Look for it on your map and you won’t find it, and maybe that’s what makes it so special.
To find Bongo Charlies you have to take the main drag out of town heading west. When you reach an old red barn on the right that looks like it had been a target for an artillery range, take the next left.
You will be on a narrow lane, trees to the left and sporadic “homesteads” to the right (you know the sort: boat trailered on the front lawn, a few bikes & riding toys scattered on the gravel drive, screened porch door hanging from a hinge, and any folks you see look like the casting call from Deliverance).
The road twists for a bit and it will feel like you’ve been on it forever; but just short of two miles you’ll “feel the presence of water”, you’ll “smell the sea”, and the road will take a sharp turn to the right to follow the path of the shoreline not yet seen.
But just before the road turns, there is a quick left (you will see a “Dead End” sign), turn on to the road. It’s not far ahead, just about a quarter of a mile.
The road ends in a smallish black square… big enough for about 25 cars to wedge in (although you’ll always find cars parked under trees and pinching into the sand).
Straight to the front is a fifty yard opening to the beach and to the water beyond. The sand is finely grained and in the bright sun, nearly white. In the shallows near the shore, the water is turquoise which transitions to emerald in the mid-distance, before receding to a deep cobalt at a distance.
The trees surrounding the opening and framing the beach are a combination of big pines, scrub pines and some deciduous types mixed in.
For a public place, this is as private as it gets. Just a hand full of folks take advantage of the beach’s quiet charm, and those that do, I am sure are praying that no one else discovers their spot.
To the right you will see the building. From the blacktop the building’s features are but a mere suggestion… from this angle small trees, large perfumed gardenia bushes and shrubs that look like they are from the Jurassic (which suits, since the daytime bartender looks like he is from the Jurassic), and the lush vegetation all but completely obscures the white clapboard siding of the establishment.
An unnecessarily narrow flagstone path on the beachside leads to the entrance. One can only imagine the difficulty in negotiating that path in the wee hours… particularly if you had spent the better part of an evening reviewing the finer points of well made mojitos.
There is a patch of scruffy grass that separates the building from its open portion to sea and sand. There you will see a clutch of those good sized Adirondack chairs easily dispersed… some on the grass, some under trees, some inched on to the beach with an occasional small table placed between.
And now, turn to the entrance… two steps up (also a danger point late in the eve), and there on the door, a small simple hand painted sign hung on a wire proclaiming “Bongo Charlies”. The sign is permanently askew, and woe to the person who tries to straighten it! According to legend, it guarantees bad luck in the love making arts.
Welcome to Bongo Charlies.
Step inside. It’s dark. It’s naturally dark (maybe to deter the insincere?). In the daytime the dark is magnified by the contrast to the brightness of the sun… sun reflected by sand and azure water.
Move to the left. The right brings you to a cozy dinning room… too many retirees there. And even if you are a retiree, why would you want to be surrounded by folks who only saw themselves as retired?
No. Go left. To the bar.
Nothing could be better! A close horseshoe bar… easy for patrons who can “visit” with other patrons across the way; but hell for the bartenders who have to navigate a small workspace to service the thirsty souls.
The bar itself is of thick substantial wood… something that you can put your elbows on and know that the world is good. TV screens are tucked in here and there and only important for major “sporting” contests (you know how it is… CNN covering wars during the day, college hoops by night).
I love the haphazard art and knick knacks that decorate the space. It’s nice to see a proper old fashioned nude hanging in the center of the back bar. How can you not love these paintings of a reclined nude woman (no skinny waif) stretched out in a wooded glen, attended by two bearded men in suffocating vested suits, three little cherubs frolicking with a small dog in the foreground. The title of the canvas? “Picnic in the Country”. I love outdoor dinning.
There are the odd photographs of famous personages, one with a hand written inscription, “Bongo Charlies is the best, and when I’m not sober it’s bester!”
The nautical stuff is to be expected. A handsome brass ship’s telegraph. Heavy block and tackle. Port and starboard lamps. And then my favorite, an unexploded sea mine that sits below the big screen TV. I guess it is meant to discourage guests from messing with the controls.
Then there are the true treasures… a signed report card from the fourth grade; and old photograph, brown with age, of this family standing in front of an old building with suitcases, trunks & packages pile high; a Sandy Koufax baseball card; and old lacrosse stick made of wood and gut; a recipe for fish soup; a Pith Helmet; and a map of the United States printed in Russian.
The overall impression of the place is one of warmth, easy hospitality and humor. You feel welcome. You feel you have come home.
So look me up there one day… I’d like to see you.
If I’m not at my spot on the corner stool… step outside into the starlit night… I’ll be in one of the Adirondack chairs, sitting with my Dad, listening to the water curl onto shore, breathing deep & taking inventory of the stars.
Bongo Charlies — a slice of heaven.