Other than getting sunburned despite the sunscreen we used, Tuesday was pretty uneventful on our little piece of Ocean Isle Beach. Except for the Swiss woman I met at the Tiki Bar (I helped translate the bartender’s grunts to her into regular English) and the man and kids from Reidsville who were telling me about their dirt bikes and the older couple on the other side of us with the dog that looked like the title character in the kids’ book Walter the Farting Dog (and if you haven’t read it, don’t knock it) and the cougar down the line from us with the three guys who kept sashaying down the strand, nothing much happened.
And then there was the guy on the other side of us in the blue portable cabana. He had three kids and a wife and really resembled my old friend Barry Karesh, whom I miss very much. Except he had more hair than Barry does these days. Anyway, this “Barry” and his family stayed near us pretty much all day.
Which reminded me of our trip 11 years ago to Rehobeth Beach, Delaware.
As I mentioned the other day, we like beaches of all kinds, but I always have had a soft spot for Rehobeth. We ended up there because we were going to Pennsylvania for Karen’s sister Sherri’s wedding to Darryl. After the wedding, we drove over to Delaware for a week at the beach. (We’ll discuss this trip further in a future post, Adventures in Bad Parenting.)
Anyway, we had a little guest house about a block and a half from the beach, which was really great.
What we didn’t count on was a family that we encountered the first or second day there. They were nice enough, but they talked constantly. And loudly. And did I say constantly. And most of the conversation was directed at one of the members of the family, named Saul. They must have called his named 10 times a minute. And did I mention they talked constantly.
The next day, we went back to the strand. It started innocently enough. We went to get fries on the boardwalk, then hurried to eat them before the seagulls came for their cut. We dipped our toes in the surf. Then we looked up and there he was.
Saul and his entourage were back. In full force. And in full voice.
We saw – and heard – them at least one other time that week.
So when people ask what we like about Ocean Isle Beach, we always say the solitude. Not to mention the lack of Saul-itude.