Not only was the main beach carpeted with people—all types but mostly white, all types but mostly young families, all types but mostly American, English speaking—but the river side (is this the Essex?) was the public docking space for myriad small boats. Here folks lounged about sipping beer and wine, cooking meat on curious little burners stuck into the sand, fueled by canned gas, maybe butane, romping in the water, sitting in lawn chairs, throwing Frisbees, playing volley ball, courting, sleeping, cavorting. I grew tired of this rapidly, made for the upper grass line. More on the blog.