Day 5 -- Cape Cod

The drive-in movie ended around 10:30 last night, and we returned to the cottage by feeling our way along Bound Brook Way in the moonlight. The lane slices so narrowly through the forest that I couldn’t avoid side-swiping some of the bushes and underbrush, and they raked along the side of the van like fingernails on a chalkboard. We weren’t too concerned; how much damage can leaves and twigs do? 

Actually, quite a bit. In the morning light, we could clearly see scratches — like claw marks — along the passenger side of the van. Keith kind of shrugged it off; there’s probably not much we can do about it at this point. But I am quite dismayed. Avis will not be happy. 

We deliberately didn’t plan much today, so we took it easy in the morning, enjoying coffee on the deck and taking a stroll out to the beach, before piling into the car and heading into town for lunch at PB Boulangerie, an authentic French bakery and bistro with trays overflowing with fresh baguettes, croissants, fruit tarts, macarons and cream puffs — as well as platters of brie and prosciutto and bottles of chilled sparkling wine.

This is the life. :-)

PB Boulangerie in South Wellfleet

From there we went back to the Cape Cod National Seashore Visitors Center where we launched into Junior Ranger mode. These East Coast national park rangers are full-on dicks, I have decided, steeped in an attitude that I can only describe as uncaring indifference. Next to, like, astronauts and NPR Central America correspondents, they have the best jobs in the world.They should be cheerful and enthusiastic, but they didn’t give a flying frick about Junior Ranger activities.

In search of other ways to earn points toward Junior Ranger badges, we drove north to the Cape Cod Highland Lighthouse. By mistake, we entered the Highland Museum — which is down the road from the lighthouse and is operated by the Truro Historical Society, not the NPS. Crammed into a circa-1907 Cape Cod hotel, the museum is a jumble of artifacts, from Native American arrowheads to turn-of-the-century resort wear and accessories, to paintings by local artists to models of schooners that wrecked on the Cape Cod shoals. We were greeted by a very earnest if somewhat lonely volunteer who was thrilled to have visitors and gave us a long-winded 25-minute “introduction” to the exhibits in the museum, which is probably twice as long as we planned to spend in the museum in the first place. We all politely nodded along to his protracted narration, but Clare was so impatient, I could see her eyes turn red and she discreetly wiped away tears of frustration and disgust.

When we finally made it next door to the Highland Lighthouse, the oldest and tallest lighthouse on Cape Cod, we spent just a few minutes climbing the steps to the top and admiring the view — we could see all the way across the bay to Plymouth — before hightailing it out of there and heading north to Provincetown.

At the Province Lands Visitor Center at the north end of the park, where the rangers are much more accommodating and kind, the kids turned in their Junior Ranger books, and then we drove to Race Point Beach to enjoy the sunshine and dip our toes in the cool (57 degree) water of the Atlantic.

For dinner, we drove into to Provincetown, situated at the far north end of Cape Cod — at the end of the road, and about as far out of the mainstream as you can get — geographically and philosophically. Provincetown for years has attracted an unconventional crowd. It’s known as the nation’s oldest continuous artist colony, as well as as one the hottest gay and lesbian vacation destinations in the US. We were eager to experience the area’s energy and diversity — and we were certainly not disappointed. More colorful than even Key West, Provincetown is packed with galleries and ice cream shops, restaurants and night clubs. As we strolled down the sidewalk, we passed by a drag queen steering a motorized bathtub up and down the street to promote her cabaret show, and a Jeep full of greased-up bikini brief-wearing stud muffins promoting a their own male revue called “Rockhard.” 

Provincetown Harbor

We got home at dusk and instructed the kids to shower and get ready for bed while I went down to the garage/basement to throw laundry in the washer. As I loaded up the machine, I looked up to see water gushing from a pipe and streaming down the wall, and realized it was collecting in puddles on the floor. After poking around, I deduced that the shower drain was backed up and also decided that this problem was well beyond my level of plumbing expertise. So I called Marcel, the housing manager at Cape Cod National Seashore, and he told me that he would get a maintenance guy out right away. It was 9:30 p.m., though, and we are way out in the middle of nowhere. I was not confident that anyone could get here quickly. But sure enough, Charles from NPS maintenance showed up about 20 minutes later. 

I guess my plan to wash all our laundry tonight is kind of foiled. Oh well. 

It’s 11:30 p.m. now, and Charles is just starting to wrap things up.  What a nice guy — very friendly and polite and unruffled. Definitely not uncaringly indifferent, thank goodness.