• Having lived in Alaska for over 35 years, I've seen many visitors make the same mistakes.
• Many tourists underestimate Alaska's size and think the state is more drivable than it actually is.
• A lot of visitors don't realize that some attractions and activities are seasonal.

As someone who's lived in Alaska for over 35 years, I see why tourists love traveling here. From the beautiful national parks to opportunities to see the northern lights, the state has something for everyone.

However, as a local, I often see tourists make the same mistakes — like expecting to drive everywhere or forgetting that some activities are seasonal.

These are the six most common mistakes I've seen tourists make when visiting my home state.

Thinking Alaska is small and drivable

I'm always surprised by how many visitors think Alaska is small. In reality, Alaska is so big that if you split it into two states, each half would be bigger than Texas. You can easily spend hours driving from one large community to the next.

However, Alaska has a shockingly limited road network for such a huge state. If we say a community is "off the road system," it means you can't drive there — instead, you'll have to catch a plane or a boat.

Trying to do too much in one trip

People traveling to a new location often feel pressure to visit as many destinations as possible. But if you never take a minute to enjoy just being here, you're missing out on a big chunk of the Alaska experience.

Plus, having a little flex time in your schedule helps accommodate when excessive wind, rain, or rough seas keep you from doing planned activities. I recommend giving yourself two or three days in a community before moving on.

Not learning the local vocabulary

In Alaska, we have a lot of local lingo that can be helpful to know. For example, if someone says they're going outside, they're not just leaving the building — they're leaving the state.

To us, outside means "Outside" with a capital "O," which is anywhere that's not Alaska.

Another thing to remember is that we don't typically use road numbers for our highways (no matter what your GPS tries to tell you). Instead, we use the names of highways.

Forgetting that some attractions and activities are seasonal

Some of the biggest attractions in Alaska are available for only a few months of the year.

Two big ones to keep in mind are bear-viewing season, which typically peaks with the salmon runs in July and August, and aurora-viewing season, which runs from roughly late August to late April.

Missing out on Alaska Native culture

The umbrella term for Alaska's Indigenous people is Alaska Native. Most towns have at least one cultural center where visitors can learn about Alaska Natives in that region.

These facilities are part visitor center and part museum, and they offer a celebration of Native traditions and culture. I always recommend tourists take the time to explore these centers.

Expecting the wildlife — or the weather — to be predictable

Alaska tour guides often field sincere questions like "When are the moose scheduled to show up?" That makes sense in a controlled environment like a zoo, but Alaska's wildlife is, well, wild — so they come and go whenever they like.

Our weather does pretty much the same thing, so if you're determined to hide inside until the rain and wind stop and the sun comes out, you'll miss out on a lot.

Dressing in layers can help visitors stay comfortable, no matter what the weather is doing. I recommend lighter layers in the summer and heavier layers in winter, but a weatherproof outer layer is always a must.

This story was originally published on July 26, 2024 and most recently updated on October 26, 2026.

• Chefs and bakers shared tips for how to make store-bought pies look homemade and taste even better. 
• Melting a bit of butter or sprinkling salt on top of a pie can help balance out its sweetness. 
• Decorate your pie with a dusting of powdered sugar, frosted lettering, or a drizzle of caramel. 

Not everyone has time to make a delicious pie from scratch.

Fortunately, some store-bought versions can be pretty delicious — and pass for homemade if you know a few handy tricks.

So, Business Insider spoke with chefs, bakers, and other culinary professionals about their favorite ways to elevate premade pies.

Here are a few of their best tips that you may want to write down before your next neighborhood potluck or holiday dinner.

Create a herbed caramel sauce to add a gourmet touch to a store-bought pie.

Professional baker and winner of TLC's "Cake Boss: Next Great Baker" Dana Herbert, told Business Insider that he recommends adding an herbed caramel sauce to ready-made pies.

"Add some cinnamon, rosemary, thyme, ginger, or cardamom to warm caramel sauce and serve it with the pie," Herbert said. "Even traditionally savory herbs can complement sweet desserts." 

If you're not sure whether a particular herb would pair well with your pie, Herbert recommended closing your eyes and smelling the herb or spice — if you can detect something sweet in the scent, it's probably OK to use.

Use salt to balance the sweetness of certain pie varieties.

Carlo Lamagna, chef and owner of Magna PDX, said that a dose of salt can help tone down the sweetness in syrupy pies. 

"Salt helps accentuate flavors and balances out often overly sweet items," Lamagna said. 

If you don't want to sprinkle pure salt on your dessert, you can opt for crushed salted nuts, like peanuts or cashews, which will still do the trick and add extra texture.

Remove your store-bought pie from its packaging to make it look homemade.

Alexandra Lourdes, co-owner of Saint Honoré Doughnuts and Beignets, told BI that the easiest way to elevate a store-bought pie is to simply remove it from its original packaging. 

"Make sure you take it out of the box it came in," Lourdes said. "If you place it in a new box, add a ribbon, or arrange it on a beautiful cake stand, no one will ever know it's not homemade."

Top cherry or blueberry pies with a dollop of lemon curd.

Lemon can elevate a premade pie, making its flavors feel more complex.

"Make a super tangy lemon curd with lemon juice and plenty of zest," Herbert said. "The sourness will cut through some of the excessive sweetness found in store-bought blueberry and cherry pies." 

If you don't have time to make your own lemon curd, you can buy it from the grocery store. Just stir in a bit of fresh lemon juice to make it taste more homemade.

Serve your pie with a homemade whipped cream.

Chef and sommelier Melissa Smith told BI that serving a premade pie with fresh whipped cream is a great way to make the dessert taste and look gourmet.

All you need to make it is a whisk, heavy cream, and powdered sugar. Consider using a piping bag to add the whipped cream to your pie for a more elegant look. 

Smith said doing so will make your pie look "modern and classy, like something straight out of a magazine."

For bonus points, she recommended garnishing the piped cream with a few flakes of edible gold or a smattering of citrus zest.

A light dusting of powdered sugar is a fast way to dress up your pie.

Instead of making your own fresh whipped cream, you could also just grab a spoonful of powdered sugar. 

"A simple dusting of powdered sugar can really make your pie look more appetizing than if you simply served it bare and straight out of the container," Smith said. 

For a flawless presentation, use a sieve to ensure an even coating of sugar, and a stencil if you want to use it to create clean, clear designs.

Try to add sugar right before serving so it doesn't dissolve.

Melt butter on top of a pie for extra richness.

Kevin Cabrera, corporate executive chef at The Save Mart Companies, told BI that melting a bit of butter on top of a ready-made pie can help give it a homemade richness.  

"Halfway through warming your pie, directly insert thin slices of butter into the venting slits of the pie," Cabrera said. "This will give it a nice, moist flavor."

Adding too much butter might oversaturate the pie and lead to a soggy crust, so start with a tablespoon or two, and add more if necessary.

Melt cheddar cheese onto the crust of your apple pie.

If you feel like taking some culinary risks, Lamagna suggested mixing up a classic store-bought apple pie by adding some sliced or shredded cheese.

"I grew up in the Midwest, so we would always melt a slice of cheddar on the top of apple pies," Lamagna said. "Don't be afraid to experiment with unconventional pairings."

Moderation is key to pulling off cheesy apple pie — don't layer on too much cheese, or you'll end up with an oily, salty crust.

Add homemade lettering on top for a personal touch.

Just because your pie came straight from the grocery store doesn't mean it needs to look generic. 

"I'd add homemade lettering to the pie to make it your own," Lourdes said. "You can also add gold flakes or edible food glitter to make a statement." 

Add your chosen phrase with frosting, or make chocolate letters at home using silicone molds.

Sprinkle bacon bits on top of your pie for a savory kick.

If you love marrying salty and sweet, adding a light dusting of bacon pieces to your pie might be a mouthwatering move. 

"The perfect way to improve an apple or peach pie is to grab your favorite bacon, cook it up, and toss it on the pie," Herbert told BI. 

For a more Southern-inspired dessert, Herbert suggested using bourbon-flavored bacon on a pecan pie. 

Top pie slices with ice cream for a pleasing temperature mix.

If you're serving a pie that's meant to be enjoyed warm, adding a scoop of high-quality ice cream can enhance the taste.

"Hot and cold foods are a dynamic pair," Cabrera said. "After warming it up, serve the pie with a generous scoop of slow-churned ice cream for a delectable dessert." 

Cabrera said that you can't go wrong with vanilla ice cream, but you can also pick a rich chocolate or a fruity sorbet.

Add fresh fruit to cream pies for a vibrant touch.

Liven up drab cream pies by topping them with chopped fresh fruit for added texture and color. 

"Find a fruit that would complement the type of cream pie you purchased," Lamagna said. "Cherries tend to go well with chocolate cream, and coconut works with banana cream."

Other tasty combos include peaches with vanilla cream, raspberries with lime cream, and bananas with peanut-butter cream.

This story was originally published on November 3, 2020, and most recently updated on October 26, 2026.

• Kate McNeil opened All the Tropes, a romance bookstore, six weeks after quitting her job.
• Despite concerns about market saturation, All the Tropes thrives as a niche community destination.
• Passion, perseverance, and local support helped McNeil launch her business.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Kate McNeil, a 41-year-old small-business owner based in Atlanta. It's been edited for length and clarity.

The idea to open a romance bookstore started during COVID.

I joined an online group of fellow romantasy readers, looking to connect with other people who also enjoyed my favorite form of escapism. That group had over 2,000 members, and it was difficult to feel a sense of community. Eventually, it broke off into local chapters.

After COVID, I didn't know of any dedicated space for these same readers to meet in Atlanta. That's how I started the journey to opening the first romance bookstore in my neighborhood. In the two years since I opened, more romance bookstores have opened up, including one less than two miles away.

I thought I'd retire from my teaching job

When I launched All the Tropes bookstore, I was working a job I thought I'd retire from. I taught theater at Decatur High School for six years. My students always came first. I didn't want those kids to feel like I wasn't present or that they didn't have my undivided attention, so the bookstore was a back-burner idea for a few years.

I'd get home from rehearsal at 11 p.m., conduct business research until 2 a.m., then get up at 6 a.m. and go to work the next day and teach.

I took my time to gain a full understanding of the market, but there were still challenges

I learned about dealing with publishing companies and book distributors, connected with local artists to showcase their work, and reached out to local authors. One of the biggest challenges was finding a place for the store.

I knew that I wanted to stay on the east side of Atlanta because I lived in Kirkwood and felt very connected to the community.

In 2024, I found a location a four-minute walk from my home, and I knew it was time to make my idea a reality. In May of that year, I quit my teaching job and prepared to open the bookstore by the end of summer on Romance Bookstore Day.

I had 6 weeks to get the store ready for opening day

I received the keys to the bookstore six weeks before the day I planned to open. The timeline I had for opening day came with a lot of risks. I had cashed in my retirement fund, quit my job, and had a large preorder of "Onyx Storm" before there were bookshelves in the store.

There were many times my friends and I didn't leave the store until 4 a.m. A local artist painted the shop; I printed my merchandise at a local shop in Kirkwood; and I created the fabric wall. There were many nights I had doubts that All the Tropes would come to fruition.

I was a mom with two young kids opening a niche business that, to my knowledge, would be the first in the state, but I was prepared. I had my accounts with publishers, and my branding was complete. Perseverance, my husband, my village of friends, and an invested community got me to opening day.

All the Tropes opened August 17, 2024, on Romance Bookstore Day. In the span of a few months, I went from a passionate high school teacher to the owner and operator of a romance bookstore.

An increase in niche romance bookstores in the city concerns me

Even in a city like Atlanta with several thriving independent bookstores, I wonder about the percentage of residents who read for fun and, more specifically, read romance. While becoming a general indie bookstore would allow me to sell so many other things, I still believe All the Tropes can continue to thrive in a niche market, despite oversaturation.

Unlike a large book retailer, All the Tropes is a destination spot people can come from out of town to visit. Our social presence and promotion of local writers and artists also offer something unique to readers.

All the Tropes could pivot to general fiction, but so far, more stores opening has not impacted store traffic or sales.

4 Things helped me turn my business idea into a reality

All the Tropes continues to thrive because of my original vision of creating a community space for romance book lovers to connect. We now have eight active book clubs and continue to see consistent revenue.

Passion, trusting my gut, therapy, and a supportive group of friends are the reason I was able to turn an idea I brainstormed late at night into a successful niche business ready to grow.

We are now ready for a larger space and to expand our three-person team.

Do you have a unique small business story to share? Email the editor, Manseen Logan, at mlogan@businessinsider.com.

• Nikita Chernetskii moved to New York City from rural Moldova when he was 18.
• He joined the Army and worked as a combat medic, which gave him a sense of purpose.
• He was worried about affording med school and starting a family.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Nikita Chernetskii, a medical school student at New York University's Grossman School of Medicine. It has been edited for length and clarity.

I've wanted to be a doctor since I was a little boy. In Moldova, where I was born and raised, you apply to medical school right after finishing high school. As I was applying for medical schools, my parents won the green card lottery, giving our family the chance to come to the US.

Suddenly, I had a huge choice in front of me. Do I take the chance to go to the US, or keep pursuing my dream? I'd always been raised on the idea that the American dream was alive and well. I was also young and naive: I thought I could just apply to medical school once I got there.

I'll never forget landing at JFK in August with my parents and sister, who was in fourth grade at the time. I'd never seen a building taller than nine stories, and suddenly I was looking at the Manhattan skyline. It was surreal. I can still remember the smell as we left the airport, of hot asphalt and summer in the city.

I felt like I was in limbo, seeing my friends chase their dreams

Living in the US was a shock, to put it mildly. New York was so, so different from the rural area of Moldova where we'd lived. I'd gone to an English-speaking high school, but it was set up according to old Soviet standards. Once I was in the US, I realized that I'd been taught English for people who would never speak English: my grammar was excellent, but my vocabulary was very limited.

I knew life wouldn't wait for my dreams. My dad and I started working as porters, making about $500 a week. Part of the job was taking out the trash to the dumpster, but I was pretty happy doing that. The pay was more than I would ever make in Moldova.

I realized that going to med school in the US wasn't realistic. I didn't have the money and didn't understand how college worked here. That sent me into a period of limbo. I would work and save money just to go visit friends in Moldova. I saw them moving toward their goals, while my life stayed the same. Psychologically, it wasn't the greatest time for me.

Joining the military reaffirmed my desire to be a paramedic

On one of those trips home, a friend suggested I join the military. Within a month, I was marching in basic training. My poor English meant I couldn't always understand the directions. I just ran where the other recruits ran, and hoped it was right.

I scored well enough on my aptitude test to become a medic. The work was so fulfilling to me, and helped me cope with the rushed decision to join the military in what was still a foreign country to me.

I was deployed in Germany when the pandemic hit. I'd work 24-hour shifts, sleep for four hours, and get back to it. That's when others started telling me I should become a doctor. I realized that desire was still burning inside me, and I wouldn't be able to sleep well if I didn't at least try.

I leaned on every connection I had to help get into med school

I used the GI bill to pay for college. While I was there, I was accepted into the New York University internship program that pairs aspiring doctors with faculty. I worked with a trauma surgeon at Bellevue Hospital and knew I wanted to spend my life doing what he did.

When it came time for me to apply to medical schools, I knew I needed to be at NYU. I shook all the trees I could. I had no shame and asked anyone for help. The whole process was so stressful that it was almost a blur to me.

The idea of taking on half a million dollars in debt for medical school was frightening. I think I would have done it, but it would have meant delaying other goals, like having children with my wife.

This year, when I was accepted to NYU's Grossman School of Medicine's three-year, tuition-free medical program, it was surreal. When I dreamed of practicing medicine as a boy, I thought I'd be making $300 a month doing old Soviet techniques. Now, I'm learning cutting-edge science that feels like it's plucked from a sci-fi movie. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life, and I'm well on my way to my American dream.

• I thought being a good mother meant being fair and treating all of my kids the same way.
• But each of my six kids has different personalities and abilities and needs their own set of rules.
• It can be hard for my kids at times, but I am no longer compelled to make everything even.

For years, I thought being a good mother meant being a fair mother. And being fair, I assumed, meant treating all of my children exactly the same.

With six kids, this seemed especially important. I didn't want anyone keeping score — or, more accurately, I didn't want to give them anything to keep score about. If one child had a certain bedtime at 9:00 p.m., surely the next one should, too. Chores should be divided equally. Consequences should be consistent. Privileges should come at the same ages.

Equal meant fair. Except it didn't.

My thinking evolved

The longer I parented, the harder it became to ignore what was right in front of me: I wasn't raising six versions of the same child. I was raising six completely different people.

One of my children thrives when given independence. Give them a responsibility and some space, and they'll usually rise to the occasion. Another needs more structure, more reminders, and more check-ins. That doesn't make one child more responsible or the other less capable. They simply need different things from me.

The same is true of privileges. I used to think that if one child earned a later curfew at a certain age, every child should automatically receive the same privilege when they reached that age. Now I understand that age isn't the only factor. Trust is built through choices. A child who has consistently demonstrated responsibility may be ready for freedom that a sibling at the same age isn't ready for yet.

Sometimes, I feel guilty

My decisions can be hard to explain when the inevitable "But they got to!" comes flying across the room. And sometimes, if I'm being truthful, the difference has nothing to do with the children at all. My youngest gets more bedtime stories than my oldest did.

That realization could easily become another entry on the endless list of things mothers feel guilty about. But my oldest didn't have the same mother my youngest has. Back then, I was younger, less experienced, and more concerned with getting everything right. I rushed through routines because there was always something else that needed to be done.

Six children later, I understand how quickly those routines disappear. I linger a little longer now.

That doesn't mean I loved my older children less. It means motherhood has changed me. The mother raising my youngest has learned things the mother raising my oldest hadn't learned yet.

I know this is the right way for me to parent

For a while, parenting my children differently felt like admitting I was inconsistent. Now I see it as evidence that I'm paying attention. My 8-year-old, who has always been an early riser, requires more sleep than some of his siblings, so he is the first to go to bed, while his younger siblings stay up a little later. It is unusual from the outside looking in, but it is what best meets his needs.

Fairness doesn't always mean equal chores, identical consequences, or the same privileges at the same ages. Sometimes fairness means giving more guidance to the child who needs it and more independence to the one who is ready for it. It means recognizing that one child may need encouragement while another needs accountability.

My children still notice the differences, of course. They are children. Keeping track of who got what seems practically written into the sibling job description. But I no longer feel compelled to make everything even.

My job isn't to make sure all six of my children receive exactly the same childhood; It's to know each of them well enough to give them the childhood they need. After years of trying so hard to be equal, I've finally realized that might be the fairest thing I can do. I won't always get it right. I'm still learning these six very different people as they grow and change—and trying to grow and change with them. Maybe good parenting was never about getting everything exactly right. Maybe it's simply about paying attention, loving them well, and doing the best I can with the mother I am today.

• Matthew Kelson, now 43, grew up in Michigan and opened his first cinema in his 20s.
• He went on to work for Netflix in Los Angeles before getting transferred to Japan in 2020.
• After leaving his job at Netflix in 2024, he renovated a kindergarten and founded a cinema in Japan.

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Matthew Kelson, now 43, who was transferred by Netflix from Los Angeles to Tokyo and is now the founder of CineYama, an independent cinema in Uenohara, Yamanashi Prefecture, Japan. His words have been edited for length and clarity.

Japan isn't new to me. In middle school, I spent two weeks living with a host family as part of an exchange program. I returned a couple of times as an adult.

I was working at Netflix in Los Angeles when the company relocated me to Japan in 2020. I was based in Tokyo for two years before moving to Uenohara, a small town about an hour and a half by train from Tokyo. I still spent time in the capital for occasional meetings and traveled extensively across Asia for screenings. Otherwise, I worked remotely from home. After a company restructuring, I left Netflix in 2024.

I wanted to stay in Japan. My daughter was six months old when my wife and I moved, and my son was born three years later. We thought it was a great place for them to grow up. I started thinking about how I could utilize my expertise in cinema and give back to the community.

While scouting for locations, I came across an abandoned kindergarten. In 2024, I started plans to turn the old school into a cinema. And in December, I got my permanent residency in Japan through the highly skilled professional fast-track program. A year later, I formed my company and spent another year renovating before opening a cinema in March.

Building my career in film

I spent most of my childhood in Michigan, in the Detroit area. My father was a professor of international business. He traveled for work often. It got me curious about the world around me.

At 23, I came across the Detroit Film Center and took a filmmaking course. A year later, I became a teacher and worked as a projectionist there. Through that, I started working at an independent art theater in the Detroit suburbs. I started as an usher, then became the theater manager.

Within the two years of working there, I fell in love with the film world. At 25, I renovated an old school's auditorium into a theater in Michigan using my savings. The theater ran for two years, but after disputes with the landlord, it closed.

I was looking for a fresh start, so in 2011, I moved to Los Angeles. At first, I knocked on the doors of all the film distributors I'd worked with until I met some people at an independent film distribution company. I joined as an intern and worked my way up. I landed a job on Netflix's creative team two years later.

The journey to opening a cinema in Japan

Getting the permit to renovate the abandoned kindergarten was a long process. I had to negotiate with officials at city hall and the residents about how I'd use the building, establish the company, deal with fire and health regulations, and construction in a language I don't speak fluently.

I learned that pushing harder is not necessarily what gets things done in Japan. It was about patience, building trust, and showing people that I was serious and that the project wasn't going to disappear in six months.

There were days when I wondered why I had chosen to make my life so difficult. But every milestone, from getting the building, the inspection, installing the projector, and finally opening the doors, made me more determined.

When the cinema first opened, the elderly residents seemed cautious. After a preview, they told me they were impressed to see the place cleaned up and put back into use. It's important for me to have screenings that kids and families can come to and enjoy the space.

Tickets cost 1,500 Japanese yen, or about $9.50. We offer a discount to seniors and residents. I stick with showing content that is harder to find elsewhere, so that it gives viewers a perspective on other ways of life and culture.

It's mostly family-run. I manage the operations, and my wife helps out sometimes. My kids stamp the tickets when they're around.

Living up to the challenge

Opening the theater in the US was different from doing it in Japan. I was in my 20s, had little money, and was just figuring things out in Detroit. The one in Japan came after 15 years of working in film distribution, creative production, and international screenings.

It's been exciting living over here, having the cinema, and meeting people from all over the world. While life in the US would've been much easier, I like the challenges in Japan. That's why I was at Netflix for so long, because it wasn't an easy job either. I learned life in hard mode.