Cape Cod

Leaving Narnia we nudged our ever loyal Veedub towards the coast to see how the Pilgrim Fathers took to their new land. A sort of ending of the north-easternmost leg of our journey. This time, having had our vows put to the test on the New Jersey Turnpike, we were armed with that miracle of marital bliss- a satellite navigator run by the inimitable Carla, she of silky smooth voice with ne'er a flicker of emotional perturbation at a wanton right turn instead of straight (she only gets mildly excited when you arrive at your destination).

Through Boston and down into the Cape we ran, savouring these hours of freedom and our own company after the days of merry thronging with friends and family that have marked our last few weeks. We had hoped to camp somewhere, but it appears that not all of America shares our passion for stars and frozen noses. Thus it was that we wended our way to the Provincetown Inn, an old establishment, empty passages still echoing summer gaiety.

It was here in Provincetown that the first Pilgrims first made landfall opting to carry on sailing to Plymouth. The beaches are wind swept and wide. Eider ducks bob in the water and only the most solitary of walkers passes by. It was good to wander along the miles of seashore together, a happy mix of silence and easy conversation- remembering, looking ahead, dreaming.

It is altogether a piece of America that lives for summer's throng- children in the sand, men in boats and picnic baskets. Now it is cold with a watery sun and we tilted our way to New York, the beginning of the end.