July 12th, 1991
Flight from BOS – LHR, as a passenger
Heading home after spending ten days with William, which meant I was in America over “the fourth,” as they refer to Independence Day. Having never celebrated such, I was more than keen to go all out and do whatever it is they do but William had a migraine and said he didn’t feel like “fighting the traffic.”
The flat William rented is quite lovely. There’s a little balcony off the living room that overlooks the harbour, the whimsical view of which inspired me to write a couple of short stories about the sea and such. On the days William was at work, I strolled down to the pier and watched the fishing boats pull up, surprised by the amount of work it took to offload the huge containers.
There’s a twice daily boat cruise that sails through the Cape Cod Canal, which, according to the little pamphlet, was built in 1914 (first I’d heard of it!) I spoke to several people on the pier who said the trip was worth doing but I never got around to it.
The town itself is quaint, with nothing more than a pizza joint, a “convenience store,” (more like inconvenience as they had nothing I was looking for!) and a post office. Oh, there’s also a wooden shack type of place that sells fried seafood but apparently, it’s only open during “the season,” which William said is between, “Memorial Day and Labor Day.” Seriously, it’s like another language! Memorial Day is in May, which is when the tourists start showing up and Labor Day, “when they leave,” is, I think he said the first week of September. I’m not sure what happens after “the tourists” leave, it didn’t exactly seem busy to me but William insisted the place was “overrun with New Yorkers this time of year.”
As picturesque as it is, I shan’t be returning.