"Not that there's anything wrong with that..."

We’re headed for Provincetown.  After a quick goodbye to our friend Tim we motor out of Onset Bay on our way to the canal, the entrance of which is announced by an enormous bridge. This bridge has the look of a majestic gate, as though it guards the entrance to the Emerald City or other such place. It is actually a railway bridge that lowers the track to ground level across the canal, and otherwise keeps the track high in the air to provide enough height for tall ships passing through.

Once through the canal, Rick sets the sails and we plot a course across the Cape Cod Bay. The weather forecast has been calling for some severe thunderstorms this evening, and we are hoping to get to Provincetown before they hit. Now that we’re under way, we can see a storm brewing up ahead and it looks as though we are going to run right into it. Rick uses this opportunity to reassure me about how rare it is that sailboats get hit by lightning (thanks, I wasn’t even thinking about that), but that - just in case – I might want to stay out of the head during the storm. The head is pretty much directly under the mast which makes for a pretty nice lightning rod. In the end, there are several storms up ahead but they all move off to the North and we miss them all.

It is mid-afternoon when we make our way into the harbor at Provincetown. The skyline of this little fishing village is distinctive for the 252 foot Pilgrims’ Tower that can be seen for miles away. Built in the early years of the 20^th century, it commemorates the landing of the Mayflower. Apparently, the Pilgrims landed here at the northern end of this giant sand bar called the Cape Cod Peninsula before moving on to Plymouth where they found better soil for farming.

Rick and I are hungry even though it’s not really dinner time yet, so we take the dinghy in and join the other tourists for a walk on the main drag while we look for someplace to grab a bite. The street is not a pedestrian walkway, but it is so clogged with people that cars have a hard time getting through. I know very well that P-town is a famous resort destination for gays and lesbians so I’m not surprised to see a lively mix of shops and characters. There are families with children and couples holding hands, doing what tourists do; a large percentage of them just happen to be openly gay. The shops are mostly typical – the obligatory fudge and saltwater taffy shops, souvenir emporiums and the like – but right next store you will also find shops like the Cock and Bull Leather shop, or the Spank the Monkey Jewelry store. There is the occasional transvestite or transgendered person mixing in with everyone else. We are almost immediately accosted by a handsome, shirtless young man passing out flyers and advertising the evening’s entertainment of “Naked Boys Singing!”

We stop into The Squealing Pig for a substantial snack of their signature dish, smokey fish chowder and beer. This is unbelievably good and we vow to try and imitate this soup when we get back home to Baltimore.

When we have finished our soup, the storm that was promised appears to be materializing and we race back to the boat. Rick is really looking forward to this storm. He loves the coziness of the cabin with the sound of rain hitting the deck above, and the homey smell of dinner cooking on the stove. We get the dinner but, alas, the predictions are wrong again and other than a few sprinkles of rain there is no storm. We make an early night of it so we can be fresh for a day in town tomorrow.

We have no real agenda for our day ashore, but with one exception - to climb the Pilgrims’ Tower. We wander over there first and make the climb. The stairs go up in a sort of square spiral and the granite walls are periodically polished and engraved with the names of various towns and Mayflower organizations, who I assume have contributed money for the building and upkeep of the Tower. The view from the top is stunning and we stay for a little while to enjoy the breeze. It strikes me as a bit ironic that the pride and joy of this little town is a memorial for Puritans. I’m not sure what their stance on homosexuality would have been, but since they hung people just for being friends with Quakers, I kind of doubt that they were all that tolerant.  This tower is absolutely embraced by the gay community though; during Gay Pride week the tower is lit up with purple lights, creating a giant purple phallus. Ya gotta love it.

We spend the rest of the day investigating the shops along the main street. There is a thriving artists’ community here, and there are a number of shops and galleries displaying local work. We completely fall in love with the work of one local artist who, among other things, creates small boxes, somewhat in the style of Joseph Cornell. We can’t resist buying one of the boxes, and now we just have to figure out how to store it on our already overstuffed boat.

The doors are open at the Unitarian-Universalist Meetinghouse, and we can’t resist a little peek inside. At first glance, the sanctuary is elaborately carved  but on a closer look it turns out that it’s all paint! The walls are actually simple and flat in that typical New England style, but they’ve been done up in a very convincing trompe l’oeil.  Someone is practicing Bach on the wonderfully real pipe organ upstairs.

We have dinner at a little farm-to-table rooftop restaurant very appropriately called Tiny’s. On the street below, a faaaabulous six-foot-four transvestite in evening attire is trying to drum up an audience for her karaoke show that is about to begin. Visitors to P-town can partake of a wide variety of entertainment options with varying degrees of flamboyance. There are Whale Watch dinner cruises and the Whydah Pirate Museum for families, and at the other end of the spectrum there is “Debbie Does Dallas, the Musical”.  One notable summer production in years past was called “Willy Wanker and the Hershey Highway”.

As a straight person, it is definitely a different experience to be surrounded by so many gays and lesbians. The sight of gay couples being openly affectionate is so rare practically everywhere else that I don’t trust my perceptions, and would hesitate to guess the actual percentage of gay to straight. One thing is very clear; all kinds of people feel completely at home here. There is a wonderful sense of freedom and acceptance – wouldn’t it be nice if the rest of the world felt that way? The sign in front of the Universalist Meetinghouse pretty much says it all: “Come as you are. All are welcome.”