier is definitely required. Each is unique -- Glacier Bay park has 12 tidewater glaciers, while the immense size of Hubbard Glacier is overwhelming from the startling blue color of the highly compressed glacial ice, the thunderous sound of ice "calving" and crashing into the water, and the sheer 200-300 foot walls of ice.

At the southern end of the Inside Passage, built on a narrow strip of land along the waterfront, Ketchikan is very much a modern Alaskan city. Fronting the harbor are shops with every conceivable souvenir. Behind that, city streets climb up the slopes of Deer Mountain to give great views. I walked along Creek Street, through the old Red Light district, "where fish and fishermen both go upstream to spawn" and watched salmon struggling up the fish ladder to Ketchikan Creek.

Sitka proudly promotes its cosmopolitan Russian background and its rich native past. Onion-domed St. Michael's is not just a museum full of beautiful icons, but a functioning church. A young orthodox priest gives an explanation of the priceless items and commemorative plaques tell of the many saints from this area. A long walk uphill, past the Russian Bishop's House, leads to the Sitka National Historical Park full of wonderful old totems. My biggest surprise was the Sheldon Jackson Museum. Here was not only the totems, clothing, and other artifacts I had become used to seeing, but drawers and drawers full of beautiful little treasures: ivory combs, jewelry, exquisite dolls, intricate beadwork.

Alaska is an intoxicating place. The distinction between the ordinary and the extraordinary become blurred. Where else can you hear a captain exclaim, as ours did during a Kenai Fjords excursion, "Nothing like a humpback to make your day." We had not just one, but a whole playing team of humpbacks, as well as puffins covering rock walls with their nests, cormorants, and murres lined up in rows on narrow ledges. Even that did not compare to the earlier exhilaration of Icy Strait, the exit from Glacier Bay. For an enchanted hour we were surrounded by a whole pod of whales swimming, spouting and breaching high into the air to show off their huge, beautiful bodies. The humpbacks, in groups of 2, 3, or 4, were so close we could hear them breathing. They seemed to enjoy showing off, silhouetting picture-perfect black fins against the blue sky. If this was not enough, sea otters, sea lions, and eagles handled intermission shows. Finally we had to leave, or risk getting trapped in the ice. Everyone wanted to stay, but our captain is used to that. He has been to Alaska before.