Two days ago I posted photos of the Truro dump, one of Sven’s favorite places.
We had stopped on our way to Provincetown so he could visit the swap shop. While my husband went inside to check the book selection, I approached the metal pile, higher than usual, and photographed rusty springs from an ancient bed frame. It did not take long for me to become captivated by the variety of junk discarded by Truro residents. Soon a woman appeared. She examined a brown cabinet. In no time, it had become a valuable object to recycle. The final photo showed broken refrigerators and a beat up pick-up truck, obviously well loved and decorated with the American flag.
While I was taking photos, Sven saw two people struggling to possess a carton of used books from a recent drop-off inside the swap shop. “Frantic” is the word he used to describe these avid book collectors, and I doubt it was because they wanted to read. Such books have some resale value.
In Provincetown, I was struck by the range of luxury items available. There were end-of-season sales going on. Pedestrians exited shops with several shopping bags full. What a lot of junk you can buy along the middle eight blocks of Commercial Street! After a while, these objects will make their way to the dump, or Ruthies, Provincetown’s immaculate thrift shop
We also saw a blond transvestite, with a microphone, who had an exceptional voice and was belting out a tune from the 1930s. Tourists sat on benches and took in the free show, not sure how to react. Behind them rose the magnificent town hall, newly renovated, one of the four towers in the photo above.
A trip to Provincetown,
even at the end of October, still feels like experiencing some psychedelic drug. Images flood the brain. Colors scream for attention. Buildings are painted a bit too perfectly. Same-sex couples rush here and there, holding hands, eager to become part of the spectacle. Every once and a while, we would get a glimpse of the harbor. The salt-sea air was all around. Seeing the sea was reassuring in a way. This is a real place, not someone's fantasy.
When we got home, I realized we had witnessed both sides of our consumer society. In Provincetown, people buy stuff they don’t need. In Truro, people recover stuff strangers have discarded and put it to good use. To see both behaviors in a couple hours was a strange experience. And, Kerry, I didn’t even need to write these paragraphs for you to get it. From your comment, you understood from the photos, right?
Provincetown was surprisingly empty of all signs of life last weekend when Sven and I journeyed down the highway to take in the sights. 
Few of the stores were open. There were a few bicyclists, but not many pedestrians. We saw a houseboat out on the bay, but no right whales, spotted last week by Stormy Mayo at Coastal Studies. There was a cool lobster trap tree near the town pier. Apparently, this Christmas New England is asking Who Has The Fairest Lobster Trap Tree of All? The one in P-town was quite fair indeed. Recently off-season Provincetown was described in a Yankee Magazine Blog, a fluff post but with lots of photos. Now why doesn’t Yankee feature a place blog like this one to get the real scoop on what’s going on in an Outer Cape town?
