Monthly Archives: July 2007

Tuesday, July 17

I’m always up by 7. This morning, on my jaunt for coffee and newspapers, I was accompanied as usual by the sounds of hundreds of purple martins (lavendarius deanus). They live in four-story-high houses erected on the property, and not a mosquito or other biting insect is to be seen. The only downside is a degree of gregariousness usually reserved for class reunions.

There is an early morning parade on the four or five miles of elevated pavement bordering the beaches: bikers, skaters, power walkers, joggers, runners, strollers, and meanderers. An amazing amount of people up and about. Alas, no dogs allowed. My favorite was a woman in a miniskirt, tight sweater, and sneakers, jogging along with her water bottle in one hand and her IPod in the other.

The fog hustled in on the beach this morning like chicken soup on a roll. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) For a couple of hours, you couldn’t see more than 15 yards or so, and people emerged from the fog like zombies in one of those John Carpenter “Night of the Living Dead” monstrosities. I expected them to be slobbering and in rags, but most of them were fine. Lifeguards could not see swimmers, and had to clear the water for a while. (Which begs the question: If neither swimmer nor lifeguard can see each other, and the latter blows his whistle, does it make a sound?)

The water was great, strong breakers, and the dolphins obviously dined in peace all day.

Dinner at 410 Bank Street, great soft shell crabs. A bottle of Cape May wine (I forgot they didn’t have a full bar) which cost less than a martini at the Peninsula Hotel in New York.

Had to clean the hood of the car. A seagull hit me and he was obviously a retired bombardier from the strategic air command. Fortunately, there is a robot in the trunk that cleans the car.

Traditionally, lifeguards wear red, but there is a corps of super
lifeguards who wear blue, specially skilled in saving women in distress.
Rarely seen, one is caught here as the fog temporarily parts….

© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved.

Monday, July 16

I’m up early watching the fog burn off. Two pelicans circle, unusual visitors here. The dolphins are active already. The birds no doubt figure that if there are dolphins congregating, there are fish.

Whale and dolphin-watching boats soon arrive to hover around the mammals. Ineluctably, the boats annoy the dolphins (and I’m sure scare away the fish on which they are feeding) so, guess what, the dolphins leave and the boats depart to follow the dolphins (or find new ones). I’m sure that cycle repeats itself through endless amounts of customers’ money. Later, mutatis mutandis, the dolphins return after the boats are gone and spend the day cavorting. Occasionally, they leap from the water. The NEVER do that with the boats around!

A family next to us abandons their chairs and umbrellas and, within two minutes, a gull arrives to clean up the crumbs and vestiges of some chips. (Birds always strike me as walking with their hands behind their backs, as if they’re just passing through, no need to be concerned.) The gull cleans up nicely, then flies over beyond the breakers to float and apparently do nothing more than contemplate avian existence.

This evening we dine at The Pier View, which was once The Waterside and featured flights of Johnny Walker scotch. The food is better than ever—our finest meal to date. The prime rib was served with extra au jus in a brandy glass. The waiter is from Belarus, and he tells us that HE is bored here in the winter!

Terrible storm tonight, they cleared the beaches at 5, so we managed a good day, and there’s something soothing about rain at the shore.

Driving down the main drag (“Ocean Road,” how could they have come up with that?) we notice that every motel, hotel, condo, and boarding house has a “vacancy” sign. That’s not a good sign at the height of the season. This is a driving destination and I’m wondering if gas prices are actually influencing choices. Yet 80% of the vehicles here are SUVs the size of Airstreams.

Tonight is my Hoyo de Monterrey Cuban, with some iced tea and a chocolate covered oreo cookie. Like that gull, I am content floating on the waves.

© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved..

Sunday July 15, 2007

Maria was wondering if we’d see the dolphins which hang around off the shore, since we’re a mile farther south than prior years. “Do you think they look up, spot Decatur Avenue, and say, ‘Oh, oh, time to turn around!’?” I asked. She was not amused.

But they did show up in force, feeding on small fish which threw themselves into the air attempting to escape the threat. The dolphins slide rhythmically to the surface and submerge, glistening, intelligent miniature submarines. The adults on the beach rush to the water faster than the kids.

Great day, moderate wind to keep us cool, perhaps 80°, water temperature in the low 70s, warmer than Cape Cod but nonetheless somewhat bracing. I’ve started “The Pursuit of Glory,” which is the story of European development from 1648 to 1815 by Tim Blanning. Did you know that at the beginning of the period road travel was abominable, and that they had the benefits of the old Roman roads—after 1,400 years of neglect! Sort of like Route 46 in New Jersey, but without Augustus….

Dined at Peter Shields in one of the old homes on the ocean. You bring your own wine (or drink the Cape May wine they serve, so like I said, you bring your own wine) and they live up to their reputation of “fine dining by the sea.”

Cruised into town to visit the Nut Shop, a tradition. An artist of quite some years, packing up her exhibit, came over and told me that the last time she had been in a Bentley it had wooden sides! I asked if she had been traveling on old Roman roads.

Modest breakers on a calm day

© Alan Weiss 2007. All rights reserved.

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.