Riverdancing grandmas and hat pumping islanders

Northwest rain spits on the windows of the ferry. After travelling for almost 24 hours, including sleeping on the floor in the LA airport, we arrived in Seattle. Immediately when we got to LA we felt we were in a land of giants. White giants. Americans are big, not necessarily fat, they just have very large frames. All of a sudden everyone can hear us, everyone looks like us. Everything is much cleaner, even in LA. As we taxi in the plane I make a comment about the clothing choices surrounding us.
"What are we in leather jacket town. In the midst of a leather jacket gang?"
Kelly and I chuckle with sleep deprived delerium. We both wish Leif was still travelling with us, so he could add to the trademark nonsense critisism that has been the form of communication for the past 2 months. A few minutes after the comment one of the leather jacket mafia looks at me and says "where are you from?"
Crap. He was standing right next to me...people can understand me now, time to start censoring my thoughts again.

We are greeted in Seattle by over joyed parents, my mom and Roger picked us up with Waterfront pizza in hand and huge grins on their faces. Can't really ask for a better welcome. Of course we take our requisite REI trip and Kelly and I wearily try on running shoes. When we finally make it home, instead of resting we have to go immediately to our storage unit and start packing, we only have one day in Port Townsend before heading up to Orcas Island. Our brief time in PT is dominated by sushi, decent beer, packing and visiting. We grab a cup of coffee with Alex and we talk about culture shock, motorcycles, instant coffee, future plans, cribbage legacies...it is good to be back, strange, but good.

When we get to Orcas Island we are greeted by a new face. Thomas asks if we are here for the WFR and we reply that we are, however we are also here for the next two months to work. We have to move our car, there is a group here, nothing seems to change. As we move our stuff in we are greeted by a few familiar faces but mostly new ones, all friendly, it feels like we all already know each other. There is a bond that people who have or do work here share. Whether you have met each other before or not, similar to the bond of people who grew up in PT, there exists something unseen, something cosmic. We sit around in the living room and catch up/learn each others stories. We get excited about the WFR and future kayak plans. Talk about slacklining and learning to roll a kayak.

Less than 18 hours after we arrived we start taking the intense 80 hour wilderness medicine course that is the WFR. After a day of learning how to approach and assess injured hikers, the whole staff almost takes trip to see a ska show down at the Lower. Less than 3 days ago we were surrounded by short ecuadorians speaking a foreign language, carrying bags of live chickens and small trees on trails between villages. Now we are in a dimly lit pub surrounded by friends and tall dreadlocked islanders. Surrounded by hippie chicks in flowing skirts and colorful scarves, old ladies who dance without abandon, throwing down the charlton and riverdance moves. Half myself feels like I have just entered a foreign country and half feels as though I have come back home.