Before last week, the closest I'd ever come to Nantucket, the Cape and the Vineyard was with a quirky bottle of juice with a New England fact under the cap, a low-fat bag of potato chips and a box of Franzia. But then one of my dearest friends invited me to spend a long weekend at his summer palace in Nantucket. This was clearly an offer I couldn't turn down. I intended to use my own eyes to examine one of the stereotypically WASPy retreats that receive so much high-falutin hype anywhere from Anchorage to Zurich. The invitation was intimidating, but I had to see for myself.
A Kennedy sighting as the ferry departed? A mere dream. A John Kerry sighting in town? That would, sadly, soon be a reality.
You see, when I say town, I mean "Town." Nantucket's main town is pretty cocky in itself to just be known as the proper Town. I'm no William Sapphire, but this lack of nomenclature troubles me and immediately signals "I'm better than you." But perhaps I'm just paranoid.
The serenity lived up to expectations. We went fishing on the beach and crabbing in the lake. These were good times.
The Stop & Shop was a bit overpriced, as was the fish market. The latter was an utter disappointment; I could sense the ridiculous profit margin that the fish store's proprietor reaped. The fish and scallops we bought were likely caught on the island that morning, and the price then jacked up 450%.
One of my other major qualms was the uniformity of the houses. According to Nantucket laws, all houses must be grey with a white trim. "Make a left at the grey house with white trim and then make a right at the grey house with the white trim" can get one lost very quickly.
My greatest discovery on the island was Livingston Taylor, brother of the famed James. He's a more alternative and small-venue version of his brother. Apparently he performs on Nantucket every summer. His "The Dollar Bill Song" is amazing.
I had a good time with friends, but I still didn't get the hype. It could have been any beach town that this story took place, except the houses were overvalued (in the local real estates ads, a starter house went for $600,000). I read in the Nantucket Inquirer & Mirror (they couldn't settle on only one name) that one of the best teachers at the only high school on the island resigned from her post because she couldn't afford housing on the island. Unfortunately, on Nantucket, all but the hyper-rich suffer in a way that no one expects.
Last week, the New York Times printed a feature about Nantucket as the new home of the super-wealthy. But beyond the overpriced goods, I was spared from the "how can I outdo the next guy?" shenanigans. It was a chill place with typical summer activities. But I just don't know if it's worth a million dollars to frequent the same restaurant as Jerry Stiller and Tommy Hilfiger for two months each year.
