Murphy’s Law at Work in Mahone Bay

Michael parks the car in front of the correct address in Mahone Bay — the GPS hasn’t misled us.  The instructions say the key is in a compartment underneath the mailbox. But there is no mailbox.  Checking everywhere, we discover a lockbox; we have no code. 

Calling our local Mahone Bay contact, I get a recording.  I call the number for the rental company and get a recording. 

Michael is getting frustrated — I can tell. I know that he can’t believe our predicament is not my fault. I worry that it possibly is…

Sitting in the car, our personalized travel book on my lap, I’m drowning in misinformation, even though the itinerary is turned to the correct page. I’m only — just a little bit — STRESSED.

I knew my luck couldn’t hold forever.  With all the reservations I made, all the places we are visiting, and all the last-minute add-ons, something was bound to go wrong. I feel like a juggler about to have all of the balls that have previously performed so well, begin their inevitable descent in a spiral of demented destruction.

Meanwhile, strangers walking by, continually comment on our Texas plates.

One More Number

There is one more phone number to try.  1-800-_ _ _ _. I dial.  The operator comes on the line — a recording — and I am informed that next time I must use the correct area code — jeez! I’m prepared to scream out loud, despite the passers-by, when I hear, “I will now connect your call.” I expect a recording, but unbelievably I get a live person.

“Oh, dear,” I hear. I’m handed off to someone else — our local contact. 

“You should have the key code with your instructions.” Nope.  I checked. I keep all of my travel emails.

He can’t remember the code. He says, “It might be….” As I hear him flipping through files.

Back at the lockbox, the latch now moves.  The box doesn’t open. I hold my breath and begin to count. One. Two. Three…

…and a miracle happens!

Success

We are finally in the door! We haul our bags up a flight of stairs to the second floor and then up another flight to the third-floor bedroom.  I don’t unpack.  We need a period of adjustment. I find two glasses. Opening a bottle of wine, I pour. We sit on the back deck.  Sipping.  Unwinding our tightly wound coils taking in the calming view before us. Mahone Bay is too cute. I think it registered a tiny bit as we drove into town, but the key thing. Really.

I wasn’t expecting anything this idyllic.  But here we are. Sipping.  Planning for dinner.  When aren’t we eating?

Kedy’s Inlet Restaurant, Mahone Bay

Kedy’s Inlet Restaurant in Mahone Bay serves a meal with flavors that are divine — unpretentious food, perfectly seasoned. The carrot-spinach soup is great.  The mozzarella and prosciutto stuffed chicken breast is tender, crunchy, oozy — like Chicken Kiev, but with melted cheese instead of butter. It is wonderful. There are real vegetables with my meal.  A rainbow of colors that are a perfect al dente; these veggies are not tasteless almost raw, there for color only, as in many restaurants.  These are good.  They are long-lost friends — I haven’t seen this many vegetables on a restaurant plate in months.  I devour them.

More wine makes me happy.

Exhausted.  Relaxed. In bed before ten. At home in Mahone Bay — I’ll unpack tomorrow.

9/8/2014 6:47:26 PM