When I moved to Rehoboth full-time eight years ago, I thought I’d be constantly doing a reverse commute for Washington, D.C. weekends. How could I live without Thai food, theatres, museums, national politics, and of course, longtime friends?

It turns out most of that stuff, if not already alive and well at the beach, followed me here over the past several years.

The Rehoboth I moved to already had the gourmet restaurants, and more ethnicity soon followed. Rehoboth had live theatre and lots more has developed; many of my friends were already Rehoboth weekenders, with more signing on all the time. An astonishing number have made the move full time. And frankly, knowing that most people make their closest friendships early in life, I never dreamed I’d meet so many people and enlarge my circle of friendships so meaningfully here in Sussex County.

Oh, and the Rehoboth Museum is on the cusp of opening.

Not feeling the pull to go West, it’s been a rare trip. So last weekend was a lovely, nostalgic novelty.

Bonnie and I (and the dogs) made the drive to Maryland last Friday to stay with friends, see The Heidi Chronicles at Arena Stage, and enjoy D.C. in the spring.

Upon our arrival we walked the dogs through lush mounds of fallen cherry tree petals, and gazed with wonder at all the old-growth landscaping, bursting with bright red and pink azalea blossoms, dogwood blooms and those ubiquitous and almost-but-not-quite finished-blooming cherry trees.

On a driving tour we were gape-jawed at Bethesda and Silver Spring, once sleepy diner-dotted suburbs, now morphed into towering urban metropoli. Asian fusion food, gobs of galleries, and behemoth Barnes & Nobles punctuated the cityscape.

Blues skies and a sunny day accompanied our winding drive down Rock Creek Parkway toward the D.C. waterfront, all the while passing the well-known architectural edifices devoted to our nation’s history. Adjacent was the sparkling Potomac River, people in paddle boats and city streets bursting with activity.

I’m loathe to admit that I suffered a momentary pang—was it regret?—for leaving all this behind and running off to the beach. Dare I say it? Had I erred? Could small town Rehoboth ever compete with this?

The Capitol dome loomed, bright white against a perfectly blue sky, looking glorious in the humidity-free air. This was a perfect 10 for a Washington, D.C. day.

But Lo! What were all those clunky concrete barricades and big black fences? My God, our government buildings were cowering inside their own terrorist-proofed Green Zone. Security-blocked roads made navigation dicey on the way to the Maine Avenue seafood district. As the car whipped from Southeast to Northeast, around this circle and that, I started to long for my one tiny traffic circle connecting everything I needed.

On-street parking eluded us so we entered an underground lot. $5 for the first hour. And we think our rates are high? Upstairs, the famed waterside seafood restaurant sprawled from dining room to dining room, with no less than five massive buffet stations offering deep fried, steamed, broiled and sauced seafood, fried chicken, Paella, Jambalaya, chowder, a beef carving station, copious salads, butter-drenched corn on the cob, mountains of caloric desserts and an entire buffet table devoted to (for those wanting neither fish nor fowl) breakfast blintzes, burritos, pancakes, eggs, sausage, bagels and hominy grits.

The bounty could bring weight watchers to their knees, but then again the restaurant was so huge we burned ample carbs hiking between food stations.

But here’s the thing. It was all astoundingly mediocre—a word not generally associated with Rehoboth eateries. And at $25 per person for brunch, we can have breakfast at Retro or Robin Hood, lunch anywhere in town, and stroll the boardwalk for dessert, still not topping twenty-five bucks a head.

In the interest of full disclosure, the matinee at Arena was pretty good. You can’t beat the production values money can buy. But truthfully, although the cast had wonderful resumes and the direction was clever, many of the shows I’ve seen here in the beach area have been warmer and more enjoyable. That surprised me.

Heading out of the fortified Green Zone and the town that feels like it’s under Martial Law, back to the slightly smaller city of Bethesda, we got tangled in traffic. And spent most of the trip sneezing and sightseeing through runny eyes from the Cherry Tree pollen.

On the way back to our friends’ townhouse we stopped by the Chevy Chase Metro to drop off two passengers. I was astounded and saddened to see a homeless woman living in her own Green Zone of cardboard boxes right there in the station. Welcome to the big city.

Then, on Saturday night we visited friends of our friends in Virginia, for a wonderful dinner and a night filled with laughter. The thing is, these women have places at the beach. We see them in town. Virginia may be the proverbial nice place to visit, but given its politics, I wouldn’t want to live there. Although the azaleas certainly were spectacular.

Something struck me as we drove along Maryland and Virginia highways and neighborhoods. We think we have over-development? Maryland and Virginia are used up. Every inch is developed, with the exception of state and local parks. I realize that Sussex County has cultivated a huge crop of townhouses in the last decade, but lucky for us we still have chicken farms, rural roads and undeveloped waterfront. At least for now. And Pumpkin Chunkin’, Apple-Scrapple celebrations, and the amazing Delmarva Chicken Festival. Can you believe I’m claiming that stuff as mine?

On Sunday morning we walked the dogs again, but they’d pretty much had it with the leash business by that time, longing for their big fenced backyard and personal doggie door. Then it was off to the Parkway Restaurant, an authentic Jewish deli, where we filled up on lox, bagels, potato latkes and Dr. Brown’s Cream soda. My soul food.

Time to go. We thanked our hostesses for the gracious hospitality and piled some of their possessions in our car for the trip to the Beach. Did I tell you they are preparing to put their house on the market and make the permanent move East?

On the Westbound lanes of Route 50, across the median, vehicles crept bumper to bumper with weekenders returning from the shore. On our side, it was clear sailing.

A short two hours later, as we turned the corner onto our street we could see our lone cherry tree starting to blossom and our small azaleas getting ready to explode into bloom.

We still need a Jewish deli here, but otherwise, life is so good.