You can find the first part here.
And the second part here.
Yes, there’s that much to tell. And yes, I’m trying to not bore you to death with one ridiculously long story. You’re welcome.
Where did I leave off? Oh yeah.
We’re on the beach. The beach with nobody else but us. (And a couple fisherman with a dog that jumped in the waves and literally watched the fishing rod in anticipation for catching a fish. It was wonderful.)
Popped collar and sandy feet.
After hours upon hours of perfection, our bellies get hungry again (it happens often for us). So we pack up, head over the dunes to set up our lodging for the night.
Y’all, we stayed in a tent. (In regard to the above photo, don’t you JUST LOVE a manly man? Sigh.)
Now, let me tell you. I’m the gal who is all, “Why in the world would you go to the beach and stay in a tent or camper or RV? A vacation is about luxury, right?” Here on Ocracoke Island, everything is small-scale. There are no Hilton Suites or Comfort Inns. There are a couple B&Bs and some mom-and-pop lodging. Other than that – it’s camp ground. And even if we wanted to stay somewhere other than ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DUNES FROM THE BEACH (perfection? Yes.), everything said No Vacancy – so that was that.
On the other hand, setting up a structure from a flimsy piece of material in winds of the ocean? No, thanks. Annoying. Also, sweaty skin plus wind that carries sand equals not acceptable for a night at dinner.
And let me tell y’all – the showers were wonderful. And, by wonderful, I mean my naked feet and shins were visible to all campers, and you had to pull a string for the water to flow out the shower head. It’s actually kind of funny. And wasn’t all that terrible.
By this time, the pizza Pringles I had been munching on while ManFriend dutifully set up the tent were no longer suppressing my stomach from eating itself. So we go to find a place for dinner, and we decide the 40 cars parked in front of Howard’s Pub is a pretty good indication that it’s a great place to dine, considering there is probably all of 1,000 people on the island. (Exaggeration? Nah.) Plus, the wait was relatively minimal, considering the mass amount of people.
What better way to pass away the restaurant wait time than perch at the bar and have a $9 margarita (worth it) and beer. Out of a plastic cup. When everyone else’s was in a glass, as was my margarita. ManFriend was less than enthused. Mainly because it happened not once, but twice. Or three times? I don’t remember.
Ol’ Howard must like license plates. They were everywhere, from everywhere. We made a little game of find-the-West-Virginia-plates, which was fun. There were actually quite a few. There was this one. Apparently a WV senator enjoys Howard’s Pub, as well.
And then, I saw it. Oh, the horror. How do I travel three states away, to the border of North Carolina where you can drive no more, and I still, STILL have to put up with these crazies. These couch-burning, lunatics? It chills me.
Leave. Me. Alone. You crazy Mountainqueers.
I digress.
In the spirit of being adventurous, ManFriend and I decided to try something new to fill our hungry tummies. Also, in the spirit of being at the beach, why not go seafood? And raw (well, steamed)? So we did.
Although we had already tried shrimp and crab legs, of course, it was a first for us on the scallops, mussels and clams. Verdict: yuck. As in, I had to hold in the gags to stay classy. ManFriend wasn’t a fan either, although he didn’t quite have the same reaction as I did. (Dramatic much? Me? Nooo.) But that crab dip right there? Ah, yes. That was divinity.
Casual conversation and another $9 margarita later, we headed back to the camp site, Howard’s Pub glass and all. ($18 for two margaritas? I deserved the glass, right? It’s still in my car. I should get that out…)
ManFriend had the hiccups. Funniest thing ever. I laughed until I cried and I couldn’t breathe. It’s an integral part of the story.
We get back to the tent, and ManFriend does the best manfriendly thing ever. He goes to the scary bathrooms where the ONLY electricity is available, and comes back with this:
Did I ever tell you you’re my hero? You’re everything I would like to be. I could fly …
He’s amazing. Air mattresses are amazing when all you have is a piece of material separating you from sand and crabs and cacti and pinchy weeds. And, yes, all these things were around us.
We also bought a battery-powered fan. Because we don’t camp. We like our luxuries. Sleeping bags and heat? Not our thing. We’re high-maintenance. Both of us. And we like it like that.
To be continued … just one more time.
Check out Part Four.
You are hilarious !!!!!!!!!!!!
We go camping with an air mattress too. It’s the only way to go 🙂
Exactly! Who am I, Bear Grylls? 🙂
Psht! Nick and I went camping last October and he got frostnip (one step away from frostbite, it was actually quite terrifying at the time. AND THE PARK RANGER GAVE US AN ICE PACK). We rough it and pee in the woods.
But I am so freaking jealous of you guys. I want to camp at the beach!! I haven’t had any sort of vacation this summer. We went to Boston, but it was nonstop tourism.
I need to kidnap him and steal your beach idea.