Today we wandered into a small seaside town that looked like it stepped straight out of someones costal town fantasy. Quaint houses along the water and small little shops that you would think would only come out of some perfect New England imagination. They even had a guy selling fish out of a little stall. He kept telling Mr. C. Cow about the “biggest fish seen around these parts” and something about a mermaid with large “something or others.”. I didn’t even let the old fish seller finish his mermaid tale because I was ushering Mr. C. Cow away from the stall. He enjoyed the old mans stories but I thought that part of it seemed a bit too fishy to be real.
We stopped in at a bakery across the street from Mr. Tall Tale Fish Man and had some coffee and a pastry before moving on. The guy just kept staring at us from his fish stall through the bakery window. Take a sip of coffee and turn to see him looking at you. Take a bite of a pastry and turn to see him still peeking at you from a distance at his stall. Mr. C. Cow didn’t seem to care but I was mighty freaked out. I think the man might have had a wee bit too much mead from the local pub where the people were probably also tired of listening to his sea stories. I guess an idealistic perfect costal town wouldn’t be complete without some crazy old fisherman with this exaggerations and fishy smell.
Location: Breakers New England Community (M)
Mr. C. Cow and I went to a lovely supper club the other night. He put on his tux and I put on a lovely ball gown. Dinner was amazing as well as the atmosphere.
Then things kinda went downhill from there.
I don’t think that either one of us is to blame. They had a fully stocked free bar and we just couldn’t resist trying out various different classic cocktails. The jukebox was playing a little Frank and Mr. C. Cow was dancing with a gin and tonic in his hoofs. I, may have, danced on a table while drinking a martini at one point. Since there is no photo proof the world may never know.
This is when things started to get a little weird.
A cow kept staring at us through the window of the supper club. As the drinks kept flowing it’s little cow eyes started to get bigger and bigger as it continued to stare. It was…unnerving. Mr. C. Cow wanted to go outside and ask why they kept staring but I said no. Don’t start any trouble.
It just kept staring at us!
After feeling that we may have hit our limit on the number of free drinks one can take advantage of we walked back to our camper and slept them off. In the morning the staring cow was gone. What was he staring at?
Location: The Cod Supper Club (M)
Cows and wine don’t mix. If it looks like grape juice and tastes like grape juice to the refined cow palate then it must be grape juice. Explaining that it isn’t juice but wine just doesn’t register to a cow. If you explain that it is alcoholic grape juice then you are able to get them to not drink as much. Kinda.
When I started to see rows and rows of grapes then I knew that, hidden somewhere, had to be a place that served wine. Finding one that also has a cheese platter is a bonus. We were lucky enough to find both. Nothing makes you feel fancier then drinking wine outdoors, eating cheese, and discussing your villa on the coast. I don’t own a villa on the coast but it makes me sound important if I talk about one.
I was able to get Mr. C. Cow to lay off of the “alcoholic grape juice” and eat a bit of food. Having a sick cow in the back of a camper just spells “visit to the auto detailer”. I’m not exactly sure though that eating an entire jar of jam is going to help out.
Maybe I should start carrying around juice in a fancy bottle and swap them out when we run into a winery. Shh….don’t tell Mr. C.
Location: Merryman Winery (G)
The weather started to get a little rough and our camper kept swaying back and forth in the winds. Rather than blowing over we decided to stop for a drink and maybe catch a movie. One can only listen to the exciting farm tales of a cow one hundred times before you need a break. I don’t think I can listen to the story about “Fran the goat” one more time.
I was a little worried that we had made a mistake in stopping at a place that didn’t scream “classy cocktail bar. I’m assuming that they don’t even wash their glasses. To my not-so-surprise they only served warm beer and frowns. I tried smiling a few times at the bar patrons but they looked like they would rather eat me then smile back. I smiled so much that my face hurt as I slowly backed out the front door.
The movie theater wasn’t any better. We tried to see something that sounded like a spy movie but it wasn’t. I kept having to cover Mr. C. Cow’s eyes throughout the whole thing! I always thought the title was about someone passing undercover secrets. Boy…was I wrong!
Rather then go back to the bar of a million frowns we waited the weather out in the back of the camper. As we were pulling out I thought I saw something crawl across the road behind us. It was almost as if it was a…..it was probably just my imagination.
Location: Innsmouth (M)
I noticed that today is St. Patrick’s Day so we decided to park for the day and get a few beers to celebrate. We were lucky to find a little Irish pub down the road from a place to park our camper. Not only is it a stupid idea to drink and drive a virtual camper it is also a stupid idea to let a cow drink beer and drive a camper. Hoofs don’t have great ten and two grip action.
Twelve green beers, 4 shots, and 2 attempts at jigging later we decided we had better send our friends a postcard to tell them about our day. Or what we can remember of it. All I know is that there is a apostrophe missing from our postcard, cows cannot fit in sinks to sleep, and I’m too short to see over the top of a pool table.
Location: Malone’s Pub In O’Hare’s Gap (M)