Elsa MacDougall

Wish you were here?

The sun’s shining out of a perfect blue sky, with little white fluffy clouds here and there, just like candy-floss. There are mallards swimming, ducking – up-tails all! The sand’s white and smooth – it’s neatly swept every morning; and when you go into the water to paddle, and you can see the minnows darting through the shallows.

Barefoot children run to and fro, laughing, or play ball-games on the sand; their parents are sitting contentedly in the sun drinking root beer or Coca-Cola, keeping just half an eye on them. The pleasure-boats call at the pier, waiting for a few laggards – run, run; don’t be late!

Lap, lap, lap, goes the water on the shore of the lake behind me.

The opposite side is lined with a jumble of buildings. There’s a bistro, a village shop, the Boardwalk Bakery – ‘Eat More Wheat!’ – where you can buy donuts, Danishes, and the best cappuccino in town. It’s Latin dance night, with salsa lessons, at the Dance Hall, whose 1930s lettering and balconies are reflected in the water. It’s very romantic; mom says it’s just the kind of place her mom and dad used to go to when they were young. Oh, and if you don’t want to go dancing, there’s a clam-bake at the Cape May Café! Tonite and every nite!

The air is filled with the sound of birdsong, and the sound of a band practising. They must be very talented musicians, or else maybe they’re auditioning: first it’s the Beatles, then the Rolling Stones; a few minutes later there’s classical guitar, then jazz piano. I used to play the flute in the school orchestra. I wish I hadn’t given it up now.

It’s the end of October. 

The sun’s shining out of a perfect blue sky. The temperature’s a steady 26 degrees – what we used to call a heatwave when we were children, before it began to get so hot. But it’s a strong sun, even on overcast days. The local paper, the Tide Tribune, says you should put on lots of sunscreen before you go outside, even if you’re not going out for long.

There’s a wedding this Sunday evening. There’s a wedding here almost every day.

The lake’s called Stormalong Bay – after a pirate who discovered these parts, apparently, running his ship aground on the shore in a fierce north-easter. The ship’s still there, and you can climb up on it. It’s strange, really, because we’re at least 50 miles from the sea, and the water’s fresh. 

There are alligators in the water.

In the hotel garden there’s a little frame where you can watch butterflies hatch. One moment they’re just dried-up little brown balls, the next they’re beautiful butterflies.

That’s how I feel here. Reborn.

Even if butterflies only live for a day.

We had dinner at the Yachtsman Steakhouse. I’ve never had such good steak.

On the Boardwalk there’s one of those boards with the faces cut out of it where you can take your picture, like at old seaside resorts. My friend Simon and I asked  the woman at the village store to take our photograph.

The village store doesn’t sell much in the way of provisions. There’s cornflakes, and tomato ketchup, and tea and coffee, but mainly it’s postcards, and soft toys and sweatshirts. And golf clothes, his ’n’ hers.

Apparently there was nothing here nine years ago. Apparently it was just scrubland. It used to be a swamp.

I know I must be dreaming, but this morning, when I set out my deckchair, I could swear the sun was in the same position as when I went in yesterday evening.

It was hard to find our hotel. We drove and drove. All the roads loop round and round, so you end up having a hard time keeping your sense of direction.

But if you get lost, there’s always someone to help you.

It’s a lovely place. Once you’re here, you’ll really never want to leave.