Stay up late, build a fire, read your books. Eat plenty and sleep in late. Embrace the morning air and listen for the distant stir of the ocean hidden by the trees that line the path to the dunes. Drink your coffee slow; read a chapter. Slip into a pair of pants and get your coat.
Downtown, near the ocean, there are many shops that cater to the sputtering stream of tourists. Gift shops left and right who sell cheap trinkets with their city’s name emblazoned on the front. Then there’s the candy shop that smells of homemade fudge and saltwater taffy. Sometimes you even catch of whiff of kettle corn on the way out as you get closer to the kite shop snuggled between the boat tours and ice cream parlor that serves the largest cones you’ve ever seen.
If you find yourself stopping in the middle of the crosswalk, you are one of the many who have suffered from what’s known as “Napping Idiot Syndrome” in which your resting moronic tendencies are stirred to life by the sight of a lighthouse shrouded in fine mist as waves crash against the jetty, or the men cutting fish in their docked boats and throwing the guts to the restless sea otters. The drivers are patient and recognize that glazed look and the slowed footsteps as the face of a person struck by the charms of a sleepy beach town.
The sharp scent of fish and sea carried by an endless wind that feeds the heart of sailors and wrinkles the noses of children. The go-karts chug along, smashing into the railing and each other, the drivers given warnings to slow down and be careful; two phrases that never made sense when you were behind the wheel.
On the way home don’t forget to grab a bag of oysters. Go ahead and watch the crabs pinch at the surface of their tank while your order is weighed up. The freshly smoked salmon is too expensive, but the smells are free.