“Sit down everybody, you’re rockin’ the boat!” I yelled as I tried to walk through the corridors of our large cruise liner. Maybe, if everyone else in the hallway sat down, I’d be able to walk without falling.
We were finally leaving on our excellent adventure, but Tropical Storm Stan had his back up. We clutched at walls and railings to make our way to the buffet. Somehow, waiters with large trays appeared sure-footed and calm.
“They studied for this,” I remarked to my companions.
Tropical Storm Stan grew stronger with each nautical mile. Like a giant frog, our cruise liner hopped the storm-churned sea en route to Newport, Rhode Island. Newport is truly a high rent district. Since looking at other people’s china and floor coverings isn’t my cup of tea, I picked the railroad excursion through Newport Naval Station.
For a mere twelve dollars, we were the guests of Old Colony Railroad. We chugged through a Tomahawk Missile Testing Site and heard the history of the USS Forrestal and the USS Saratoga now docked in the watery pastures of the Narragansett Bay. Adorned in classic conductor’s attire, our guide treated us to samples of the early history of his state, and pointed out Rhode Island kudzu and autumn holly.
Upon our return, we took a public trolley ride to the Cliffwalks. A few well-known names have owned real estate along this meandering seawall, I recognized the names of Duke, Astor, and Vanderbilt. Sea otters, in plain brown attire, played along the ritzy shores of the rich and famous.
As we walked to our trolley stop, the weather began to deteriorate once again. Our transportation from the ship had been in smaller boats (tenders). As we reached the pier, wind gusts were in excess of thirty-five miles per hour. We were among the last in line to sail as Tropical Storm Stan played with the northeast once again. The ride back to the ship resembled musical chairs. With no seat belts, the rocking surf threw me right into the lap of a very nice lady from Florida.
As the frosty waters of Newport Harbor invaded our dry clothes, I yelled skyward, “Sit down Stan, you’re rockin’ the boat.” Just like a man tuned into ESPN, Stan turned a deaf ear and the storm played on. Ironically, the ship’s TV satellite failed that night and I was able to treat my husband to readings of New England history. And Bill, (the Coogman) Coogler, slept on…
Tender for the Golden Princess cruiseliner