Cape Cod Journal: September 25
Just twelve of us at the spectacular pool here, too windy for the beach, but high 70s in the air and low 80s in the pool. The pool has underwater speakers so you hear music whenever your ears are below the surface. At first, I thought I had some kind of narcosis. But it was only The Allman Brothers.
Well, I’m pretty impressed. The near-perfect conditions haven’t hurt, and Cape Cod without tourists is what one would think God intended. The Inn makes it on the fall conference business. Novartis is here now, filling the Inn and overflowing into adjacent meeting rooms like clay through clenched fingers. (I call them the invasion of the name tag people—they wear them everywhere.) But apparently they have no life of their own, so I just try my best not to hit any of them as I drive around the grounds and they march from meeting to meeting like so many Greek Hoplites.
If you are a refugee from large organizations, share with me, now, a brief moment of quiet thanksgiving……….
Okay, we’re back.
One of the people I mentor sent me an email which I uncharacteristically decided to answer on my IPhone while sitting at the pool and experimenting with the little miracle. He wrote back to tell me that he used Google Satellite to get a picture of the Chatham Bar Inn and could just make out a red Bentley parked on the grounds. Brave new world, call home.
28 Atlantic is one of the finest restaurants on Cape Cod and, for that matter, in Massachusetts. It’s located in the Wequassett Resort, meaning we launch the Bentley down a narrow road known grandly as Route 28 but actually a roller coaster of hills and Grand Prix of tight turns which the car’s four-wheel drive gobbles up as if it’s on rails. We never leave third gear.
Seated at the restaurant’s floor to ceiling windows, we hear a woman at the next table ask the manager to “guarantee a great sunset.” I point out that he had better have divine powers, since we are staring at the Atlantic, due east. But we do see a glorious full moon rise, turning the water into a mirror and the evening into a landscape painting.
Both managers stop to chat and try to convince us to stay at the resort next year and, after hearing of our present digs, offer up a full three-bedroom house smack on the beach. Dogs are welcome. We’re seriously considering it.
Dinner starts with a Chopin martini, huge scallops after an amuse bouche, and then a brown sugar and coffee flavored beef, accompanied by a wonderful cabernet. A peach dessert with espresso. Exquisite.
We glide back to the Inn under the beaming moon, life better than ever, looking forward to the next adventure. Home is under two hours away tomorrow, but home is also wherever Maria and I are together.
The fishing fleet at rest at Chatham Bar
© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved.
