Depending on weather, the Lower 48 is two hours south from my home in Ketchikan. That’s a relatively short flight by Alaska Airlines standards, but it doesn’t take long to see profound differences—massive neighborhoods, highways, interstates, once productive salmon and steelhead rivers hemmed in by levees and crossed by bridges.
More than 140,000 people amble through the Seattle airport daily, which means in a week a greater number of people will catch flights than live in Alaska.
It’s not just the sheer amount of people that can be overwhelming once I emerge from the jetway. Ketchikan sits on the western side of a 50-mile long island and is isolated by most definitions. But social media connects us in ways papers and news didn’t. Maybe connect isn’t the correct term because we know most content is incendiary. Anger and division being a multi-billion dollar industry.
The main point of travel is not to assess the accuracy of my feed (in this case it was to visit my brother and his family in Oak Harbor), but SeaTac provides a broad view and the first opportunity to test the accuracy of what trickles into my feed despite my attempts to control my algorithm.
How miserable, angry and divided are we?
I saw a woman walking through baggage claim with a Palestinian flag, tampons in the men’s bathroom and a new facility for doggie defecation. No one seemed bothered. They just continued on their way, keeping whatever thoughts they had to themselves.
These things alone are simply observations, but my commentary on these observations would make more faceless friends and enemies than I care to have, so I avoid virtue signaling and keep to the outdoors and the second, more enriching goal of a trip Outside, eating.
We have a No Fast Food rule except for In-N-Out Burger because that usually means we’re on a trout trip in California and those items were coupled long ago and are inseparable. We tried a Thai place my brother said had been closed while new management took over. This was a little disconcerting because new management can be a rebirth, or the death knell to quality. Anytime an entity “acquires” properties or assets, you can almost guarantee the new sterile version will make you wish for the days in which someone in an apron made decisions about ingredients instead of some suit-wearing manager looking to cut corners and hope people don’t notice.
I had an exceptional turkey pesto sandwich at a one-of-one establishment in a small town of 1,300 people. It’s a tiny community, but given the proximity of other towns varying in size from a couple thousand to 25,000 and an hour away from cities of 100,000 that have met the spread of Seattle, the small-town feel is fleeting. There is no mistaking Coupeville, Washington, for Seattle, but there are indications the big city isn’t that far away.
I found a satisfying egg and steak breakfast burrito and an even better one with chorizo and potatoes. Local coffee almost always outperforms chains and Whidbey Island was no exception.
On the way to the airport, we stopped at a European bakery that served crepes that were evenly cooked, not overly buttered, from quality ingredients unlike a fast food style crepe joint.
I was fairly caffeinated, so I ordered a green tea.
“Which kind?” asked the employee pointing to a tea binder on the counter. This place was in a small strip mall a few blocks from Interstate-5 north of Seattle, but it was worlds away from common fare.
I fed my baby bits of Italian sausage and was secretly hoping she wouldn’t be hungry and I wouldn’t have to share.
It’s always great to visit family, see that I am more likely to encounter a friendly person than one who wants an altercation, and add variety to my diet.
But I’m happy with our limited options and Southeast Alaska’s version of island life.