Cape May Journal

Cape May Journal

Saturday, July 14

Like great white herons migrating to ancestral homes in Patagonia, Maria and I are making our annual pilgrimage to the Jersey Shore (other states have beaches, Jersey has a shore). The Bentley easily breaks our prior record through New Haven as it shoots south through four states, passing the stomping grounds of the Sopranos, the alleged burial site of Jimmy Hoffa, and the casinos of Atlantic City.

We keep the top up, since it’s 90 degrees, until we hit the outskirts of Cape May, the southern tip of the state. We’ve abandoned ten years of bed and breakfast routine here for a spanking new condo overlooking the ocean. (Definition of a bed and breakfast: Accommodations below standard passing for “quaint” run by people who actually don’t like you, passing for “charming.”)

Cape May is distinctly different from the honky-tonk resorts to the north in Wildwood and Seaside Heights. Here, horses clip-clop through small streets pulling carriages past Victorian buildings a hundred years old. Families commune. There are no health clubs, and for every power walker there is a pancake house the size of the Astrodome.

I’m composing this on a rocking chair three flights up, the top level overlooking the water. I have an outstanding Dominican La Aurora with some sugar free, chocolate-covered almonds, and hedonistic chocolate-drenched grapes. The cigar has hints of chestnut and cedar, with residue of molasses and pecan. (It has nothing of the sort, I’m just mocking cigar and wine reviews. It tastes like a good cigar.)

We dined in Martini’s tonight, beginning with a chilled glass of Christiania vodka and blue cheese-stuffed olives. The table was on a balcony and we could watch the waves and walkers below. It’s surprising what you see from this height, and I’ve made a note to be more careful of my convertible etiquette.

Tomorrow we’ll hit the beach, where attendants circulate to serve drinks and food. From Cape Cod to Cape May and, next month, to Nantucket. We are peripatetic ocean seekers.

Since time immemorial, the Atlantic has slammed the Jersey Shore as if retaliating for some insult. Tonight is harsh, and the waves unremittingly cascade to the sand. It’s great to be here, among the corybantic action of sea and wind.

© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved.