Prior to reading this, be sure to check out When in Exile: Virginia Beach or Bust Part I to find out how we so admiringly made lemonade out of Hurricane Earl’s sour lemons.
These two are to blame thank for our entire trip to the Outer Banks, our evacuation and welp, my entire sordid existence.
And all of their existences, too.
(Back: Brother Pat, sister-in-law Jane, Bode, brother Jade, Jamie, Moi, cousin Emily, Ashton, baby Naomi. Frontish: Mom, cousin Jaxon, Dad, cousin Connor, Haddie and Arianna).
My brother Jade now lives in New Jersey and is well-acquainted (or at least better-acquainted) with Virginia Beach and led us down to the waterfront. Over 40 high-rise hotels lined the beach as roller-bladers, joggers and multi-person bikes for 2, 4 and even 6 people zoomed along the bike path.
Though it was Labor Day weekend, the area was still recovering from the storm and the small seaside amusement park was closed.
And so we took in the boardwalk.
I was moderately taken with it all until I attempted to shop in one of the many tacky tourist shops. Then some areas became overcome by drunken revelries. My distaste deepened when the pier we wanted to check out charged money.
Last I checked, “spectating” was free.
At least that is how it was in the glorious and pristine Outer Banks.
We’ll be back.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 