Full Circle to Newport

Mary's suggestion was that we go to Boston.  "No, I think Newport.  Let's go full circle!"  

I've been told that when my mother could wait no longer at the Navy hospital, the ships in the harbor used signal horns to indicate that my Dad should make his way back to shore.  A fine announcement of my arrival, 60 years ago.  My own memories of the event are somewhat ill-defined.

Not a bad hotel room view.

Nice view even after dark.

We dined at "Fluke", a restaurant with a harbor view third floor bar.
The entrance is just a stairway.
You'd never find the place if you didn't read about it.

This Newport Storm passed, but it was soon followed by another.

Friday, we met up with old friends to see the sights.  Two of my teen buddies and their significant others were meeting us in Newport.  I have realized that I won't be meeting anyone new who I will know as long as I have already known these guys and very few others.  Lucky them.

On our way to Marble House, I mistakenly pulled into the National Museum of American Illustrators at Vernon Court.  We got out, looked around and decided to take in the collected works of Maxfield Parrish, Norman Rockwell and many others.  It was clearly fate.

"Senior discount?" asked Mary.  "What's the age limit?"
"Sixty," replied this nice young lady.
A roar went up from the crowd, and I had soon received my very first senior discount.

Mary has determined this is now the aspirational goal
for the garage my crew is building in the Adirondacks.

Mary doing her daily good deed 
by helping an old guy across the lawn.

The bottoms of my shoes declared that the fox-reminiscent sculptures
were not a successful goose-deterrent at Marble House.

Mary adorns the Tea House at Marble House,
where Votes for Women meetings were held.

That's a hair dryer pointing at the lion.

Eleven Million 1890 dollars, and they only stayed at their Marble House "cottage" for 3 summers.
But it was a sweet gig for the caretaker.

No photography in the house, but the kitchen offered a through-the-window picture.

Exhausted by touring the mansion, we recovered at the Clarke Cooke House on Bannister's wharf.

The sunset from the Clarke Cooke house was lovely,
even if the horizon was a wee bit slanted.
Love the sails on the flag.

We were served by Ken, who answered to "Bob."
He was blinded by the reflected sunlight,
so I gave him my clip-ons.

The clip-ons made us realize that his true identity was Father Guido Sarducci.  What an honor to be served by the famous clergyman.  He also performs with funnyrhodeisland.  Check him out at the link.

Every bit as in-focus as they were that night.

Not to be confused with the Union Oyster House in Boston, the "Oldest restaurant in continuous service, from 1826," The White Horse Tavern declares itself "America's Oldest Tavern," established 1673.   

However, the libations were much more recent.

I forgot my board.

We set out to do the entire 3.5 mile walk between the ocean and the mansions.

No idea why they call it the Cliff Walk.

Two thirds of our party looks across the water toward Middletown.

Several people remarked at the striking likeness of me.

Ochre Court...not shabby.

The Breakers,
no longer a residence.
Income tax and Anti-trust laws just ruined everything.

Not a mansion...repeat...this is NOT a mansion in Newport.

Looking back at one section that was blocked off,
from another section that was blocked off.

Actually, three quarters of the Cliff Walk was closed due to damage from Hurricane Sandy.  I learned later that almost 7 million dollars is being dedicated to repairing the damage, mostly from the sea-side.  We followed instructions and walked on the street for a while, but the chain-link fence that was supposed to deter us at the next access point had been compromised.

Rock hop around the cove to the tunnel.

The tunnel, partially filled with Sandy debris.
OK, you're right.  It's really rocky debris.

We told him to hang onto the railing, but would he?

Where did that path go?

There was no previous path on this section.  The rocks held up well.

A small difference of opinion.

A view of Rough Point, which belonged to Doris Duke...as in the University.
She inherited Dad's $80M when she was 12 years old.
This one qualifies at as a mansion, even if not from the gilded age.

You can see my shadow, documenting the descent for potential insurance purposes.

The wall remains, but not the walkway.

So peaceful and pretty...
couldn't possibly do damage, now could it?

Back at the harbor, soon to bid a fond farewell.