Possibly the best move of our trip so far was the decision to go to Cape Cod. It was never really in the plan, well Conny’s plan, but it has long been a place I would like to visit. I am enamoured by the old time seaside glamour of such places and our intent was to head as far as we could and sleep as close to the beach as humanly possible. Both we managed brilliantly. After an evening spent in the wonderful little Provincetown, we ignored the signage (like one other RVer) and entered the Herring Point, Cape Cod Seashore National Park. Unlike the other RVer we sidled right up to the beach. The spot was as perfect as perfect could be, but being conscientious and discreet we opted not to raise the tent and drifted off to sleep in the van with the waves lapping the shore and the moon gently staving off the full dark of the night. That is until a tap at the window startled me from my slumber. The moon had moved. It was right next to my window. Well that’s what the slumberdrunk me thought for a moment…then came tap number two and it dawned upon me that this was a torch. I fumble for the keys, pressed every wrong button there was until I finally got the door open. Police dude looked upon me with friendly befuddlement as he asked what we were up to. Once he had ascertained that we were indeed harmless and up to no good, he told us that we can stay, he isn’t bothered, even though strictly speaking we were pushing the boundaries of legality in our chosen spot and that they have an unwritten rule that they let people stay in another part of the coast line. He also said that we could perhaps get a visit from the park ranger who might give us some shit but he didn’t care either way. A very kind cop indeed.

Cape Cod, is awesome. A seal sauntered past in the water as we woke and prepared breakfast. As ever we explained the wonders of Black Beauty to a couple of inquisitive folk a passing by. This has become somewhat a la quotidien these days, but we are plenty happy to do it. Provincetown is a weird little seaside resort of wooden shanties and feels a little bit dated but a little bit in the here and now all at once. A few old salty sailor pubs and diners here, a few hip new coffee joints and restaurants there. The odd bit of oldsy worldsy craft and the new upmarket ‘design’ shop. There is, somewhat magnificently, a hammock shop, equally magnificently monikered The Hammock Shop. I have to admire the fact that some dude one day thought “You know what, it’s time I set up a shop. And in that shop, I will sell hammocks, and only hammocks. It shall be called the Hammock Shop”. That is one brilliantly simple plan and pretty bizarre, plus that dude must have set of undergarments full to bursting with his giant balls of metal.

It is also delightfully full to bursting with homosexuals, more often than not of a more advanced age than you might witness in many other “gay cities”. Something that I say with not an ill thought in mind. It is a lovely thing to see, many many same sex older folks, that I assume are holidaying or living quiet happily in a beautiful place. The world doesn’t stop. The people are unfazed. The heavens don’t collapse and the town somewhat thrives in happiness. Anyone with anything like a homophobic bone in their body should go and witness such a place.

We boarded the Dolphin IX on a hunt for the great whales, this is Moby Dick country you know. With Conny as my Queequeg we tackled the blue yonder and tracked down those magnificent beasts, the humpbacks. There were a few of them spouting their spent air, but a particular couple put on the show for us. A cow and calf hanging around and after a few tentative hello passes of the boat, the mother started to wave and slap the water. A truly breathtaking sight.

Another night at the beach, relaxing under the starlight with a cup of tea in hand and the gentle ocean noise. Quiet nights can be the best. No cops nor rangers bothered us and we woke up bright and breezy for the journey to New York the next day all calm and fresh for the hustle and bustle of the big smoke.