They are the strangers, the glorious strangers, who have finally arrived north from all over the world, giving the territory a jolt of excitement.

Some are young adventurers who have come north to see what this Yukon is all about.

Perhaps they have hitchhiked here, all their belongs crammed into one backpack. They sit atop Two Mile Hill, thumbs outstretched and a cardboard sign reading Dawson City or Bust in their hands.

Others are the accented baristas serving you your morning Americano.

They play bongo drums, live at Robert Service Campground and will soon hop aboard a canoe bound for the Klondike.

Then there are the RVers, mostly retirees who have come north to tick Drive the Alaska Highway off their bucket lists.

They park at Wal-Mart, question how we can live in igloos despite the midnight sun and roast hamburgers and hot dogs there in the parking lot, all the while wearing matching track suits.

There are the European adventurers who come north to live off the land.

They want to hike big mountains, paddle big rivers and hunt big animals.

To them this is the perfect backdrop to live out their wildest Jack London-esque adventure. Look for them in the short-shorts, wooly socks and big hats.

Then there is the romance that can possibly arise from the new people being in town.

An urban legend of sorts speaks of men who have suffered through a winter of cabin fever. Come summer they will actually go the airport and stake out the “newbies”.

One waits at Arrivals, walkie-talkie in hand, while the other hides in the ditch along the Alaska Highway, armed with the other instrument.

As the new people arrive and wait for their luggage, one man will make subtle eye contact with a newbie to his liking.

He then radios his friend when the newbie’s vehicle begins to makes its way to the highway.

That friend, armed with a blow dart, then blows said dart into the tire of the passing vehicle.

Once Operation Blow Dart is complete, Man One from the airport arrives on scene. Like a knight in shining armour, he will change the tire, averting the risk of the newbie meeting someone else.

I’m not sure if it’s true, but I’d be lying if I told you there weren’t many who eagerly anticipate the arrival of the transients.

So new people, we welcome you.

Enjoy this amazing place and don’t be taken aback if you see a man or woman standing in the middle of the sidewalk, possibly with blow dart in hand, being overly friendly.

It’s our northern way of saying welcome!

George Maratos is a freelance writer, actor and comedian who lives in Whitehorse and looks at life from the funny side of the street.