We piled the car high with an endless amount of (mostly Hamish's) junk and headed down to Westport Washington for a surf trip / goodbye party for Hamish and a load of his friends from Vancouver. It was an incredibly strange place, a small fishing and boat building town who's economy had completely sunk (ha....ha..........ha........) in the past decade. These are the notes I took during our 3 days...if they don't make complete sense, its because Westport Washington doesn't completely make sense...
This is a strange America...
The kind of America where everyone knows everyone else, yet somehow no one knows Jack Bird.
The people here have ginger beards and piercing blue eyes and won’t hesitate to verbally attack an innocent traveler in the supermarket.
Illegal immigrants stand in the light rain outside the supermarket, waiting for someone who needs help building a porch or something. A population divided.
The motel manager’s kitchen has a plate of white powder divided up into short lines on top of the microwave. Must be where the toothless Japanese man gets all his pep from.
“Of course there will only be 2 people staying in each room”. Three to a bed? Preposterous.
Everything moves at slow pace, like someone took the drive out of an entire town but life goes on.
It must be something in the water. The words ‘trace amounts’, ‘arsenic’ and ‘water supply’ have been floating around...honestly, who knows?
Nuclear cooling towers loom over the tree line.
Showering? Optional. Shaving? Forbidden, the mustache that is.
Here, the food is microwaved, and the haircuts are DIY. The cameras are analogue and the aloe vera flows freely.
Welcome to Westport, Washington.
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