Sunday, April 19, 2015

My Other RI Vacation


Two gals on a road trip! Whoo!  My mom decided that a vacation in Newport was just what she needed as April rolled around, so while I retreated, my mom vacationed.  The trip started off with her getting into the car and not being able to get the seat back to upright.  After five minutes of sitting in the driveway and her making the seat go further back, we decided to hit the road.  We stopped only once at a rest stop in Connecticut where we were able to figure out the seat back enigma.  We were making really good time until a truck carrying tires slowed us down by almost an hour by being where it should not have been on the highway and wedging itself under an overpass and then tipping itself over and spilling tires up an off ramp.  Way to be, tire truck.  Way. To. Be.


Arriving in Newport was thrilling.  Land of mansions.  Land of history.  I'd had big plans to gallivant downtown and visit the library as soon as we got there.  Instead, we hiked it across the parking lot and dined in grand style at the Applebees.  That extra hour was a killer.

Each room has its own picture!

Newport-Middletown to be exact

No thoughts so far
Puns.  Now in napkin form.
[Sidenote: I just learned that galavant is incorrect and gallivant is correct.  I'm an English teacher.]

I left for retreating and my mom did her vacationing.  The next morning was all about free hot breakfast at 7 AM and then retreating.  I met up with my mom for lunch.  The day was wet and dreary, which is the perfect climate for fireside dining, so we serendipitously wound up at the White Horse Tavern, which has a working fireplace and a lot of history.  We've been to the White Horse in NYC, so this was a must. I was starving by the time we got there, so I chowed down on oyster crackers.  Two bags of them.  Then the entrees came and I was in food heaven.






Shrimp over risotto and butternut squash with apple slaw

Newport has the country's oldest lending library, the Redwood Library.  Since I'm a writer and avid reader, visiting seemed to be the thing I should do.  The woman behind the desk offered me many options about how to go about taking in the library, which included audio tours and a handout to figure out who's who in the portrait gallery.  Instead of doing any of that, I walked around and took in the smell.  I'm not weird.  Libraries have a certain smell to them, and I like it.


This made me want to tear and mutilate the magazines. Are people out there actually doing this?




Look up! You never know what you'll find. (I think this is the fata morgana).

Ooh, old school!

And this is why old school is outdated.

Roadside Buddha
The next day, Mom and I met up for lunch again between my writing sessions.  This time we headed to the wharf.  The day was brighter though very windy.  Windier at the wharf, of course. We settled in to eat at The Black Pearl and then checked out some of the local flavor.  And by flavor, I mean not only art, but also dessert.

We dined at places that hang maps.



Heh heh heh

If only this weren't lemon, it'd be perfect.

I want this.  Thank you.

Another pun.  They find me wherever I go.

Would have gotten chocolate had the shopkeeper been interested in selling it.  Instead, she had a loud conversation with her friend after giving a quick Hello.

Got a cookie instead and it was delicious.
Topping the day off, a mansion tour overlooking the Cliff Walk, and then a visit to Fort Adams, home of the jazz festival.  The wind got worse and almost knocked me over.  Worth it for the views.






Terrible shot but cool anchors
I also attempted to drive to the beach but all the rich people have private roads to the beach.
At least they're polite about it
The weekend was quick.  The drive home was fast.  I'm now planning an annual gal pal road trip. I suppose our trip is best summed up with this screenshot of my iPhone photo album that shows what happens when my mom takes a picture with my iPhone.
That's 8 pictures of me at the restaurant and 12 at the library. I'd posed only once for each.
A good friggin time.

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