Off we went into the local yacht club here in Plymouth, Massachusetts for an evening beverage. We were warmly welcomed (that’s 4 w’s in a row, not deliberate alliteration) and left feeling like we’d been ‘the turn’, having become the focus of the conversation for those sat at the bar. Once again we experienced kind people who offered lifts for shopping and local useful advice on heading south.
It would have been difficult not to notice the number of layers we were wearing. New England is pretty much closed for boaters now….log fires and snuggling up for winter are higher up the priority list. We sapped up the heat in the building.
It’s been a big weekend here in town. Plymouth throws a big parade each year to celebrate the Pilgrims arriving in 1620. Floats, speeches, marching bands, people in historic dress, the whole nine yards. The opening addresses provided several ‘big wigs’ a captive audience, allowing them to enjoy the sound of their own voices for slightly / definitely too long . There’s a job there for an Event Management Company to advise leaving the audience wanting more not less.
Relative Bobby, my dad’s cousin came to visit on Saturday afternoon till Sunday lunchtime. He didn’t really want to leave boat life behind as he drove off without his phone and had to turn round after a few miles then try to break into the security conscious marina to find us again. Well that was my interpretation…he could have just been forgetful. The word he used to describe us was ‘mad’. I took that as a compliment.
Bobby brought gifts. HP sauce, genuine maple syrup and a bottle of single malt whiskey. Dave’s eyes lit up at the sight of item number three. Great pressies…..thank you. The only other occasion where Bobby and I have met was back in 1986, the year I finished college and worked summer camp in the states. He was working at West Point, the massive military academy. We reminisced a little, swapped current stories and spent time just shooting the breeze.
He’s a microbiologist now. He offered to explain to us the bugs that live in steak if you choose to eat it rare, as we do. We declined his offer. He eats his meat very well done.
One thought on “Plymouth, Massachusetts”
Brrr… Not liking the look of the ice. Love a bit of big band music though. When you get a mo could you drop us a line with the recipe for bread which you proove overnight please?
This time next week we will be on route back to Chamonix.
Al & Breezy