[Holy shit, this guy is from his world! Guzma beams, happy to see another trainer after what's been actual months now, and he laughs, patting Golisopod on the head to approach a bit. The huge insect gurgles, a few bubbles spewing from his mouth as he wades towards Sharpedo, wriggling his antennae at the big shark.]

'Fraid we ain't in Alola neither, homie - not any island I know, anyway... But y'all want ground to stand on, there's a mountain what maybe a few miles out. [He indicates the peak jutting out from the the wooded jungle of the island.] And a few islets what most of us live on. Them places are safe, ain't no flooding just yet, but there's crowding like y'all don't even know...considering the mainland's sinking.

Take your pick, dog, and I'll lead y'there.