Yet Another Ferry Ride

Ferries. Ah, ferries.

Let us make one thing perfectly clear - it is not a “ferryboat”. If you insist on calling it that, then I likewise insist that you wear a bib, sit in a high chair, and talk about today’s applesauce. I mean, go ahead and call it that. I’m trying to be less judgmental. Gross.

I will concede that sometimes it can just be “the boat”, as in “the five o’clock boat is late again”. That’s the correct way to introduce a little classy derision when talking about a multi-hundred-ton vessel that carries whole cars and school busses. Sometimes you’re just feeling frustrated and tired and it’s late again and you’ve been waiting in line for hours with nothing but a bag of chips and a pamphlet about whales to keep you intellectually stimulated. To call the conveyance in question by the more regal-sounding “ferry” in such a situation would not make you feel better, as you need to convey the sheer mundanity of the ship - thus, “boat” is perfect. It makes it a little cuter, less competent, and definitely less historically significant. Traffic jams are not Events To Be Revered, and neither is waiting for the damn boat to show up.

I’ve ridden the ferry (and the boat) so many times, and each ride is not just travel time - it’s a voyage. The to-ing and fro-ing hypnotizes you, allowing minds to break out of their fences and roam towards more bizarre pastures. At home you might have a normal afternoon filled with dishes and adjusting the thermostat and taking out the trash. That same afternoon spent on a ferry will be spent with aliens shaped like doughnuts, a choir of sentient antelopes, and perhaps a Kennedy or two - and even if they’re imaginary, they’re still quite real. Ferries: the cheapest drug on the market. This lack of mental boundaries on a ferry has led to some of the most interesting conversations I’ve ever had, from the nature of reality and its ties with quantum physics to the really important issues like “why cheese so nice?”.

That kind of hard-hitting insightful discussion is how I know someone is a local. If I walk by you and you’re in it deep, huddled over, talking in that very serious almost-whisper about something vital like “pizza crust should never/always be thin, and if you disagree, you support dictatorships”, then you’ve been living in the islands at least five years. But if I walk by you and you’re prattling on about how “the mountains are just so clear from here” or “I wonder when we’ll see the whales”, then I’ll just snicker at your new North Face and go on to find someone a little less naive.

Not that I’m mad about it. Growing up on a beautiful rock has rendered me immune to its charms. The ferry is just a big movable highway. Y’all from San Diego and Seattle and everywhere in between - do you romanticize your strips of blacktop five lanes wide? Do you gently cup your Starbucks in both hands as you gaze outside the window, lids heavy, at the traffic going past your car? My waves are your potholes. My deadheads (logs floating around dangerously) are your blown out semi-truck tires. My whales are your deer.

So yes, I understand intellectually how one can become completely zonked out by the beauty of the ferry ride. In fact, I respect people for it - enjoy what you’ve got where you are when you’re there and all that. I’m just saying that we can tell who you are - tourists - and if you’re tourist-ing correctly, then I’m so happy to see you. It’s how the place of my birth stays above water. What, did you think that a little 15-mile-long island could live off of good vibes and Volkswagen-bus-milk? Have ever even tried milking one of those things? Tetanus for days.

However, if you’re one of those tourists who insist on telling me about my island, well… it’d be quite the shame if Harry, your artfully-coiffed and REI-loving software-developing Amazon-employee boyfriend were to suffer a little gravity accident whilst standing next to me on the aft deck of the passenger cabin. I was just getting to enjoy his lecture on how the economy of the San Juans works, and how on “Lo-peez” Island everyone waves at each other, isn’t that quaint? Accidents happen every day.

No, I kid. I’d never hurt anyone, even if they were annoying (and yes, that’s high on the list of capital crimes, in my book). Heck, I’d even help them find the bridge at the south end of the island. You can’t miss it. It’s right next to the McDonald’s and the replica of the Eiffel Tower.