The hardest part about encouraging people to visit my hometown on the Eastern Shore of Virginia is making them understand where itís located.
When your opening line is ďItís that little part of Virginia thatís not actually attached to Virginia,Ē you can get some confused looks. In Washington, ďthe Eastern ShoreĒ means Maryland, and I am regarded as someone who clearly failed geography class, even though Iím talking about a place where I spent most of the first two decades of my life. Iíve settled on this line by way of helping people picture what Iím talking about: ďYou know the Delmarva Peninsula? Weíre the Ď-va.íĒ
That sometimes produces a few thoughtful nods as my audience squints, probably calling up a mental image of a coastline map.
The second hardest part is making them believe and/or pronounce the name of my hometown. Yes, really, itís Onancock. As in ďOh-NAN-cock.Ē Yes, it has appeared on T-shirts featuring dirty-sounding town names.
Hey, at least itís not Intercourse, Pa.
But itís also difficult to explain to people why, exactly, they should visit Onancock. Not that the town doesnít do a good job of selling itself: Thereís a great inn, a picturesque harbor, outdoor activities, a bit of history and some mighty fine restaurants. Itís just that my experience of Onancock, and of the Eastern Shore, was special, and difficult to replicate.
Most tourists wonít get to do the things I did that made Onancock a little magical. They probably wonít scale the dumpsters in the alley behind the main drag to climb up to the rooftops, where theyíll spend hours talking with friends. They wonít have bonfires on Crystal Beach, a small and private sandy strip of shore just outside town, or ride a convertible along the back roads that crisscross it.
Still, thereís a soul to Onancock that even a visitor passing through canít miss. Thereís a feeling of possibility, a sense that you might stumble across something amazing, whether itís a painting at a local gallery, a rare bird spotted in the marshes or a friendly conversation at the local pub.
Itís also a place where fun isnít forced onto visitors. Restaurants keep odd hours, and the townís single-screen old movie house has only one show a day ó and only on weekends. Onancock isnít the sleepy fishing village it once was, but itís still more of a small town than a tourist hub. But for the visitor who finds the crowds of St. Michaels just as stressful as the ones on K Street, thatís a good thing.
For lodging, try the Charlotte Inn and Restaurant (7 North St., 757-787-7400). Owners Charlotte Heath and Gary Cochran have created a serene, comfortable vibe at this boutique hotel and restaurant. The beds are dreamily comfortable, and the thick-but-crispy bacon served in the restaurant might be enough reason to make the trek from Washington. If youíre not the doily-draped B&B type, this is your place.
One option for dinner is the Flamenco Restaurant (4 North St., 757-787-7780). Proprietors Olga and Ales Gregor hail from the Czech Republic, but the huge menu at this quirky spot spans the continent of Europe, from Spanish fare to Eastern European delicacies.
Rep. Bill Cassidy has his blood drawn by Alesha Barbour during a free hepatitis screening in the Rayburn House Office Building hosted by the Congressional Viral Hepatitis Caucus to recognize "National Viral Hepatitis Testing Day."
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