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The Victoria GAZETTE |
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October 2010 |
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Our Ocean’s Eleven Continued |
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Next we were steered to our three adjacent rooms -- 9110 (ours), 9112 (Flora’s), 9114 (Pauly’s). We had forgotten the compactness of cruise ship rooms and were happy to once again have an open balcony to the ocean. We took the elevator from our 9th floor up to the 12th floor for a wide angle view during our departure from the New York harbor. Everyone else had the same idea. I believe we are a patriotic people and, when push comes to shove, we’ll defeat those who would take away our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The Statue of Liberty is more than a statue. Our dinner at Tsar’s Palace Dining Room on the 7th floor was outstanding, especially my salmon filet. I’m not a dessert person, but I also fell for the vanilla ice cream dribbled with chocolate syrup. Afterwards, we enjoyed a live show at the Stardust Theater, where I didn’t understand why they featured SpongeBob Square Pants. A majority of the passengers were beyond retirement age, for goodness sake! Allan and I, still part of the working class, were among the youngest on board and Nickelodeon is not our favorite TV channel.
Sunday, September 12th. A day in Newport. We pulled into the harbor at Narrangansett Bay at 6:30 a.m. Our balcony door was wide open and we audibly inhaled the cool refreshing air. Mansions lined the coast and hundreds if not thousands of sailboats and yachts were anchored throughout much of the harbor. Along with many of the other passengers, we climbed aboard one of the tenders that transported us to land. Next to me on our tender sat people from the United Kingdom who have visited a fair number of U.S. cities over the years. Eventually I was compelled to ask one of the UK gentleman, “Are you speaking English?” He gave a jolly good laugh and said, “Yes, and I can also speak a dialect that you would surely never understand.” I accepted the challenge and he was correct. Sounded like gibberish to me. “My grandmother was from a spot between Wales and London and it gets worse the farther north you go,” he explained. Newport, with a population of nearly 30,000, was lovely. Though old, it was also modern. The business district seemed to exist for tourists and travelers while the coast and countryside existed, without doubt, for the rich and famous. Names like Vanderbilt and Bouvier were bandied about by our tour guide. Newport is where Jackie Bouvier’s family spent their summers and where she met and married Senator John F. Kennedy in 1953 at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. Since we arrived at Newport on a Sunday morning, our group and a few others attended the 11 a.m. Mass at St. Mary’s, an old brick church established in 1828. Neither large nor pompous, it tells many stories of our faith through its art and stained glass windows. The woodwork of its very long pews had grown darker and worn smoother from the human touch and layers of glossy varnish. I imagined the young Kennedy’s walking down the aisle. We lunched at the Red Parrot, a restaurant similar in name but not so rustic as the Red Dog Saloon in Juneau, Alaska. My arugula salad was delicious. Many of the shops were closed, but we didn’t care yet about shopping anyhow. The bus tour took us past the rocky rugged coastline where pelicans and lone fishermen were perched on the out-croppings. I did not see even one beach for barefoot strolling on our hour-long ride.
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