Monday 5 June 1995 Provincetown
MA
Woke up early this morning after a good might’s sleep and got cracking
quite soon. Although we had originally planned to travel on freeways today to
ensure that we got to our destination – Cape Cod
– with some time to spare, we decided to go on the back roads again as we were
further south and earlier than we thought we would be.
Had a couple of problems along the way with some poor signposting
combined with miles of road works but they didn’t hold us up too much. Great
breakfast along the way at a Friendly’s restaurant – what a bargain. $2.22 for
2 eggs; 2 pancakes; 2 pieces of bacon.
We arrived here in Provincetown which is right at the end of the Cape
Cod peninsula at about 16.00 after a brief lunch stop for a bowl of chilli and
found a really nice motel, right on the beach. A lovely spot but clearly, as we
found out when we went for a stroll, a gay holiday destination. As a
heterosexual couple we are definitely in the minority which is a strange, and
not entirely pleasant, sensation. Couples of both sexes wander everywhere hand
in hand and the shops and night spots are clearly all aimed at the gay market.
I spoke to Jane in San Francisco
tonight about some business issues and she laughed when I told her where we
were. Apparently everyone knows about P’Town but nobody told us.
It is difficult to explain why we feel uneasy because there is no overt
unpleasantness of any sort – or even any covert unpleasantness either. Both of
us have met and liked gay people over the years, especially in the theatre
world. I guess it is simply that we feel we are so obviously the odd couple.
Weird, man, or what? It will be interesting to see if we still feel that way
tomorrow once we have gotten used to the idea.
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| Rab flies the flag at Provincetown |
Tuesday 6 June 1995 Boston
MA
We had a bad night at the motel last night. It was, as I may have
recorded a very cute place right on the beach. It was wood built – five rooms
only which shared a pair of verandas on the ground and first floors. The couple
next door came in late – I didn’t hear them but Rab says she did and who knows
what they got up to but they weren’t quiet about it. I woke up at about 02.00
to some rhythmic noises and again at 03.00 to some of the worst coughing I have
ever heard. It went on and on until finally we got out our earplugs, especially
as the tide was high so in between the coughing fits there was the noise of the
waves. There was also the sound of the bedroom door opening and closing and
footsteps on the creaking floors from the folks upstairs. We slept better after
that.
Although we had been annoyed by the coughing during the night, in the
warm light of day we wondered if the person was not well. Perhaps an AIDS
victim? That made us feel more sympathetic and less critical. However when I
got up and went for a walk along the beach (it was a curious feeling to be ogled
by some of the men on their balconies in the other units along the beach) I
found that our cougher was not some poor emaciated gay man but a couple of
plump dykes who were still smoking something pretty rank. So I guess the second
theory – that they were choking on something they had taken – was probably correct.
We had thought of staying an extra night and going straight through to
the airport tomorrow from here, but the restless night – the pillows were
lumpy, the room was hot and the waterproof under the bed sheets made an odd
noise – decided us on a return to The Eliot for a good night’s sleep before our
long flight tomorrow – Cape Town via London.
So we wandered down to the village for a last American breakfast – a
1-2-3 at one of the cafes. One egg, two pancakes and three rashers of bacon.
Then we made the final decision on buying a kaleidoscope. The shop we bought it
from had the biggest selection I have ever seen and so choosing one was very
difficult indeed. Such nice blokes running the shop too.
The passing show as we ate our breakfast was fascinating and as we
drove along later we discussed. What we had seen. Rab found the dykes more
disturbing than I did but it seemed to be only the really butch ones who
bothered her. I guess it was much the same
with me – it is the camp men with dyed hair and exaggerated mannerisms which I
do not like and with whom I feel uncomfortable. The regular gays are not a
problem – what they wish to do with their lives is for them to decide. I guess
I do not like having their views thrust at me, so to speak. The sexual
flaunting, like that seen each year at the Sydney Gay Mardi Gras, seems so unnecessary and does not seem to be aimed
at advancing a more tolerant attitude to gays.
What was a little surprising, given community attitudes, was to see two
busloads of school kids arriving for a tour of the town under the guidance of
their teachers, some of whom appeared to fit into the character of the place
only too well. I feel that it might not be a good idea to expose kids that
young to data of this nature which they might find it difficult to deal with. I
suppose in thinking this way I am guided to an extent by what Matt has said
about our first visit to Amsterdam
when he was ten. We inadvertently wandered into a very rough area with sexual
aids, women offering their wares and porn magazines highly visible,
We drifted around Cape Cod during the morning having a look at the
houses down to Hyannis and then headed for Boston, making the trip to
the hotel without any problems thanks to some excellent map reading by Rab.
And that is the end of this journal.
Postscript June 1995 Cape Town South Africa
We headed out of Boston
to Cape Town via London. Our main aim was to attend the
wedding of my youngest brother Pad – and
also to see some of the Rugby World Cup games
if we could. We had also decided in principle that we would seriously consider
returning to South Africa.
The three years prior to this trip
had been difficult for us, Rab in particular missed the comfort of her long
term friends. Matt was urging us to leave, preferring to deal with his recovery
on his own. So I was going to test the market to see if I would be able to get
work for my consulting company and if that was positive to buy a house while we
were there so that we were fully committed to the return.
Unfortunately we had to use British
Airways for these legs. The Boston/Heathrow flight was not all bad although the
cabin was freezingly cold. Gareth, my pal from Bermuda
who flies a good deal with BA has a theory that they do it to make the
passengers hibernate and thus keep requests to a minimum giving the crews
plenty of spare time.
We had trouble checking in for the Cape Town flight with a rude check in chick who objected
to the size of our cabin baggage. Despite my pointing out that we had just come
off a BA flight which accepted the luggage, she was adamant that it had to go
into the hold. So I slowly repacked the cases, taking out the items of value,
and holding up all the other First Class passengers who were fuming. Those
passengers are really not happy folk when they don’t get the service they
believe they are entitled to. The food was pretty grim – as we have experienced
often flying out of Britain.
We had a great welcome from friends
and family. The start was when we checked in to the Bed and Breakfast
establishment owned and run by our friends Lola and Rick. We always have an
argument with them when we stay with them because we feel we should pay as it
is their business: they refuse. But on this occasion all accommodation in Cape Town was fully booked because of the influx of
visitors for the Rugby World Cup. So we had booked through one of
the authorised agents under a pseudonym Capt Matthews. Because we had asked for
a specific ground floor room, Lola had gained the impression that Capt Matthews
was incapacitated in some way and travelling with his nurse companion. The look
on her face as she swept up to the door of her lovely house to greet Capt
Matthews was an unforgettable picture.
We had a wonderful time in Cape Town. All our friends said they were happy to see us,
the South Africa team won the final and became World Champions, setting off a
week of celebrations which did more to heal the damage done by apartheid than
anyone could imagine, I decided I could earn a living – and we bought a house.
That’s a story in itself, but we were back living in the Cape by the end of the year - see HOME AGAIN - THE CAPE 1995.
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| Flying in to Cape Town with Table Mountain clearly in view |
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