I tend to pick weekend destinations the same way some people pick lottery numbers — random, impulsive, and with low expectations. That’s how I ended up in a small coastal town I’d somehow never bothered to visit before.
The second I stepped out of the car, everything felt slower. Not boring slow — just unhurried. The boats bobbed lazily at the marina, the gulls were annoying but in a comforting way, and the salty air made everything taste like a better version of itself.
I got coffee at a tiny café where the barista looked half-asleep (relatable), then wandered along the boardwalk. No plan, no schedule. Just walking.
The highlight of day one was a dusty bookstore tucked between two seafood places. It smelled like old paper and adventure — I found a trail guide from 1998 that I definitely didn’t need but bought anyway.
Day two started with an accidental sunrise. I didn’t plan to wake up early; my brain just decided sleep was optional. But standing alone on the shore while the sky lit up in pinks and oranges… worth it. Sometimes all you need is 48 hours somewhere quiet to remember your brain still works.
