In a happy accident, my poor hotel booking skills resulted in our staying for two unexpected nights in Plymouth, where for some strange reason, everything is named for pilgrims. Kind of like Salt Lake City where you eat pioneer ice cream at the pioneer market in your pioneer bonnet.
The first night we were treated to the full eclipse just a half hour after we got to our hotel. We watched on the back deck with a few other friendly people sitting on dew soaked chairs. Our necks got stiff and still we stayed, awed by this ever amazing universe.
The Pilgrim Sands was a wonderful place. I felt like I was seeing in real life that preteen novel I read about a lucky family of city kids that left the hot city for a vacation at Cape Cod and then found buried pirate treasure at a clambake. The hotel was worn and old fashioned in a comfortable way. Their were beach sayings hung all through the halls. The paneling in the gathering room was painted 50's pink. At breakfast I met a woman named Lorraine and we bonded over our shared name, even though her name is spelled the French way and mine is spelled correctly.
The man at the front desk told me that people come generation after generation. There were guests upstairs that came on their honeymoon, brought their kids all through the years and now the grandkids were still coming. I could see why.
I loved my first taste of the Atlantic
Keith and Mark go wading while Carol heads for the surf. She is so brave!
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