I may be completely biased, but Cape Cod is an awesome place.

If you know anything about me, then you know that I incessantly chatter about where I’m from and the way that it has shaped my life. Still, despite all of my free moonlighting for the Bureau of Masshole Tourism, I really don’t consider myself an expert in the field. Invariably, whenever friends ask for insider information on what to check out while visiting, my mind draws a panicked blank. I have no idea.

How would I know what tourists like to do on their summer holiday? It would appear that I discount my own activities of Cape leisure as foolish—hardly worth mentioning for fear of leading someone’s precious beach time astray. But maybe the stuff that I do is worthy of mention. Who knows? I figure that a good way to find out is to talk about a typical day that I carry out whenever I’m home—summer or winter. You, the friend or foe that has clicked to this here page, can read on and decide for yourself whether or not there are any pearls of wisdom contained within this ugly-looking quahog. Tourist at your own risk.

What to do in Falmouth:

Activity #1. Get out bed goddammit and enjoy Cape Cod before your fellow human foot soldiers sully your photographs.

If you’re coming to Cape Cod, you must first understand that summer means traffic. Traffic means getting in and out of town before Raw Bar revelers and their ilk stumble outdoors and clog up the streets come mid-morning. Wake up early.

Activity #2. Go outside.

Me, I hop into a car and head to the water any chance I can get. I’m a runner and like to stake out a spot somewhere on Surf Drive or the Bike Path for my morning constitutional.

Since I’m an early riser, typically the only human life I encounter is a random walker and the Steamship Authority ferry as it chugs across Vineyard Sound. It’s beautiful. I bring my phone and always find myself snapping photos of the same objects of sunrise grandeur: the road, coastline, dead seagulls and beach roses that never look as pretty when captured through a lens. Don’t forget your shades.

Activity #3. Coffee.

After a run I usually head into town center for either a coffee or definitely a French pastry at the ridiculously authentic boulangerie that was kind enough to open its doors. It’s the only place on Main Street that I find consistently compelling.

Activity #4. Seaside Exploration.

My family, when you work through the Who’s Related to Who Christmas light tangle, once owned the sixth oldest house in Woods Hole. The Broderick House is now a part of the MBL, but Woods Hole remains a magical place for us. Often after stuffing myself with post-run brioche or chocolate croissant, I like to head back down here to pay my respects.

As a kid I used to go to Mass in Woods Hole with my awesome aunt over at Saint Joseph’s , and as immature young adults my siblings and I would drive to the ferry and pick up our sister when she worked for the Oak Bluffs Fire Department. Pay phones at that time still had lingering utility, and we’d park in front of the Steamship phone bank, call the numbers and watch unwitting tourists answer the phones and be weirded out. We liked to describe their backpacks or touristy hats that they’d be sporting, or we’d just see how long they’d talk to us. These are silly things that bored locals do to pass the time. I may or may not have matured since then.

On my most recent trip home, I decided that Quisset would be a good ocean outing to follow my trip to the bakery. This part of Woods Hole, first thing in the morning, is a great spot because it’s early enough to find both parking and a pest-free nature walk out to The Knob. Here you get the ocean, a dense cluster of trees, and the certain blue of Buzzards Bay as you clear the woods and balance on the skinny jut that brings you up to the knob proper. It’s a brief and worthy diversion. One that lets me know that I’m home.

Activity #5. Christmas Tree Shop.

Hey, it opens at 8AM, and this is my go-to spot for all kinds of wonderful crap that I didn’t know that I needed until I strolled in and saw it advertised as a bargain. This is also where I score my $1.99 boxes of salt-water taffy that I like to take back to the office. I think salt-water taffy is a waste of calories…which brings me to the next activity:

Activity #6. Ice Cream.

This one is hard to place in a specific time slot. Let me start off by saying that ice cream, like manioc to the Senegalese people, is a foundational staple of the Hallinan diet. We love our ice cream, and it is consumed at all hours of the day or night. Frappes can be thought of as the original breakfast smoothie, and you can put a scoop of chocolate chip on top of your chocolate chip pancakes before opening the fridge and grabbing the syrup as a diabetes-inducing topping. Heck, that’s what we did as children and we seem to have turned out just fine.

On this visit we had to make a big trip into Hyannis (that’s as far down Cape as I will go) to buy a weed whacker. On the way back to Falmouth—even before the clock struck noon—we pulled in to one of the fancier ice cream outposts, Four Seas, for a hit of the full fat stuff. Just the remedy for summer traffic. You can see why I run so much. But if I’m talking about ice cream, I don’t want to talk about Kennedy family expensive ice cream shops. I have ice cream missions of my own back home in Falmouth. Of course there are mainstays like Ben & Bill’s as well as Friendly’s…but really all I want while home is to roll into Stop & Shop and pick up a gallon of Hood ice cream. Then go home and scoop a bunch into a toilet-shaped coffee mug. Bon appétit, as Julia Child would say!

Activity #7. Papa Gino’s.

Rustic crust. Served before, after, or in between ice cream courses. Every time I come home we get a circle of this magic.

Activity #8. Go to Chappy. Or whatever beach you love when the sun starts to go down.

On this early July evening, we pull into the parking lot and the sun is still relatively high. It maintains court in the overhead of Buzzards Bay while its slanted strength contrasts black waves with yellow frosted edges that jockey for position to the shoreline. At one stage in the action, without warning, the sun’s power is suddenly usurped by the increasing tilt into night and the entire tableau is painted the kind of pastel that you’d find in a Golden Girls episode. I snap photos of the quickly deconstructing day until suddenly all of it is gone.

We and the neighboring beach parkers linger a few moments longer, perhaps to ponder what it all means—perhaps to debate the acceptability of stopping at the Friendly’s takeout window for a Reese’s Sundae supper—before turning over the engine and backing out and away from the sand-scrabbled parking lot. Time to go home.

 

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So now that I have written this entire ridiculous list out, I’m still not confident that I’d serve as an expert in visiting Cape Cod. Furthermore, I think about the friends and family who share this peninsula with me, and I know that they too have their favorite haunts and activities. But this here was a slice of one day—part of a day that did, admittedly, include so much more: impromptu family reunions in Mashpee, Mom’s home cooking and time spent at the pond of my childhood. The kind of stuff you can’t suggest to a tourist. Everything, when you try to step back and capture it all, can suddenly seem overwhelming—but I guess I mean that in a good way. I love it here, and probably like the rest of you who come from places that you remember with fondness, you share a similar experience. There is nothing like being home.

So I guess that the next time someone tells me that they are going to Falmouth and are looking for advice, I’ll probably still blank out and tell them what I always say,” Go to the French bakery and eat a pain au chocolat aux amandes for me.” As far as the rest of your vacation, it’s choose your own adventure.