Hello?

I don't know if Manasquan, New Jersey is the weirdest place on the east coast, but it's sure been the weird spot on our latest adventure.

We're staying at a place called The Inn on Main. It sounds quaint enough, doesn't it? But here's how it works: You pull into a marked parking spot behind a pleasantly shingled, but otherwise nondescript, building. There are two restaurants on the ground floor. Or are there? One's signage suggests a sushi joint, the other, an America Bistro. Both are abandoned and desolate--their tables forlorn and empty, save for askew tablecloths. Around the corner, in a bare tiled hallway, you push the elevator button. Your room is #202, and you have been instructed by email that there is no check-in. Instead, you will enter a particular code (which is related to your cell phone number) in the keypad on the doorknob, and go right in. In the elevator is a small sign, giving you the phone number for hotel staff, but you're clearly not expected to require them. We don't. On each of the doorways in the hotel corridor is a plaque reading: "The Warmest of Welcomes!" That's good. At least the plaque has good intentions, but the word "warmest" seems ironic given the utter lack of humans. The keypad grants us access into a clean and handsome (in a starkly generic way) room. I half expect that when I turn on the t.v. either Rod Serling, or maybe Will Ferrell, will fill us in on our next instructions. So we don't turn the t.v. on. Instead, we go out and drive around.

We view many grand houses but few dining establishments. We walk on the boardwalk, but not on the beach (which is chilly and windy...besides, we don't have the regulation beach badges.) We find an old-fashioned Italian place, and eat tasty heavy chow. Then we come back.

We have decided to make decaf in the room. I have used tiny 4 cup dripolaters, and I have used Keurig pods. This machine is something in between. You insert a mini disposable filter basket, pour one insulated cup full of water in the back of the machine, push the button, and let it dripolate right back into your cup. Hot. Not bad. Weird.

Tomorrow morning we will leave, having interacted with nary a human. There's no phone in here. I almost feel like a squatter. They don't serve breakfast, like our other two stops. Instead, we'll depart, looking for either Mariner's Cove or Ray's Café to please be open and functional.

Here's the thing: The reviewers on TripAdvisor.com overwhelmingly liked this place. I can usually trust those guys. Not that there's anything wrong with this it...it's just that this is a little too much anonymity even for me.