To this day, we cannot say exactly why we liked Provincetown so much.
It was not just the houses. Nor just the sea. Not the restaurants, the little shops or the bicycles rolling everywhere through the narrow town. It was more of a feeling.
Provincetown felt light. Open. Colourful. Sometimes a little disorientating. But in a pleasant way. Simply “Good Vibrations”.
As a straight couple, we sometimes felt just outside the mainstream there. Not attracting particular attention, simply not the unquestioned norm. And, surprisingly, that was precisely what felt good.
We felt this most clearly at a small drag show. The performer was called Paige Turner. “Paige Turner” — no joke!
We are German. So we are at the little theatre’s entrance thirty minutes before the start. We are in America. So the show begins in the late afternoon. Almost nobody is there yet. We claim seats immediately behind the designated VIP rows, order drinks and silently congratulate ourselves on our excellent planning. Early arrival. Good seats. No rush.
The rows in front of us stay empty.
Of course, we think. Who would pay five dollars extra just to sit two metres further forward?
Slowly, the rows behind us fill up.
Then everything happens very suddenly. Five minutes before the start, the VIP area fills in a rush. And it becomes clear what “VIP” really means here.
Within moments, the people sitting in front of us are people who know Paige Turner. They know the films. They know the characters. They know the songs. They belong. They often know the punchlines long before we have even understood where the joke is going.
The backing track plays the Spice Girls’ “If You Wanna Be My Lover”.
The rows in front of us do not sing along. They take over.
Angie and I sit behind them, trying to keep up culturally. With limited success. Occasionally there is an explicit joke about straight people. For a brief moment, we feel represented.
The show is a riot. Loud, fast, funny. Full of references, some familiar to us and others passing us by completely. And that makes nothing worse.
We do not have to understand everything to enjoy ourselves. We do not have to belong to be welcome. We sit on our bench, drink our drinks and let ourselves be swept along.
The next day, we head out to sea. For the second time already: whale watching.
Whales tempt you into grand words. We will try without them. They are not mystical beings. They do not appear to teach us something about life. They send no message. They probably have no interest whatsoever in our presence.
And that is precisely what is impressive. They are enormous. They surface beside the boat. Glide underneath it. Disappear. Then surface again. Sometimes their movements seem almost playful. They swim, turn, show their backs, their fins, sometimes their entire massive bodies for a brief moment.
The boat is full of people. Cameras click. Everyone watches. The whales do what they do. They are not there for us. We are simply lucky enough to be nearby at the right time. Here too, we are not the centre. Not even close. Out at sea, we are observers. Briefly tolerated. Unimportant. And utterly fascinated. Moved.
Perhaps that is why the drag show and the whales fit together better than you might first think. In Provincetown, twice, we were not the centre of the world — not even in our own perception.
Perhaps Provincetown is a place where simply enjoying your life is as possible as it is permissible. Nobody has to understand everything. Nobody has to fit in anywhere. Apparently, nobody has to stand at the entrance thirty minutes before a drag show either.
Except us. And we stand by that.