Letters from Venice #4: Cape Cod

On our way to Venice, my partner Robert and I took the fast ferry from Boston to Cape Cod to visit a couple of his dear friends.  The ferry docks in Provincetown, which is on every gay man's bucket-list, but shouldn't be.  Once quaint, I'm sure, the town is now a caricatured amusement park of its bygone offbeat self.  Our final destination was to be Truro, a lesser known, less gay, still quaint, town further up the Cape.

After disembarking in Truro, Robert and I were met by Mitch and his wife Judy.  Not entirely recovered from the two hours of being on a seafaring tilt-a-whirl, I sat in the back of an SUV and listened quietly while the longstanding friends caught up.

Interspersed amongst the talk, Mitch provided sprinklings of Cape Cod trivia.  Apparently, the Pilgrims did not first go ashore in Plymouth, as is the popular lore even amongst Americans, but rather in Truro.  It is a historical irony surrounding the arrival of the Mayflower that I positively relish: these religious puritans (similar in beliefs and practices to today's Baptists, Congregationalists, and Methodists) first dropped anchor on November 21, 1620, in Provincetown Harbour, the future site of the gayest place on earth (right after San Francisco's Castro District and the Vatican).  They proceeded to explore Truro as a possible place for settlement, and then promptly left.  No reflection on the place in its current state, of course.

The drive brought us to the hillside enclave of four homes on a combined plot of land that could have fit a small subdivision, where Mitch and Judy have built their beautiful abode.  The house was designed by their architect son and his architect wife (Adam Glassman and Yoo Jin: www.glassmanchungdesign.com).  It is modern in its lines, including a flat roof, but has kept with regional tradition in its exterior finishes such as clapboard siding.

The property, a few acres worth, had for the most part been left to the indigenous coastal flora.  Tall poverty grass, subtle wild flowers, and wind-pruned trees like pitch pine were made part of the home's decor through large windows.

Bright and engaging, Mitch and Judy are gracious hosts.  Mitch is a wonderfully pragmatic man who once took a silver set to the public dump simply because he never used it.  The set was a treasured find that was quickly snatched up. (It seems the dump site was actually a sort of free-market open-air exchange for locals.)  Subsequently, on a different run, Mitch picked up a rusted grate which he refurbished and repurposed as a tabletop.  Having purged myself of most of my worldly possessions (it's just stuff after all), his pragmatism had a very rational charm to it.

Judy is an extremely sweet woman whose self-proclaimed type-A tendencies with regard to tidiness are endearing, almost beautiful, to watch.  She was as delicate, unobtrusive, and welcome as a humming bird, cleaning alongside me while I worked in the kitchen.  Directly alongside me, as if I had two additional autonomous arms rushing to diligently conceal my trail.

During our outings, Mitch would not only share his knowledge of the Cape, its ecology and history, but would also provide insights regarding his neighbours (aka gossip).  The three neighbours who shared the vast ...Nepal being her destination of choice; periodically, she brings back a Sherpa or two. hillside reserve consisted of a couple who were both judges, a couple who were both architects, and a couple who were both psychiatrists.  It appears that in Truro there are some very strict two-by-two cohabitation laws.  I can only assume that Mitch and Judy had a type of zoning waiver given that he, a former real estate agent, is a painter (his site is worth a visit: www.mitchglassmanart.com ) and she a retired school principal.  Seriously, who cohabitates with someone outside their own profession?

Further down the hill was a woman who lived in a lovely yellow saltbox house whose garden we raided for the ingredients to a salad while taking a shortcut through her yard (read: "pasture").  Both acts, Mitch assured us, were perfectly acceptable amongst congenial neighbours.

This neighbour in particular loves to travel, with Nepal being her destination of choice.  Periodically, we were told, she brings back a Sherpa or two.  Yes, a Sherpa... or two.  I'm not sure what a Sherpa goes for these days, but apparently they are very conscientious, hard working men who put in a six-month tour and then go back to Nepal. In addition to providing general labour, they are skilled builders who construct delightful but durable structures, such as little cages of woven branches for the roses and charming little huts, without the use of nails.  It is a remarkably generous act on her part, but who does that?

Apparently in Truro, if you want to ensure that your money is getting to the people who need it most, you fly them in from halfway across the globe and give them work! Is there a lesson there for the rest of us?  I'm thinking not really.

As delightful as Cape Cod was, and as wonderful hosts and Mitch and Judy were, I couldn't help but peer out periodically to the east.  Somewhere out there far beyond the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, where the rising sun appeared on the horizon, was our final destination. Venice was still awaiting our arrival.

DW Richards is a novelist and freelance writer.  He can be reached at: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Related Articles:

Letters From Venice #3: Adventures at Sea

Letters From Venice #2: Local Tips

Letters from Venice #1 (True Chronicles)

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