Oysters, Fish Tacos and Fire in Rehoboth and Cape Henlopen Delaware

Happy hour at Fin's is a bit of a competitive sport, or at least that has been the case in my own life. I learned that it's no joke. Folks stake out spots outside a good 15 minutes in advance of the doors opening in order to ensure a spot at the bar. If you're not prompt (or early) the likelihood of your being able to get a seat is low. So the Wednesday for which there is no proof, I made a concerted effort to get there early and still had to deal with a pack of territorial 50-somethings who did not want to be my friend, which was fine because I overheard their conversation and they were boring. In any case, what I didn't realize about Fin's Friday happy hour is that it starts at some other time than 4 PM. So when I rolled up at 3:30 thinking I was totally on target, I found myself to be gravely mistaken; the bar was totally packed and there was no chance I was going to get a prime spot. This meant I was relinquished to the rather awkward second tier, standing bar shelf. Daunted but not doomed, I ordered a beer and a dozen of the happy hour oysters. Happy making they were, though I have to say that none of the two dozen oysters I consumed on this trip left me feeling as satiated or pleased as oysters usually do. I don't think that's the fault of Fin's, just perhaps a reflection of some thing or another in my own universe.

I also decided to try the happy hour fish tacos, as I had noted a few 50-somethings ordering them the last time and they seemed to be very generous in their portions for what was quite a reasonable price. This was a smooth move on my part. The fried white fish (no idea what variety to be honest) was crispy on the outside but moist and flaky on the inside. And the drizzle of sauce and mango-ish (maybe pineapple?) salsa that came with the plate were both right up my alley as well. Good times. I probably would have stayed longer and tried some other dish if it hadn't been for the awkward seating. Next year.

Then I returned back to my campsite. I have a whole rant about a lady who was rude to me/extremely incorrect in her campsite neighborly conduct, but the truth is that if I recounted the story, you probably wouldn't really care and I'd probably somehow turn out to be the asshole. But honestly, I was not the asshole, she was and we should all be thankful I did not write a mean note and leave it on her car's windshield. Instead I enjoyed an evening reading and stoking an unnecessary fire. God I love fire. I bought two bundles and started it before it was even close to being dark, which necessitated a run to the campground firewood shed to buy another bundle. Because I am addicted to flame y'all. Addicted to flame.

I really do love this campground. It's not really remote and some sites are far less awesome than others. This year was not an awesome year. Pretty much any year when I don't get a site around the edges of the grounds ends with too much proximity and not any privacy. It's interesting to me how we all willfully ignore one another, though we can clearly hear most all conversations. For example, I was entirely fascinated by all the activity going on at a site across the way from me where there seemed to be at least three or four young Mennonite couples and a whole slew of kids. Listening to them speak in Low German and laugh and chat while wearing basketball shorts and knock off Raybans was confusing. I had all these questions. Do they use bug spray? Do they use band aids? Are they actually permitted to wear basketball shorts and knock off Raybans? Why do they try to run me off the sidewalk that leads to the beach when I am walking and they are riding bikes? And why don't they apologize when they do so? Are they having sex in those tents? Do they hate their hair cuts? What did they think of the Tom Petty songs I was playing from my car? You know, just questions. Questions to which I will never have the answers because after the bike/running off the road episode, I no longer thought they were friendly Godly types and began to think they were wrathful Godly types. I could, of course, be mistaken on that score. The point is that it's always such an interesting cross-section of folks. Big family groups all speaking a language other than English. Older couples in their souped up RVs. Younger couples and their intense border collies. Extremely weird solo men trying to blow up their air mattresses using said motorcycles way after 'quiet hours' who then turn down the offer of air mattress pumps from granola-esque fathers or wayward kids acting on behalf of their parents. You know, just a funny mix of folks. All enjoying the semi-real experience of outdoor living, only with nearby bathrooms and neighbors probably even closer to them than in their everyday life. It's a mini-city and I like it. I keep hoping I'll somehow stumble across a dude who digs it too and comes on his own or with friends...but usually it's just foreign families, old people and creeps trying to fill their air mattress using a motorcycle. But I love it. These days I go back and forth about whether having kids is as much of a priority for me as it was when I was younger. This may be due to any number of factors, but I do still sometimes envision a life where I do get the opportunity to teach a youngster of my own the glories of setting up and sleeping in a tent, of building a fire, of diving under waves to get to the calmer part of the ocean, of the sheer loveliness of a perfect oyster with just a spritz of lemon. Meh, if I don't have my own I'll just steal the children of my friends for a weekend. At least one of the legion of children that will burst forth from the loins of my collective network would be down. One would assume.