Travel Diary: Newport RI

16 May, 2025

The Claiborne Pell Bridge greeted us when we awoke in Newport.

We continue to be without real adventures: When we walked ashore into Newport, Rhode Island we did not find an abandoned ghost town where the entire population seemingly vanished instantly. Leaving meals half finished, cars that had run onto the sidewalks or into light poles. There was no lone church bell, ringing forlornly in the wind.

On the other hand, when my foot hit shore I arrived at my fiftieth state. For whatever reason, I had managed to visit all the other “teeny tiny fakey New England states” as I often refer to this part of the country, but never The Ocean State until now. Having hit for the state-cycle, I guess I need to move onto the territories. I’m not sure how easy it is to to get to Guam, but I guess I’d better start planning.

Michele commemorated the activity by taking my picture by the US Post Office. I have a special affinity for the US Postal System and will not hear a word spoken against it. As Shakespeare wrote, "Shall quips and sentences and these paper bullets of the brain awe a man from the career of his humour? No!"

Yes, I bought some corny postcards and mailed them out. There are a select few who I regularly mail postcards, whether they want them or not. It is a free, possibly unwelcome, service I provide to family and close friends.

Newport is known for the Gilded Age mansions that adorn the landscape. All those Vanderbilt's and Rockefeller and that crowd conspicuously consumed the hell out of real estate and left behind giant monuments to themselves. These monstrosities are now popular tourist attractions. Living in our own Gilded Age, we gave the mansions a pass. If we wanted to celebrate wealth inequality, we’d shoot more pop stars into space or something.

Michele and I continued our “wandering around” strategy. We got ashore before most of the touristy shops were open and we spent time just looking in shop windows and wondering when someone decided that every touristy area had to have at least one fudge shop. It is very strange, but fudge shops abound in touristy places. As if fudge was a local rarity in Estes Park, Colorado, Mackinaw Island, Michigan, and Newport, Rhode Island. As Shakespeare wrote, “Go figure.”

Long ago, I began to notice the link between fudge and the tourist industry. Our elder child, who just turned 31 last month, was a baby in a backpack at the time. The venue was New Orleans because when you think of New Orleans, the first thing that pops into your mind is fudge. Anyhoo... I was walking around the French Quarter with our friend, Katie when she spotted a shop that had a “Buy two, get one free!" sale and suggested we take advantage of this very special offer. “But Katie,” I protested,” the smallest amount of fudge one can buy is half a pound, which means that we’d end up with a pound and a half of fudge.” “Yes,” she replied, and this is why I think we were friends, “that is the point.”

We did find a quaint little coffee shop to do some internetting. The entire time we were being surveilled by this suspicious waterfowl.

Later, that same day, this squadron of Canada geese “just happened” to paddle by our ship. Coincidence? Hardly! Rhode Island has an extensive network of avian spies! It is the only explanation!

One of the quaint shops in Newport was one of those stores that sell nothing but Christmas stuff every day of the year. I find such places very strange but who am I to judge? I’m a fan of the post office, after all. This particular store had this statue outside.

I’m sure the statue was meant to convey a sense of whimsy, but all I could think of was this quotation from the 19th century naturalist: Moose "are dangerous from a little trick they have of striking with their fore feet, not straight out, as a horse sometimes strikes, but first lifting the hoof almost perpendicularly above their heads and then cutting forward and down--a blow that would tear a man nearly in two. The lightening-like quickness of the movement does not give time to dodge, and there is no warning." Merry Christmas from Newport!

We walked by, but did not enter, the Yachting Museum. Get this, apparently the Rhode Islanders are selling to the tourists some story about “sailboats” that supposedly do not require motors or engines to move across the water. According to the locals these “sailboats” are pushed along by the wind. Ridiculous! Clearly, this is just some legend to pry more money out of niave tourists. Absurdly, they staged a “sailboat race,” having us believe that these boats were being pushed along by the power of the wind:

Clearly, they are being towed by that motorboat that I caught in the picture. Sorry, Rhode Island! Some of us tourists didn't just fall off the turnip truck and we aren’t so easily fooled as to believe in your so-called “sailboats!”

Tomorrow is a day at sea for us. I’ll tell the Rhode Islanders that our ship moves by the power of Faith alone and see how they like being taken for rubes!

jpj stories by John Jackson is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

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