Sunday, April 05, 2009

Annual April Pilgrimage to Revere

Every year, when we can't stand being inside anymore, and the gray weather that started in October is just starting to let up, Dan M. and I head up to Revere Beach. The oldest public beach in America has a lot to offer: it's transit-accessible and caters not only to locals but to all sorts of urbanites. There's plenty of roast beef and pizza, bars I would never enter, and scary motels that seem to be raided frequently by police. There are people and dogs of every size and color, varied as the litter on the sand. When the weather is warmer, the strip becomes American Graffiti, with all types of choppers and roadsters cruising day and night.

I love Revere Beach passionately and defend it to naysayers whenever the opportunity arises. It's an extremely urban experience, a mirror of the diversity America enjoys and the challenges it faces. In other words, Revere Beach is as real as it gets.

I put my photos on Flickr, but here are some highlights:

Transferring to the Blue Line...


People do the darndest things at Revere Beach, like sunbathing on the wrong side of the beach wall. So I was not terribly surprised to see this woman sunbathing on the wall directly outside the men's bathhouse:

"IF YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF ME, I'LL F**KIN' KILL YOU!" she shouted, as I rather suavely maneuvered my lens to set up a shot of Dan (who is sitting on the wall in the above photo).

"Nothing to worry about," I said.

"You dumb f**kin' kid. We've lived here a long time, and this is OUA TURF! I'LL F**KIN SLICE YOU UP FROM HEAD TO TOE!" she continued, still lying atop the wall. Then, to a crowd of about ten shirtless men grilling in the shade of a house across the street: "SULLY! SULLY! WATCH OUT! HE'S GAUT A KEAH-MRA! HE'S GAUT A KEAH-MRA! WATCH OUT, SULLY!"

Someone across the street mumbled something, and many laughed. I've been going to Revere long enough to know how to handle myself there. To get out of trouble, I did what no lower-Revere Beach denizen ever does: I crossed the wall onto the sand. Meade, who was sitting on the wall, stepped off onto the sandy side as well. The sound of waves and seagulls resumed and the restroom lady resumed her blissful rest.

Lots of groundwater was seeping through the sand and cascading down to the ocean. I'd never seen this before.

A laceless, washed-up shoe caught my eye...

...and we whiled away the afternoon at Santorini, the best restaurant on the strip. We got fried clam strips and sunburn.

After a few hours at the ocean, we headed back to the Blue Line at Wonderland and journeyed headlong into another work week, Dan's in New York and mine on the Left Coast.

Labels: , ,