Entry 57:
While not strictly an island (rather a peninsula), Cape Cod’s alure as an island-unto-itself is cocooned somewhat by its geographical separateness from the rest of Massachusetts. Going by the souvenirs adorning Hyannis’ Main Street stores declaring ‘Call Me When You Get to the Bridge’, a mental freedom from the hustle and bustle of the rest of New England’s most populous state permeates these shores. Or, at least, that’s the idea.
Besides the souvenirs on a promenade of clothing and record stores, bars and eateries that epitomise small (seasonally tourist) town America, I join the vintage blue Area Trolley – halted, suddenly, by a snapping turtle crossing the street – in the morning, visit the JFK Museum in the afternoon and frequent Palio Pizzeria, KKatie’s [sic] Burger Bar and the Auld Triangle Irish Pub & Restaurant in the evenings; the calm before and after the storm.
As my Peter Pan Bus Lines service from Boston South Station to Hyannis Transportation Center crosses the Sagamore Bridge (one of three; Bourne and Cape Cod Canal are road and rail, respectively), my Moroccan driver, now a Boston native by way of San Diego, points out the canal below as being the world’s largest at sea-level; the unmistakable physical reminder of crossing from one mindset to another – from work to play. And make that call.
Due to the 2026 FIFA World Cup, hosted by Canada, Mexico and the United States, the cost of repeating my direct United Airlines flight from Edinburgh to Boston on the same date and time one year later had jumped £1,400. One way. Balking at this insanity, I book a flexible/cancellable return flight from London Gatwick to New York JFK International with Norse Atlantic Airways for roughly the same price as my return United boarding pass last year before embarking on the first half of the following four trains two days in advance:
- ScotRail: Dunfermline City to Edinburgh Waverley
- LNER: Edinburgh Waverley to York
- LNER: York to London King’s Cross
- Govia Thameslink: London St Pancras to London Gatwick
After an overnight stay in the Moorgarth Guest House in York followed by another at the Acorn Lodge next to Gatwick airport, completing the second half of the four trains above, I step onto my transatlantic flight, shoehorning three films in en route; ‘F1’, ‘Contact’ and the fourth and final ‘Conjuring’ entry. Clearing border security, I checked into the Q4 Hotel in Queens, New York City, using the Jamaica AirTrain on the Jamaica Long Island Railroad from JFK to Jamaica and the E Line of the MTA, before purchasing a tourist photograph of myself on a heaving Times Square, dazzling billboards surrounding.
Checking out the following day, I haul my luggage into Midtown Manhattan via the E Line and board a FlixBus from the stifling parking lot on 31st St West and 8th Avenue, under the dual gaze of the Moynihan Train Hall and Madison Square Garden, for the over 200-mile journey north. Anticipating a half-hour delay due to heavy Interstate traffic (effecting the arrival times at my destinations on every FlixBus journey thus far), which materialised, I booked the later Peter Pan service.
My original plan, to secrete myself inside the HI (Hostelling International) Hyannis to complete the New Hampshire Commercial Boating Licence materials before my onwards journey, was thrown into flux upon discovering how accessible, financially and logistically, the Cape is by public transport: the Cape Cod Regional Transit Authority provides all fixed routes fare free. As such, day trips to Provincetown, Chatham and Woods Hole (for the Steamship Authority ferry to Martha’s Vineyard: 90 minutes return for $22) as well as buses around Hyannis, to Sandwich and Barnstable Village, cost no money at all.
Using the Steamship Authority ferry, visible and audible from my Ocean Street hostel window as it arrives and departs from its docks five minutes away, I enjoy the four-hour crossing to Nantucket and return for $44 (Hy-Line Cruises, docked even closer, across the road from the hostel, takes half the time but costs over twice that amount). I buy an triple-scoop ice cream and merch from Jack and Charlie’s and a lobster roll from Walter’s Deli on Nantucket before a burger, fries and soda from The Seafood Shanty in Edgartown on Martha’s Vineyard, watching the three-vehicle ferries shunt their transport back and forth to Chappaquiddick Island from the viewing platform above.
Only taking in the northeastern half of Provincetown in June, from its quaint wooden housing to the sailing boat in its library, I hope to return to chart its southwestern stretch in future, a Nor’easter preventing my attempt in September. By chance, stepping off the bus in Chatham and into the Orpheum Theater, to sample the film ‘Tony’, due to the cold autumnal breeze, introduced me to the independent film largely set there; the town of sea-breeze is served well by the bucolic images cast in this marvellous tale coming-of-age.
And this, at its core, is travel. Or, at least, by my own navigation. With each visa embarked on; its documents, data and banking; transport, people and weather; purpose, surprises and challenges; all amount to an autonomous yarn that spins to a coming-of-age. How do we get there and at what cost? Who will we meet and how will they change our conceivable plans? And, perhaps most pressingly, will I be able to solve all my problems that inevitably rupture despite my pre-planning? I live in hope, but here there is no certainty.
Likewise are sparkling conversations with strangers. With, theoretically, no guarantee, practically, they strike up impromptu, especially while solo travelling; to the Russian who just quit teaching, the German traversing the American coastlines, the South Korean student inbound from a Spanish exchange semester, the Bulgarian student working on Cape Cod for the summer months, the Floridian medical worker who skis worldwide, the Californian who books tickets to Broadway productions annually, the New Yorker en route to the Nantucket book festival, the Englishwoman outbound to Canada to watch the polar bears in Churchill… and many many more: thank you.
In contrast to the Cape at its most photogenic below, a summer escape at the dawn of June, a Nor’easter storm is currently showering HI Hyannis’ porch windows and billowing the trees surrounding as I type this three months later at the dusk of September. Weather, it transpires, would play a villainous role in the story of this visa; a performance to live long in the memory, whose effects would far outgrow the confines of the stage, contract and vast cast of actors. Until the next correspondence… Xx
