In the remote Alaskan town of Whittier, residents don’t just know their neighbors—they share walls, elevators, and even a laundry room. Nearly all of Whittier’s 200+ inhabitants live in a single 14-story concrete building, Begich Towers, a relic of Cold War military planning turned quirky urban experiment. Imagine a high-rise that’s part apartment complex, part self-contained village, where the grocery store, school, and mayor’s office are just a staircase away.
Built in 1956 as an Army barracks, Begich Towers was designed to house military personnel during Alaska’s strategic buildup. When the military left in the 1960s, civilians moved in, drawn by cheap rent and the building’s fortress-like resilience against the region’s brutal winters. Today, it’s a vertical town where residents rarely need to brave the outdoors. The building includes a post office, clinic, church, and even a police station (staffed by one officer). Kids attend school on the second floor, commute-free, while adults work jobs ranging from fishing to running the town’s sole hotel.
Whittier’s isolation is legendary. Accessible only by boat or a 2.5-mile tunnel that closes nightly, the town is sandwiched between mountains and Prince William Sound. The tunnel, shared by cars and trains, operates on a strict schedule—miss the last exit at 10:30 p.m., and you’re stuck until morning. Locals joke that Begich Towers is Alaska’s version of a spaceship: self-sustaining, weatherproof, and occasionally claustrophobic.
Life inside the tower is surprisingly normal—if your normal includes bumping into your dentist at the grocery store or your kid’s teacher in the sauna. Most apartments have stunning views of glaciers or the sound, but privacy is scarce. “You can’t throw a party without the whole town knowing,” one resident told a reporter. Yet the close quarters foster camaraderie. Winter storms? Everyone hunkers down for movie nights in the community room. Summer tourists gawking at the “weird tower town”? United eye-rolling.
Not everyone stays. Winters are dark, jobs are limited, and the nearest Walmart is a 60-mile drive. But for those who embrace it, Whittier offers a unique blend of simplicity and survivalism. One former resident compared it to “living inside a giant, slightly rundown cruise ship—minus the buffet.”
So, next time you complain about noisy neighbors, remember: in Whittier, your neighbors are the town. And if you ever crave a life where “going to work” means descending three floors in slippers, Begich Towers might just be your Arctic utopia. Just don’t forget to wave at the mayor in the elevator. They’ll know if you don’t.
