Last day. Last day. It has such a plaintive sound.

As always, I was awakened ten minutes early by a call of Nature. I wish I could put Nature on the Do Not Call list, but sometimes you need the bulletins. :-)

After breakfast we headed south on  I-95. I did want to at least say hello to my cousin Debbie! Downtown was pretty quiet after rush hour antics and we could appreciate the twisted new intricacy of the I-195 interchange, which is now south of the electric plant and the Fox Point Hurricane Barrier rather than north, leaving a big swath of land at India Point Park ripe for development. Providence is presently trying to talk the Pawtucket Red Sox into relocating to a ballpark-to-be-built there. Watch out, guys, it's a trap!

We also noticed that Nibbles Woodaway, the "big blue bug" on the pest control company on I-95, isn't decorated for Hallowe'en. What's up with that?

So we made our way back to R&D Tool, and there was Debbie, and we hugged and chatted. Richard was inside, working on one of his antique cars. The latest is a black Triumph that he has finished restoring. Debbie had to run an errand, so she took us by the cemetery and I was just rows away the other day. How silly is that? Debbie had put some beautiful fall flowers and autumn leaves on Mom and Dad's grave. It looked very pretty, and of course the beautiful maple trees in the cemetery just added to the lovely serenity. As we left, a funeral was just entering; we had noticed there were funeral masses at both St. Mary's and St. Ann's this morning. I hope both people lived long, happy lives.

I was heading for Newport, but I made a short detour and we stopped at Solitro's Bakery (still going after all these years) and we each picked out a pastry: James a lemon square (he loves them as much as Dad did) and me a cinnamon "stick" which is basically a large version of what Lin Butler makes after she does her Christmas baking: crust made into a flat stick with cinnamon and sugar. No ick on it, it doesn't need it. Just piecrust and sweetening and perfection.

I also got a little Italian torpedo roll, and was happy when they still understood what I meant when I said, "May I have a bun?" We always called them buns.

We went south via I-95 and Route 4, as we had to go to Quonset Point, then turned east on Route 138, over the Jamestown Verazzano Bridge and then the Pell  (Newport) Bridge. Narragansett Bay was a deep glassy reflective blue with a surprising number of boats out despite the windy conditions; I suppose if you can afford to have a boat you can afford to take the day off to sail it.

Downtown Newport was very crowded for a weekday as two big cruise ships were anchored in the harbor and tourists were being shuttled over in boats to shop at the Brick Walk Marketplace and at Bannister's and Bowen's Wharves. I would have liked to have stopped at the store Only in Rhode Island! Instead we threaded our way down Thames Street, around the corner and down the road where the statue of General Rochambeau overlooks the harbor, dotted with all manner of white craft: cabin cruisers, sailboats, schooners, houseboats, catamarans. Then we turned down Ocean Drive until we got to Fort Adams.

We didn't know how much of the tour would be accessable, so we didn't go on it, but we did go up to the old stockade, which is now a tiny museum, with memorabilia from the Fort including a Spanish-American War era uniform of a Fort Adams sergeant. The fort was active from 1799 (although rebuilt after the War of  1812) through World War II, and my dad had memories of Fort Adams when he was in the National Guard before going into the Army and being deployed to the European Theatre. It was pretty much abandoned and going to seed when we stopped there for Sunday rides in the 1960s, but historical associations saved it and now tours are given there, and this week there are Hallowe'en events.

Oh, my goodness, the wind! We had to struggle to get out of the van and retrieved our hats and scarves to keep us warm. It came right in over the cove and marina, where more sailboats and motorboats bobbed up and down in the chop. The two big cruise ships could be seen plainly here, one a Princess liner out of Hamilton, the other a smaller line I didn't recognize out of Nassau. But it was wonderful, too--as long as I am warm I love a good cold wind. It makes me want to fly like the seagulls wheeling over the water, and it puts heart into me. I'm simply so worn out by the heat during summer that this makes me feel alive.

After walking about a bit we drove down to Brenton Point and sat in the van with the windows open and ate our bakery goodies. The wind actually seemed less intense here. Viking Tour buses kept showing up, disgorging tourists for about fifteen minutes to take pictures, and then whisking them away again. A couple with a camper were sitting on the steps down from the sea wall. There were a few dog walkers as well. The blue glass of the ocean was peppered with little whitecaps and small rollers crashing against the damp rocks, again dotted with sailing and motored craft, including what looked like a trawler and a smaller lobster boat. The sky was a paler blue, but intensely so, almost hurting the eyes.

We figured finally--although I could have stayed there for the rest of the afternoon!--that we needed real food and had lunch at the Newport Creamery on Bellevue Avenue after cruising slowly by all the "summer cottages" of the 19th century wealthy. There are so many "Christmas in the Newport Mansion" events, and they do decorate the homes, that people forget that these huge homes were only used at most ten weeks during the height of the summer, mostly for balls within "the 400" of society.

Had an American grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings with a little bowl of chicken soup for lunch; James had chili dogs and the soup, and we both had a single scoop of ice cream in a dish as a "chaser." James had their sugarless chocolate and said there was no difference in taste from regular ice cream. I had a coffee that they had particularly gone very strong on the flavor. But then Newport Creamery has always had the best coffee ice cream. This particular Newport Creamery has photos of all the old stores from the 1950s-1960s in the restaurant area, and they had a photo of the old place at Garden City shopping center, which was known for its long glass windows until a car drove into them one day and killed a customer, a little boy. When the building was repaired, the long windows were gone. In the doorway is a photo of the original creamery "milk bar" from the 1920s.

I was particularly amused during the meal by the folks in the booth behind me, three elderly ladies and a gentleman of similar age. They were evidently in town for the weekend and enjoying the shopping, and they were teasing each other about the menu and one woman who was overwhelmed by the ice cream choices. They were also telling a story about someone--maybe one of their husbands--at a gathering who was talking so much that when a particular dish was passed around, complained afterwards he hardly got any. One woman said in tart triumph, "Of course not! You were talking the whole time!" I could hardly keep from bursting out laughing.

We were headed home through Routes 138 and then 114, which would have taken us through Bristol and Warren to I-195, but there was an accident on the Mount Hope Bridge, which is only two lanes, and I was still driving and didn't want to wait. So we went home north through Route 24, which was actually a longer route. I didn't mind driving, but the sun was in my eyes during a lot of the trip and I simply can't take that bright for long. People who wonder why I like it cloudy so much don't know how much the sun hurts my eyes.

So when we finally got into the hotel, I took three ibuprofin and removed my shoes and pretty much slept for the next two hours.

I thought we might have a steak on our last night, but that would have meant Texas Roadhouse and I couldn't bear the noise there. It sounds like the uproar in the bar at the Hyatt during DragonCon. We just went to Friendly's. Every night we've been here someone has had a birthday; it's a popular place, evidently, for a birthday dinner. I like the Friendly's birthday song:

"Friendly's has a birthday song,
Not too short and not too long.
If you're good you'll get your wishes,
If you're bad you'll do our dishes."

LOL.

When we got back to the hotel, I went to the lobby to use their computer to print out our boarding passes, having already checked in via my phone when we got to the room earlier. This morning I had seen a gentleman carrying some wrapping paper and a gift into the hotel and said, "Someone's having a birthday!" He told me it was a wedding. When we went out for dinner there was a small wedding reception taking place in the hotel meeting room. One of the party was at the desk when I was printing and I told him I wished the couple a happy future.

Tomorrow's another airport day. With luck and love this time tomorrow we will be back with Tucker and Snowy.

Labels: food, oceans, weather

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:07:00 PM

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Well, we had our day "at sea," but it was a bit shorter than I expected. Evidently clams, or a lot of clams, are now on my list of verboten foods (I think the chowder at Sprouts is still safe). At least I got to sleep through the night, but this morning was a bit rough. Thank God for Pepto Bismol.

So once again we got up early, and I expected to leave about 8:30 to get whatever ferry came around 10:30. We didn't leave until 9:30 and had to fill up the van before we could go anywhere. I'd plotted out the route last night and it was a breeze: Route 1 to I-95 to I-495 to Route 28 down to Falmouth. Except the GPS on my phone kept arguing with me; it wanted me to go part of the way through Route 25. We finally did, but I have no idea why, because we came back via Route 28 all the way.

This is a plain ride, with tree-lined lanes of freeway. The colors have been more muted going east, but there are still attractive patches of color. Route 28 takes you over the Bourne Bridge, which now connects Massachusetts with the rest of Cape Cod since it was bisected by the Canal, and then around first one rotary and then the other, and finally down the road to Falmouth. (I keep laughing every time they put in new "roundabouts" in Atlanta, as if they were some grand new discovery. New England had 'em first, although later a bunch of DOT idiots had them removed. If it wasn't for the rotaries on the road to the Cape, traffic would come to more of a standstill than it does in the summer.)

You really don't take your car to the ferry; instead you take it to a parking lot belonging to the Steamship Authority and they bus you to the ferry. After we partook of the rest rooms, we joined the queue for the bus, which was equipped with a chair lift. The drivers were all very helpful and we had no problem in transport in either direction. Thus we rode to the Steamship Authority Building--don't you love the old-fashioned name, back from the days when Victorians took paddle-wheelers out to the Islands to escape the summer sizzle?--got tickets, and went aboard the boat through the car ramp so we could take the elevator upstairs. Soon we had a lovely if rather sunny, ride topside on the ferry, chugging past swinging red and green buoys, and spying a brilliant blue house onshore south of the Nobska Lighthouse. Between the sky, the sea, and the house--well, you've heard of fifty shades of grey? This was fifty shades, and more, of blue. The breeze and the fresh air was glorious. I kept urging James to breathe as much of it in as he could.

(It was only on the ferry that I realized that I left the camera in the van. Dammit.)

The ferry lets you off at the foot of the hill in Vineyard Haven. Had we gotten here earlier we might have explored more, but by now it was one o'clock and instead we walked up the hill to the town's main street and looked for somewhere to eat. We skipped a couple of cafes and instead picked the Copper Wok, an "Asian fusion" place, which was excellent: if you ordered an entree you got free soup and rice, so we had a rich wonton soup full of little mushrooms, some potstickers as an appetizer, and then James had something Schezuhan and I had sesame chicken. It was very filling, as opposed to the usual Chinese dinner.

Incidentally, the Copper Wok is right next door to a grand Victorian-looking hotel called Mansion House. Restaurant patrons have to use their bathroom, and the lobby and the downstairs rooms are lovely, with an old-fashioned check-in desk of wood and a little parlor in the back with Victorian-style "parlor furniture," and filled bookcases on either side of a fireplace. Looks comfy and surprisingly, at this time of year it isn't all that expensive.

As for the main street of Vineyard Haven, imagine the coziest old fashioned town you have ever seen, like Cabot Cove or a magazine illustration.for a Norman Rockwell story, but put little touristy things like souvenirs, jewelry, summer junk, and other stuff in the stores instead of dry goods, groceries, shoe and dress shops, and hardware stores, and you have the essence of Martha's Vineyard, as I hear the other five towns are similar. You could set a cozy mystery here (and several writers already have).

After we finished lunch, we visited the bookstore, Bunch of Grapes (of course), and I bought an autographed copy of Susan Branch's new book The Fairy Tale Girl. Plus I bought James an anniversary gift, a book he wanted about World War II in Martha's Vineyard. Nice to see a thriving local bookstore with such a nice selection; saw some other novelties, too, including a book about baby waterfowl. Darling fuzzies all.

We stopped for ice cream at Bernie's, across the street from the Wok; I had the usual coffee, but James had orange pineapple--he loved it. It tasted strongly of orange, but had fine pineapple bits in it, like sugar crystals, and smelled like fresh oranges.

After we had walked past all the stores, most with things we couldn't afford or take home, we walked back toward the ferry. It was loading, so we got on, but we loaded so late that we couldn't get to the elevator as the car deck was full. So we went up the gangplank and had to sit inside, since there was no way to get to the elevator from inside like on the other ferryboat. Sigh. We did have a good time talking with a woman who was traveling with her French bulldog. It was very opinionated about the ride, and kept restlessly getting in the face of the man opposite her (he and the woman were evidently familiar with each other and he didn't mind) and trying to go visit the Golden retriever who was asleep on the deck two rows up from us. About halfway through the ride, I did go up on the top deck for about ten minutes. The sky was partially clouded over, steel grey on one side and surrounding the sun in broken bits, so it was diffused and easy to tolerate. I could barely get the door open between the wind and the forward motion of the boat, and it was delightfully chilly when I did get out. I wanted to spread my arms wide when I got up to the bow, to take in the breeze, but I would have looked too much like Rose in that dreadful Titanic. I did take a video so James could see what it had been like and all you could hear was the roar of the wind. Once we passed the bright blue house and the swinging, ringing green buoy, I went back down and waited until we made the dock.

Then it was the return trip--waiting with the others for the bus to the dock (as we stood cooling our heels, a seagull alighted on the top of the "gastropub" across the street and squawked his territorial cry over the dock area), riding on the bus through the nostalgic narrow streets of Falmouth, with their tall hedges and storm-windowed mid-century homes, and finally at the parking lot. We were just loaded into the van when rain began spattering us--just made it. It never rained very hard and we had an uneventful, if mostly dark, ride back up through the Bourne and then along the freeways.

We had a light supper at Friendly's, me just the chicken soup with oyster crackers, and James the soup and cheese sandwich like I had last evening. This Friendly's is very popular with parents, and this night, like last night, the place was full of small children. It was after seven and I'm always amazed at how late children stay up these days. At five or six I was in bed by seven, except on Sunday when I could stay up until 7:30 and watch Lassie.

Yet another strange episode in this year's Sleepy Hollow...well, reboot in a way, since the whole "Katrina trapped" plot is gone. In fact, Ichabod Crane seems to have forgotten her completely except for mention in the first episode, and has a "squeeze" in the past (Betsy Ross, of all people) and one in the present.

Labels: books, food, oceans, travel

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:37:00 PM

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