Back to the Past

 Back to the past...in more than one sense...we had gone back to the Central Coast of California where we had been in the past...for our fourth time...and now we are back to the past...to where we started a few weeks ago, otherwise known as "home". 

Hubby and I just celebrated 35 years together and we had two wonderful weeks of summer vacation by the ocean. That, to me, was/is being in heaven. Being by the ocean. Hearing the waves crashing on the shore...knowing that the waves are endless. 

I cannot describe the feeling of total disengagement from all the quotidian routine and worries. Il dolce di far niente. The Sweetness of Doing Nothing. Sun, salt water, sand, warm breezes, Astrud Gilberto singing Corcovado. Walking barefoot along the shore. Sunning our buns at Pirates Cove. Going for a dip in the cool waters of the cove. Makes this 75 year old feel like 14 again. Trying to hang on to that feeling for as long as I can. I am truly fortunate.

But it's not like we did nothing, just nothing like we would do at home. At home I cannot seem to read a book. I might take me months to get through a book, sometimes I never finish one. I've had the nine book compendium of Armistead Maupin's "Tales of the City" series for years. I'd read the first six some years ago but just never able to pick it up again to read the last three. I read the last three (Michael Tolliver Lives,  Mary Ann in Autumn and The Days of Anna Madrigal), all 822 pages, in three weeks! Enjoyed them immensely.

But I do have questions. Could someone please explain the ending of The Days of Anna Madrigal? She's on the mechanical butterfly at Burning Man. Then I'm lost.

Just a few words about California and our sojourn.

California is expensive. At least to live there - anywhere along the coast. Multi-million dollar homes. Taxes. Landscaping. Insurance...etc. 

But I will say that California goes out of its way to provide amenities for all: lots of free parking, public access to the the beaches and lots of state and county and town parks and beaches. Rest rooms. Yes, Clean and numerous. Tables, benches, fishing piers, trails, walkways, bike trails, etc.

Eating lots of seafood was one of my favorite pastimes.

Our Air B&B

Walking at Pismo can through you off balance

The path to Pirates Cove (down to the beach, up to the parking lot)

Linguini Beach

Great attention to decor - even the concrete has real sea shells embeded

Pirates Cove from the trail

Pirates Cove trail

I love the waves

 

We watched wales breaching for hours...and putting on a great show

Whale breaching in the distance

Another one

Central Coast of California has to be totally void of LGBTQ people

Pismo Beach and surrounding area is the straightest place. Virtually no gay people - at least not openly. I think we may have zeroed in on two couples, total.

So...while we were away in California getting an "ocean fix" and cure for desert fever, we returned to find that one of our kind and generous neighbors had gifted us with a new (and very large) Rainbow Flag which has replaced a smaller, rather faded one. We thank you for the lovely gesture and while the size of the flag makes more of a statement than we might otherwise, we fully embrace the sentiment so aptly expressed by Gloria Gaynor so many years ago, "I Am What I Am" or in the case of Frank and Leon, "We Are What We Are" - so thank you neighbor!

Il Dolce dì Far Niente

 The Sweetness of Doing Nothing. 

What more is there to say? Except “Where did they hide the gay beach, hon?”

Like I’ve Said Many Times

 A cloudy day at the beach is better than a sunny day at work. 

The sun is burning through. Sciatica has improved. It’s been challenging but I have found joy in being by the ocean. 

We are at Pirates Cove today. A bit of a hike in and out but not as difficult as Blacks Beach. 

Dinner last evening was OK. Food was good but it lacked ambiance. For the price, ambiance should have been a given. 

Provincetown - The Harbor and the Bay

Our trip to Provincetown was long overdue. Last September we went to Pismo/San Luis Obispo, California shortly after we lost our beloved Benni and it turned out not to be a very relaxing or re-centering experience. This year we traveled twice the distance to our favorite beaches and had a great time. It was somewhat cooler than usual for September but I managed to get a bit of a sunburn nonetheless.

Let me just say that Provincetown, the "town" is not the destination. The town is not what it used to be and, like many desirable oceanside communities, it has been confiscated by the most wealthy and has become all but unaffordable for ordinary folks like us. Which is why we chose to stay in a motel in Truro (next town) for about $120 per night with breakfast and not hassle with towing our camper (diesel fuel and $90 per night at Coastal Acres in PTown).

The reason I love Provincetown is not the town, but the beaches, the ocean, the flora and fauna, the incredible light, the sound of the waves (not deafening like in California) the sand, the gem-like stones glistening on the shore, the dunes, the feel of sand under bare feet, the shedding of as many articles of clothing as possible (my torn meniscus and cartilage in my left knee prevented us making the very long trek to clothing optional Boy's Beach), and seafood (but that, too, has been confiscated by the wealthy).

Provincetown is at the end of a narrow peninsula, nearly surrounded by water. There are basically three "sides" of coast, each with its own beauty and charm. There is the harbor/bay side which is generally calm and glassy; there is Herring Cove which has gentle to large waves and warm waters; then there is Race Point, the open ocean side which often has rough surf and cooler water. 

Today I will take you to the  picturesque harbor/bay side with views of the town, the wharf, the marshes, the boats and blue skies.

McMillan Wharf

Marshes near the Provincetown Inn

View of the Wharf from Provincetown Inn Beach

Pics of boats and the glassy waters of the Bay:

 

Perfect Beach Day

20 year old in a 74 year old body 

 Yesterday was the quintessential perfect beach day. After a cool, windy start it became sunny, warm, breezy and heavenly. I spent time in the waves as the water temp was somewhere between the bath water of South Carolina and the ice bath of Maine. 

On my beach towel I listened to Soul Flutes and the sensual sounds of Brazilian Samba and Bossa Nova and it occurred to me that “Nothing hurts”!!!

Salt water cures everything…if only temporarily.

PTOWN Gardens