My friend Dan, whom I met when I was at Madison and whom I’ve known for thirty years now, holds his “big” birthday celebrations in interesting locations. His fortieth was held in New Orleans. The party was led to breakfast at Brennan’s by jazz funeral marchers. His fiftieth was in Maui, and his 60th in Palm Springs. I missed both of those. This year was 65--how did it come to be that my friends are now eligible for Medicare?--and Dan chose Provincetown, MA.
Now P’town is one of the most storied locations in gay American history, right up there with Fire Island, the Castro, the Russian River, and I had never been. I determined that, if I was ever gonna see P’town, this was the time, when I had friends who would be there, and at least part of my time spoken for.
I cashed in some Skymiles, found an affordable B&B, and I was set.
Because I was teaching summer school. I couldn’t take much time. I arranged to fly in on Friday, spend Saturday exploring, attend the party Saturday night, and return home on Sunday.
The connections were complicated: I deplaned in Boston and caught the #66 bus to the water taxi; I took the water taxi across the bay to the long wharf where I caught the ferry to P’town. The weather was exceedingly rough. By the estimate of one P’towner on the ferry, a level of roughness seen only three or four times a year. The ferry crew handed out barf bags, and many were used before the trip was over. Some passengers simply hung over the rear railing of the boat and heaved into the Atlantic Ocean until they had nothing else to heave. I’m not prone to seasickness and was fine. I talked to a guy from Australia who was just visiting the states while our table mate, the native P’towner, laid on the floor to try to overcome the vertigo.
I met Dan and some of the rest of the party for drinks and then supper on Friday night.
It had been dreary and rainy all week. Most in Dan’s party had come in on Monday or Tuesday. There’s just not a lot to do in a cute little village when the weather is crappy. Fortuna was smiling on me, though, my first trip, a one-day visit. The weather turned gorgeous on Saturday, sunny and mild. I rented a bike and set out to explore.
The village is charming, but I’d seen it before--salt water taffy and fudge shops, artist’s galleries, t-shirt emporia, gift and trinket shops. I rode through town out toward the National Seashore. I put in around 20 miles on a cranky rental bike, spent the entire day riding and on the beach. Late afternoon, I returned along what had been a dry path earlier, now up to my waist in the high tide.
Dan’s party that night was wonderful. Great food and good company.
Sunday morning, I had breakfast at my B&B, returned my bike, repacked my bag, and headed back to Boston. The water was calmer on Sunday, no barf bags, but engine problems did slow us down 30 minutes, which made my series of connections--the ferry to the water taxi to the #66 to the plane--a little tight, but, again, Fortuna was smiling on me, and I made my flight.
For the photos, click the
Provincetown Photos tab. Double-click the first photo, then use the navigation arrows on the upper left of the screen to see the album as a slideshow.
