On our first day in Boston, I couldn’t stop staring out the window at the frothy waves rolling through the bay. I was born near the Pacific Ocean, whose name literally means “chill.” When I conjure the Pacific coast in my mind, I think of sunlight sparkling off aquamarine hues, the bright blue sky over Laguna Beach where I spent my early childhood weekends playing in the sand (feel the rain on your skin!). I think of Ryan Atwood’s pool house and of Dylan McKay emerging from the surf, shaking salt water out of his hair in slow motion.
When I think of the north Atlantic Ocean, I picture grizzled sea captains throwing back whiskey as they tell the tale of how they lost their leg at sea. I think of sea chanteys tinged with woe, Chief Brody saying “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” I picture steely gray water that blends into the cloud-covered sky until the horizon line disappears. I am intrigued by the North Atlantic and intimidated by its coldness that can shock the life out of you, its countless shipwrecks due its unpredictable weather patterns. But it also makes me want to find a dive bar made out of driftwood where I can sip a dark ‘n stormy and gaze at the sea like I’m waiting for my captain to return home.
In the weeks leading up to this trip, I’d been balancing precariously on the edge of burnout. Taylor Swift was a real one when she wrote the line “I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it’s an art.” On top of the stress at work, I’d also set myself up with the challenge of simultaneously planning four trips scheduled between late January and June—a champagne problem for sure, but after canceling my previous summer/fall due to my hip injury, I seized the day like the Rapture was coming. I’d been looking forward to this trip, craving it. I needed a break.
My family began the tradition of an annual trip every spring to someplace new, and this year we headed to Boston and Cape Cod for four days in early April. It wasn’t quite the entire Nelson crew (we were missing a few more family members who weren’t able to join us), but with my parents and niece and nephew we were rolling nine people strong, ranging in age from seventy-eight to three-and-a-half years old. We landed in a gloomy rainstorm just like the one we left behind in Chicago, and my five-year-old nephew looked out the airplane window and said “Did we go anywhere?” Driving from Boston to our rental house on the Cape on pitch-black windy roads through sideways rain served I Know What You Did Last Summer vibes, and as the first order of business we picked up pizzas, beer, and wine to hunker down for the night.
On our planned day for exploring Boston, rain came down in sheets as we left the Cape, navigating across the Sagamore Bridge back towards the city. I played Beyoncé’s newest album Cowboy Carter for my parents and brother, a) to share with them the genius that is Bey, and b) because the part in “Sweet Honey Buckiin’” where she says “there’s a horse, there’s a horse, there’s a horse” is basically like riding in a car with me through Elgin. (For the record, they all enjoyed it.)
After fueling up on clam chowder and lobster rolls, we made our first big stop. One of the top things my mom wanted to do in Massachusetts was visit the JFK Presidential Library and Museum, and Hyannis Port, the town where he lived. My mom moved to the United States from the Philippines in 1960 when John F. Kennedy had just been elected President and taken office, and came to symbolize the hope and patriotism of her new life in America. She even considered joining the Peace Corps, which illustrates his impact because my mom also has a deep undying love for central air conditioning. One of the things I love about traveling with my family is being able to take them places that are meaningful to them and sharing those experiences together.
After a packed day, we took the kids to an arcade we found online that ended up being inside an indoor mall with a flagship Best Buy, which is basically like taking them to Colonial Williamsburg at this point.
The forecast predicted one clear, sunny day, so we used that window to drive the 6A all the way to Provincetown at the tip of the Cape. The scenic byway meandered through historic towns where houses were adorned with plaques noting the year they were built. I caught glimpses of signs from the late 1600s as we passed by. It was cloudy but dry when we arrived in Provincetown, a bracing wind whipping over the ocean and pummeling us as we ran from the parking lot alongside the beach to the shops on Commercial Street. But even with the chilly weather, I immediately fell in love with Provincetown, a city long known for being an artistic, eclectic, LGBTQ+ friendly haven. “It looks so different without all the people!,” multiple friends commented on the photos I posted, and I could imagine how lively the town would be on a sunny summer day, its narrow streets filled with crowds. But I also love seeing a place in its off-season mode, feeling the day-to-day rhythm of local life. Tennessee Williams wrote The Glass Menagerie while living in the West End. Anthony Bourdain started his culinary career washing dishes at the Flagship and frequented the Lobster Pot. And going wayyyy way back, the Mayflower first landed in Provincetown before the Pilgrims regrouped for Plymouth Rock. I love visiting places with layers of history, eras that juxtapose.
We stopped at the Highland Lighthouse on our way back to Barnstable. I adore lighthouses; what introvert doesn’t dream of living in a lighthouse? I’ve searched for writing residencies where I could live for a month in a decommissioned lighthouse, spending my days reading and writing and watching the sea. I’m painfully aware of how this makes me sound like a member of the Tortured Poets Department but I own my cringe.
After our mall experience the previous night, I wanted to eat dinner somewhere with a harbor view, dark wood interiors, and nautical-themed decor, which we found in the Black Cat Tavern in Hyannis. Some of us decided to go balls to the wall with a lobster roll every day of the trip (Kurt would see this through to the literal last stop, ordering one at Logan International Airport). I felt myself embracing this North Atlantic life; with each passing day I grew a step closer to buying boat shoes and a loose-weave sweater that says “Salty Beach.”
Rain loomed on the all-day forecast for our final day on the Cape, so we pivoted to indoor activities. We shopped along Main Street in Hyannis, browsing candles and sand dollar art to our heart’s content, then took the kids to the Whydah Pirate Museum because they (ok, I) really wanted to go. The Goonies is one of the most formative pieces of pop culture from my childhood, and I got swept back into that childhood feeling of yearning to track down One Eye Willie’s gold as we learned about a real life sunken pirate ship that had been found off the coast of the Cape. Several artifacts from the shipwreck were on display including an authentic chest of silver coins; to be honest I think my mom and I enjoyed the pirate museum more than the kids.
In its final hour before closing, I hauled my family over to the Edward Gorey House, a museum created in the Yarmouth Port home where the author and artist lived until his death in 2000. I highly recommend this museum to all goths, art nerds, writers, creatives, book lovers, and weirdos; one of my favorite things is to see the spaces where creators made their art and lived their lives. I could picture Edward Gorey sitting amongst his books and sketches in the very room I stood in, every inch of it reflecting his wicked sense of humor and unique style. I’d been so burnt out from work that my creative output felt tapped out, but this trip was already inspiring me and refilling that well.
For our final dinner in the Cape, we found one more wood-paneled restaurant with a rowdy bar serving a delicious dark ‘n stormy. While several family members continued their lobster roll streak, I went for a fisherman’s sampler (lured in by the scallops and clam strips) and proceeded to have the largest plate of fried food I’d ever seen placed in front of me. I patted myself on the back for getting the lab work done for my annual physical before leaving for this trip, and dug in.
This trip was the breather I needed after a stretch of months that drained the daily life force out of me as I jumped from one problem to the next. These experiences are what I live for: watching my loved ones explore a place they’d longed to see, alongside finding my own little discoveries.
Random bullet points:
I wrote about camping all around Lake Michigan as part of a Circle Tour road trip for Chicago Magazine. Check it out here!
Looking for a book set in New England to add to your to-be-read pile? A few of my favorites are Vacationland: True Stories from Painful Beaches by John Hodgman, The Secret History by Donna Tartt, and Abandon Me by Melissa Febos. Share your personal recommendations with me!
If you need a new travel show, Conan O’Brien Must Go has four hilarious episodes on HBO Max. Conan’s brand of weird comedy still resonates with me, decades since I first became a fan.
If you want a transportive show with intricate world building, complex characters, incredible attention to historic details, and a hearbreakingly moving story, I highly recommend Shōgun on Hulu. It’s a limited series with ten episodes that just wrapped, so you can binge the whole thing now.
Lol, props for owning your cringe! #adorkable
I’ve always been drawn to the east coast (probably because I never made it to the west coast until my 30s 😂) and you’ve captured all the things that made it feel dark and dramatic and old!