Moments in and Around Cape Cod
August, 2019. There is a storm over New York City tonight. Dark clouds hover over the Manhattan skyline like something out of a Ghost Buster’s movie and occasionally, there is a thin crack of lightning over the tall buildings or off in the distance. Seconds pass and you hear the rumble of thunder sometimes followed by a loud CRACK. I am on my roof-deck, or I was. Now I am in my living room looking out the window across the balcony. The skyline is not visible at this angle, but the storm and the occasional lightning is.
It is Sunday evening. Wednesday, I got back from 5 days in the Cape Cod area of Massachusetts. Actually, we got in Tuesday night and Wednesday I returned to the craziness of work. All the catching up on open projects and a million things coming at you at once that is the life of a busy professional working in NYC.
We rented a “cabin in the woods”, or at least that is how it was billed on Airbnb. We were promised WIFI, free parking, AC, Cable TV, and all the comforts of home but in a renovated cabin with an old style antique vibe. They didn’t tell us that a week before we were due to arrive, a storm knocked down a power line, and despite making appointments all week, our hosts were unable to get the TV or WIFI restored in time for our trip. We had to rough it with just our limited data plans running down on our smart phones and no way to connect our laptops which we brought because we thought they would have everything fixed by our arrival (or so they led us to believe). Modern “roughing it”. A kitchen with a stove whose controls resembled the space shuttle, where the stove coils heated up under a slick black glass-like surface and you only saw the red of heat if you used the correct settings. Otherwise, it still heated up but it would stop being red and you would find yourself unsure if it was still on even though your water continued to boil.
The house had an intriguing history. It was a one-room school house like 200 years ago. Then some rancher or home owner or rich person of the past had it moved to its current location and renovated it into a three-bedroom house. Maybe a hundred years or more later, the current owners renovated it again. They wanted it to be a modern home but with old wood cabin feel to it. They outfitted it with stuff purchased at flea markets and thrift shops and maybe even antique stores. And they turned it into an Airbnb and billed it online as a “cabin in the woods”. It was decked out in wood from floor to ceiling. It had wood beams across the ceiling. There were electric chandeliers, and yet, the living room was so minimalist in its lighting that you were tempted to light the candles on the old antique desk or the ones in holders on the wooden walls, but you just weren’t sure if the owners would really want you to do that.
An Audubon Society Book of birds was on a marble end table. Its original price was something like three dollars, and handwritten in pencil, was the book fair price of $35. Metal pie plates on display on shelves in the kitchen. A metal tin band aid container from 1935 (I am making up the year but you get the idea) is on a shelf in the bathroom with no band-aids in it.
You could sit on chairs out back behind the house and relax while you looked into the woods. Blueberries grew on small well-manicured bushes that ran along the side of the house. We found the place online while looking for a where to stay in Chatham, Massachusetts. Later in the trip, I would make French Toast with croissants we had brought with us from a purchase made at Costco before we left. We were short on supplies, so no vanilla, no cinnamon. Just milk, egg, croissant, butter, syrup, and fresh blue berries picked from the side of the house. They were so good!
So why Chatham? This was a place my wife had been to some years back and wanted me to see it for the first time. The place I found online was about a 20-minute drive from Chatham and an hour or two from other places we were thinking of going, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. The house looked so cool in the photos.
We were traveling with my wife’s parents, and the place was renting for under $200 a night and had 3 bedrooms. It wasn’t until we had already booked it that we noticed that only one bedroom was billed as having a Queen-sized bed — the master bedroom, and the other two were billed as singles. But we decided to figure it all out when we got there and as it turns out, it all worked out.
Sometimes perception is everything. The other two bedrooms were in a converted attic complete with the slanting roof. One bedroom clearly did have a single bed. The other had a fluffy futon style (but softer) mattress like setup on the floor that had to be a double or maybe even a bit bigger. It was nestled in a slanting alcove from a converted roof.
I am tall. Several times, I bumped my head trying to get in and out of bed (we gave her parents the master bedroom on the first floor), but I came to think of this as part of the adventure rather than sweating the small stuff. My wife was worried I would be stupid by the time we left for all the times I bumped my head.
The house was amazing and I was happy to be there. On the first night, we saw mosquitos and other bugs in a corner across from the bed. There was an air conditioner hooked to the window by a giant tube that looked like something out of an EVA hazmat setup. It kept our bedroom cool while the single bedroom across the hall that no one ended up using was steamy and possibly unlivable. My wife was worried about the bugs, but also was a master at killing them. She smashed like six of them. Then we took a fan and pointed it at the bed so that the air current would hopefully give us some protection. We got a few bites, but nothing too serious and nothing that interfered with our wonderful trip. I also took some hand knitted stuffed opossum toys from the child’s room we weren’t staying in and moved them to our room just because I thought they were cute.
In an alternate universe, we hated the place. I bumped my head, there were bugs, the AC was only keeping parts of the house cool, the living room felt a bit too dark and dim. In this universe, we did not care. We loved the place. We played Chinese card games in the living room by a single light in the corner of the room until almost midnight. I bumped my head a few times but became more careful and avoided it the rest of the time. Our air current strategy helped with the bugs, and the place had this other worldly charm that made it feel like we were staying in a completely different world from New York City. If I had it to do over again, I absolutely would.
Chatham was the original target, and yet, we did not make it there until the last full day of our journey. On our first day, we went to Plymouth to see Plymouth Rock. I explained to my Chinese born wife the history of The Mayflower, and Plymouth Rock, and Thanksgiving, at least as I know it (I never was that good in history class when I was growing up). We actually got a late start on the day and got there after all the museums were closed. But we walked down by the water, took pictures by Plymouth and ended up having dinner at a sea food restaurant called “Wood’s”. We had the best clam chowder of our trip. We ordered lobster rolls and scallop rolls and took everything in the car back to Plympton (where our house was) because my wife’s father forgot his dentures so we had to go back early or he could not have dinner with us. Back home, he likes to soak his artificial teeth in water in a coffee cup from a fancy set of pottery my sister bought for me at a craft shop in Syracuse. I try not to let this bother me. (It was part of our wedding gift).
The scallop rolls we bought turned out to be batter fried scallops on a bun that was not one of the better purchases, and we had better lobster rolls later in the trip, but the chowder was the best of our journey. Parking was a bit of a rip off. They charged by the hour but timed it so that if you parked at 15 minutes to the hour (as we did) you got charged for an hour but only got to stay that 15 minutes. I thought we were buying 3 hours and then when I checked the receipt, our parking was set to expire 2 hours and 15 minutes after we had gotten there.
There were shops with arts and crafts to divert our attention. The visitor center was staffed by a sweet old couple who was more than happy to prattle on about local history, the cranberry bogs, and anything you wanted to talk to them about. We had happened upon a cranberry bog while walking in our neighborhood in Plympton, earlier. The cranberries were green and not ready for picking yet. They were a thick lawn of plants with a trench carved around them that did not, in any way, resemble a bog, but that’s because we were there at the wrong time of year to see the field flooded and turned into the bog-like getup from which “cranberry bogs” get their name. When we told them we were from Plympton, they said, “Oh, it’s beautiful there.” I think I agree, but I would not have gushed about it to the level they seemed to. They recommended The Lobster Hut, and Wood’s but we ended up ordering our food from Wood’s. While on our way to look for dinner, we saw a rainbow.
Later in the trip, when we finally got to Chatham, I took a photo of tiny skeletons doing Yoga poses, and poised for: “speak no evil”, “hear no evil”, “see no evil” in an arts and crafts shop. There was a display case made from an authentic piece of a World War II Submarine with a description of the difficulty for the craftsman in reshaping the metal that was as interesting as the arts and rock crystals it contained.
I almost bought a novelty coffee mug with 1960’s Star Trek art on it. When the mug heats up, the original characters (William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, Deforest Kelly) disappear off the transporter pads on one side of the mug and reappear on the planet’s surface on the other side of the mug. I almost bought it. Then I felt silly and raced outside to rejoin my family. But that was on the last day. Funny how the memories run together in your mind, out of sequence and jumbled like a kaleidoscope.
Our first night, we had been driving all day. We got into town a bit late for dinner and did not want to tool around Plympton looking for food. So, we turned into the first Bar / BBQ restaurant we came too. The brisket was surprisingly good, and overall, I think everyone was reasonably happy with the meal. The next morning, I would sauté leftover brisket with sliced onions and Portobello mushrooms for a hearty breakfast. I threw in a little soy, a little butter, a little salt and pepper, you get the idea. There was a bartender at the BBQ place who was in her twenties and yet had her hair up in girlish pig tails and danced around excitedly ringing the bell and congratulating people who won at the local Keno game. She had the lithe wiry but muscular body of a runner, and yet a girlishness accentuated by the braided blond-ish pig tails. Later we ran into her in a nearby gas station / quickie-mart where we stopped to get supplies. A carton of cigarettes is cheaper in Plympton than in Queens, NY, so my father-in-law was peeling off hundred-dollar bills to pay for them while my wife translated for him. I don’t know if she recognized us or not.
Our second day, we drove for what felt like many hours but was probably less than it felt to get out to Provincetown. Our Google-maps target was lighthouse beach, but we killed the map and turned off at Provincetown to look for lunch. Streets got very narrow. There was almost a hybrid of a small town gone Mardi Gras party atmosphere to the place. A large chunky drag queen in a flowing red dress with a matching parasol umbrella strolled up and down in front of art galleries. Rainbow collation promotions were everywhere. Gay couples flaunted their open-ness in a way that would make any Amish or Fundamentalist traveler feel completely unwelcome. There was an aspect of fun to the place and a sense that anything goes.
A local artist decked out his home and yard with twisted mechanical looking mythological creations. Giant wings spread over a creature that is half dragon. A mystical being holds a staff with a crystal ball. A snake like creation slithers up the side of his doorway. Walls of stone with rock crystals, real amethysts, and geodes embedded in them are sculpted with beautiful archways. The same types of walls are found in other places of Provincetown (a local stone cutting operation creates them) but not with the fancy and expensive embellishments of the artist’s home.
A corridor of murals, some racy and suggestive, others a tribute to Allison and Wonderland has a similar style that makes me wonder if it’s the same artist or not. I later realize it’s not. There is a similarity but not quite enough… Walls are done by the same stone cutter who clearly helped build the archways and walls that adorn the famous artist’s property, but without the amethysts, geodes, and polished rock crystals.
The main strip is places to eat, places to drink, shops with all manner of trinkets and souvenirs and a number of photo and art galleries. One has a portrait of a diva painted in oil paints out front and some other seemingly unrelated art. You get inside and the artwork is vibrant and alive and full of color. It is also hunky men cartoonishly posing to show off their muscles in a flamboyant manner, wearing nothing but a G-string and a masquerade style mask, posing in front of lavish ocean scenery with beautiful trees overlooking beaches. The artwork is beautiful and full of talent and yet I would be embarrassed to put any of it up on my wall. It might also give my guests the wrong idea about me.
Go deeper into the gallery and there are black and white incredibly detailed ink paintings of what look like stereotypical characters taken right out of The Blue Oyster Bar in the original “Police Academy” movie. They wear black leather chaps showing but cheeks, black leather studded vests. Black leather old style police caps, and they are engaged in homo-erotic poses so in-your-face, it might be enough to even make those who feel at home in this world blush. The artwork is downright pornographic. I am glad my wife and I went in to explore on our own. I am not sure how her parents, who come from a more conservative time, and are visiting from China would have reacted to such imagery.
The beaches running up behind it all are beautiful, but not laid out to allow for convenient use to people not staying in hotels nearby. There was one larger beach with Giant wooden life guard chairs pointing to the sky. A group of tourists were pouring each other glasses of Champaign and toasting in front of it at the time we trudged off to plan the rest of our evening. Our car was parked in a parking lot that charged $20 bucks a day. (This turned out to be a bargain. Other parking lots we passed after we found our spot turned out to be charging more).
When we first got into town, we went to the town library. You climb a flight or two of steps and find yourself in a giant room with a large old-style fishing schooner, The Rose Dorothea, reconstructed in the center of it. A poster in the stairwell tells about the history of the race this ship won something like 100 years ago. It’s sails billow under a sky of ceiling. A plaque lets you know the boats famous name so you can correlate to the poster. A puzzle sits on a desk nearby for visitors to contribute to its solution. It is of a Kandinsky abstract painting and the coloring makes it very challenging to find matching pieces. But I solve a few while waiting for my family to use the restroom.
For lunch, we go to a place simply called “The Lunch Box”. We wander around in the hot sun considering fancier places but decide to try something faster and lighter. They advertise “grilled avocado and lobster sandwiches” on a blackboard by the street, which sounded yummy. They are, but they are different than advertised. The filling is lobster roll filling, rolled up in a wrap and pressed in a panini grill to melt cheese into it, and heat the whole thing up. The combination of lobster roll filling, melted cheese, and avocado is as delicious as the sign’s description was misleading. I also get iced coffee with iced coffee ice cubes in it. We have clam chowder just about everywhere we go including here.
At a visitor’s center, a gray-haired man who looks to be in his 70’s answers questions for us about the beach. He is lively, and energetic and clearly wants to help. He talks to us about the fastest way to drive to lighthouse beach and also indicates that there are changing rooms at lighthouse beach, while we would have to just use public rest rooms in the library or in town if we were to go to the local beaches you can walk to off the main strip of shops and restaurants in Provincetown.
The lighthouse is closed on the day we drive out to it. But the beach is lovely (for the most part). Lots of tiny stones make it a bit uncomfortable to walk on. A sign when you first get there has a large image of a shark and says “swim at your own risk.” All the beaches of Cape Cod have these signs. I think it was the original inspiration for the 1970’s “Jaws” movie. And just like the movie, this stops no one from swimming.
Another sign says “Danger — Do Not Enter or Swim On The Sandbar”, or something like that. Of course, everyone is ignoring this and we do too. We walk out onto the sandbar and see this beautiful landscape of fingers of thick sand interlacing with fingers of ocean extending out to sea as far as the eye can see. The colors change from aquamarine to purple where it is deepest. Boats are out on the water. A horseshoe crab scuttles by, little more than a black shadow in the water.
It’s Hard to believe where the time goes. As I write this, we had our 5 day getaway and returned to work in the middle of this past week. The getaway was really nice. The High point of the trip for me was on the last day. We were sitting in water on the sand just inside water’s edge in Chatham, Mass (part of Cape Cod area) looking at translucent fish, see-through shrimp on the bottom, and later we walked on a more private beach where live tiny star fish kept getting washed in for some reason. The way I saw the shrimp: I had a snorkel and face mask and noticed them on the sandy bottom, so I pushed my hands into the sand and even had them ran all over my fingers. Them = one or a few at a time, not swarms of them as my language might incorrectly imply. But there were many scattered about on the sandy bottom of the beach. They were clear with white stripes on their bodies.
Our final dinner out was at a fish market that sells you fresh clam chowder and cooked sea food. We got deep fried lobster bites that were truly yummy. Actually, we ate at fresh fish markets / restaurants for most of our dinners out. At one of them, we had swordfish tacos that for me were the best dish I had on the entire trip. But that last evening in Chatham, before we went to order our food, we walked down by the water and saw live seals playing in the waves. Their faces were cute and somehow dog like. They were playful but shy. My photos do not even begin to do them justice. They would give you a glimpse, not a look.