Recently, we were lucky enough to be able to rent an ‘AirBnB’ on the beautiful Whidbey Island. Early one morning, we saw a grey whale swim past, probably no more than a hundred feet out from the beach on which our little rented holiday cottage was nestled.
This was, of course, very cool.
As the day had started so strongly, and as we didn’t really know what else to do, we decided to get in the car and just drive randomly around to see whether we’d happen upon something interesting and, as it turns out, we ended up in the 1970s.
This was also very cool.
The timeshifted town we visited is today called Oak Harbor, but I don’t know what it was called fifty years ago, and I don’t really care to be honest, because the pizza place we found there (called Alfy’s) served us what was possibly the most delicious pizza we’ve ever had. We were also granted access to a ‘salad bar’ that, true to the time period, contained very little actual salad, although there were dried black olives and artificial bacon bits in abundance.
The best bit, though, was the decor. I had no idea that garish pictures of food on laminated menus, bright red plastic seats, faux-wooden tables and the sight of neon signs flickering from the windows of neighboring establishments could evoke such nostalgia. Together with the vacant streets and the dismal feeling of neglect that always accompanies the view of an empty harbor, I needed only flared trousers and a floral shirt to complete my transition to 1971. Ultimately, of course, we got back in the car, the time flux capacitor worked its magic, and we made it safely back to our own timeline, which I suppose is really just as well, being as a) the dog was demanding food, b) there was washing up still to do and c) the seventies was actually a pretty crap decade and I’d rather go forward in time than back.
This was also very cool.
The timeshifted town we visited is today called Oak Harbor, but I don’t know what it was called fifty years ago, and I don’t really care to be honest, because the pizza place we found there (called Alfy’s) served us what was possibly the most delicious pizza we’ve ever had. We were also granted access to a ‘salad bar’ that, true to the time period, contained very little actual salad, although there were dried black olives and artificial bacon bits in abundance.
The best bit, though, was the decor. I had no idea that garish pictures of food on laminated menus, bright red plastic seats, faux-wooden tables and the sight of neon signs flickering from the windows of neighboring establishments could evoke such nostalgia. Together with the vacant streets and the dismal feeling of neglect that always accompanies the view of an empty harbor, I needed only flared trousers and a floral shirt to complete my transition to 1971. Ultimately, of course, we got back in the car, the time flux capacitor worked its magic, and we made it safely back to our own timeline, which I suppose is really just as well, being as a) the dog was demanding food, b) there was washing up still to do and c) the seventies was actually a pretty crap decade and I’d rather go forward in time than back.
That said, I can’t wait to visit again.
