This is the farthermost point of the Cape Cod peninsula, where I spent the day with my sister yesterday in beautiful, artsy Provincetown.
Like the plate says, I just had to eat at . . .
this venerable, Zagat-rated institution, also the most frequently painted landmark in town. The seafood is so good. I had a bowl of steamers, the most delicious albeit most visually offensive appetizer ever consumed by modern man.
Behold the steamer, dipped first in broth to remove any sand, and then in melted butter. This one is a behemoth. Poor Christine is allergic to shellfish and even looking at one makes her ill. She couldn't bear to watch me eat these creatures.
The sixteen-dollar lobster roll was worth every cent. So delicious it sent me into gastronomic bliss.
After eating we went gallery hopping. There are currently about fifty galleries in Provincetown, and we explored almost every one.
I loved this painting, but it was unsigned, unidentified, and the gallery guy was yakking on the phone during our entire visit, so the artist remains a mystery.
"Chris" by Miriam Preissel
We loved the M.I.T. Gallery, which has nothing to do with the Cambridge geekfest but instead everything to do with Men In Tutus. The owner/photographer was a really nice person, too.
There's one house in town that is particularly quirky. This sculpture in the front yard I named Warrior Angel. I loved the way the late afternoon sun illuminated the giant quartz crystal in his staff.
I also liked the way the light shone through these glass outdoor sculptures.
I had to explain to my sister the whole Prince Albert captive bead ring concept that this inn so hilariously incorporated as its logo. She was unaware of the type of personal jewels the prince had made popular, as enlarged here in the bottom right corner. I wonder what gauge that is?
More good pre-dusk light, this time shining through the cupola of this old house. The word comes from the Latin cupella (for cup) because it resembles an upside-down cup.
I would be hesitant to fly this Jolly Roger. Call me superstitious but I've heard of really bad luck happening to those who fly this on their boats (divers drowning, equipment malfunctioning, etc.).
At this inn, the guests were partying with a bottle of Clicquot. Nice.
Dusk. This is at the west end of Commercial Street where it meets Route 6A, near the 1.2 mile-long breakwater, at land's end. This is it -- the very tip of the Cape.