NWP 43. And finally…

21-Oct-24 Nottinghamshire, UK

It’s been nearly four weeks since returning home from an epic and amazing trip. Not had time to fully unpack yet due to various commitments since landing. Such is life back in reality.

So.

You will be very pleased to hear, dear reader, that this is the final blog post of the North West Passage expedition.

Sincerely hope that you have enjoyed the vicarious travel and learnt something new. As I have.

It is a right pain writing blog and sorting photos for each blog post as it can take a few hours each day. But I then receive a nice comment from people I never knew would be interested in reading it so that’s made it all worthwhile. I hope it has given you an insight into the people, places and things I saw enroute.

Thank you for reading.

The two months travelling and sailing through the North West Passage have been amazing. I have seen and done things only a few thousand people will ever experience. I know I am lucky in life. And will keep living life.

Seeing polar bears for the first time. Sailing through the sea ice at midnight with searchlights. Visiting the Franklin Expedition camp and graves on Beechey Island. And. Of course. Seeing the aurora borealis for the very first time in the middle of the Labrador Sea. Are amongst my most memorable experiences.

You can watch the video of the trip below which was produced by the professional photographer and videograpaher onboard. It’s 20 mins and well worth a watch. See how many times you can see Touring Taurean in it! I count four!

The Arctic is completely different to Antarctica. And not what I expected. I would definitely go back to Antarctica. But feel like I’ve done the Arctic. Not as much scenery and less icy. More dry and brown tundra. And you forget how wide the channels are in the Arctic. Not like Antarctica where you find yourself sailing through magnificent snow capped scenery.

I sincerely hope that this blog has inspired someone to travel. I was inspired by the older girl across the road. As a teen, I was mesmerised by photos of her travels. Very sadly, she died a few years ago in her mid-50s.

Just before I left, my mentor whilst training as a QS and former boss sadly died. He was 65. And during this trip someone I know was given two weeks to live. He very sadly died at 60.

So live life whilst you can, dear reader.

Get out there and see the world.

Enjoy life whilst you can.

And finally…I’ll leave you with a couple of quotes which I’m rather taken by…

‘What you do not see, do not hear, do not experience, you will never really know.’ – Anders Apassingok – Lore of St Lawrence Island: Echoes of our Eskimo Elders

‘The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.’ – Jack London

So that’s that, dear reader. Though please do remember these three words.

Explore.

Dream.

Discover.

THE END.

NWP 42. We might have some breakfast

26-Sept-24 Nottinghamshire, UK

As you all know by now, dear reader, there’s only one 5 o’clock in my day. So you will feel my pain when the first of about a dozen alarms goes off at this ungodly hour.

No idea why people get up at 5am to start their day. Nothing happens at 5am does it. No. All the interesting stuff happens at night.

Drag myself out of bed. Takes some doing.

Having done a recce of the walking route on Tuesday afternoon between hotel and along the skywalk to terminal I know it’s a 10 minute walk.

But.

Having checked out see the hotel shuttle bus arrive at the front door.

Hmmm.

Might as well do that than up and down escalators, lifts and walk long gangways.

Big mistake.

Huge.

Lots of people with lots of big bags.

Being the gentleman that I am…allow all the woman with big bags to board first. And take a seat. Then let the old blokes get on. I being the last to arrive at the unofficial queue for bus feel obliged.

It’s a tight squeeze, dear reader. And have to stand by driver so we can all fit in.

Not the smoothest of drivers I have to say. So cling on.

Need Terminal E. Just behind hotel. And the nearest to hotel.

But. Terminals A, B, C and D come first.

Each time having to get off bus with my bag to allow all those with big bags to get off.

What a faff. Why on earth do people travel with so much sodding luggage?

Finally. Arrive Terminal E. Would have been quicker to walk, dear reader.

Fortunately have Fast Track security access. What they actually mean is Fast Track to the front of the queue for the queue for security. Rather than a dedicated x-ray machine. Takes a bit of time having to practically strip naked to go through. Everything off.

Check in to the BA lounge. Combined affair for Business and First passengers. Given a ticket to sit in a cordoned off area of the ‘restaurant’ area reserved for First.

Greeted by woman 1 who takes ticket. Sits me down and goes to get the brew I order. Nip to the loo to wash hands.

And return to my seat.

To be greeted by woman 2. Who asks for my ticket to the First area. Can’t as given it woman 1. Woman 1 brings brew. Woman 2 then returns to take breakfast order. Knowing there’ll be a delicious Full English onboard in about an hour or so opt for a croissant and jam. Just a little something to soak up the impending glass of champagne in about twenty minutes once boarded.

Need sugar for brew. Woman 2 trots off to get.

Then realise no spoon in the napkin roll of cutlery.

Woman 2 brings sugar. Then trots off to get spoon.

Dear God.

I meant a small teaspoon. Obviously.

Am given a desert spoon which barely fits in small cup.

Enjoy first brew. Way too early. Still the middle of the night in my book.

Ask for another brew. Woman 2 takes cup and saucer away.

Brings fresh brew.

But no spoon.

Off she trots to get spoon.

Spoon arrives.

Then realise the sugar has run out.

Call her over. Again.

Off she trots to get sugar.

What a faff. To-ing and fro-ing.

Board on time.

Would Sir like a glass of champagne?

It’s not even 0700hrs yet.

But go on then. Twist my arm if you must.

Rather nice way to start the day though, dear reader.

Menu handed out. Ah yes, will have the smoked salmon to start with. Followed by the Full English.

Laugh to myself at the thought of Miss Nottingham’s little sis, Bloss, flying BA First when they had forgotten to load the breakfast trolley. A complaint was emailed there and then on the aircraft!

Oh yes. How I laughed.

Until.

Ask for the smoked salmon.

Air steward, more camp than a Scout Jamboree, informs me that they’re lacking in the breakfast department. Not enough food has been loaded. “We might have some breakfast.” Says he.

“I’ll do my best to have a fish around for salmon. Might be some in Business.” He says.

Have you got Full English then?

“I’ll check!”

What a palaver.

Well, dear reader. Smoked salmon is found. Delicious with yet another glass of champagne.

And then. The Full English.

Well, dear reader. It’s dreadful.

Toast is like trying to eat a slab of Ryvita.

Something purporting to be hash brown is of a dubious grey substance. Stodgy and gloopy.

Bacon is streaky bacon. But more streaky than bacon.

Sausage is luke warm.

Egg is that reconstituted powder stuff.

Yuk.

No aircraft can do breakfast well for some reason.

Not the best meal I’ve ever had British Airways!

Having drunk two large glasses of champagne in an hour or so. Need the loo.

Return to seat to discover yet another large glass of champagne has been poured. Oh ‘eck.

Oh well.

Live life whilst you can.

Watch a film sipping champagne.

Then lunch.

Marinated scallop with black garlic. Delicious!

Seared prawns with grits and smoked ragout. Delicious!

Followed by what was advertised (and requested) as passion fruit mousse. But turned out to be blackcurrant cheesecake.

Washed down with a very nice glass of Diatom Chardonnay.

BA has redeemed itself. This is the life.

It’s only after lunch that I remember to look at the flight map. Expecting to be somewhere mid Atlantic and a couple of hours to go for an afternoon nap.

So.

You will imagine my surprise to discover we’re flying over the Irish Sea. And about to land shortly.

Flipping ‘eck.

That went quickly!

Heathrow here we come.

In years gone by it used to be Heathrow Hell.

Now it’s Heathrow Heaven.

Passport e-gates take seconds.

And soon on Heathrow Express.

Followed by taxi from Paddington to Kings Cross.

There’s a train at 2033hrs. With a fair wind, good traffic flow and a bit of luck…can just about make it. If cabby cracks on.

He does.

And arrive Kings Cross 2027hrs.

Not one for running. It’s a brisk stride. Don’t have a ticket yet so can’t go through the main concourse barriers which require said ticket to open. But know a little trick, dear reader. The barriers up by the First Class lounge on the first floor leading to the access bridge over the platforms are always open. 99% of the time.

And tonight is no exception.

Now 2031hrs.

Two minutes to go. It’s so close to departure time that the train has been removed from departure board. So don’t know platform number.

Sod it.

Striding along the access bridge over the platforms peering down trying to see a train with: a) people on it, and b) a sign saying this is the one you want.

Ah. There it is! Platform 4.

Game on.

I can do this.

Escalator down to platform.

And then.

Half way down.

Train eases out of the station.

Sod it.

Back to First Class Lounge. Buy ticket on app to gain access to lounge.

And wait half an hour for the next one.

So it’s near 2230hrs by the time jump off the other end. To be greeted by taxi driver. Who is from Afghanistan.

In need of some provisions now as will be too late to shop once home. Stop at a local garage near station as it has a Londis shop. Afghan waits whilst I nip in.

Except I can’t.

Doors are locked. On account it’s late.

Cashier will only serve me through his little window. English is not his first language either.

Oh for God’s sake.

Just let me in so I can quickly get exactly what I want.

Nope. Security and all that.

So.

There I am.

Like some dystopian version of Supermarket Sweep.

Shouting through security window to someone who doesn’t fully understand English what I want.

Who then goes off and gets something completely different.

FFS.

Muppet.

But we get there. Milk. Bread. Cheese. Butter. Beer (of which I am very much in need of now). Red wine (of which I am also very much in need of now after this palaver). Chocolate. Snacks.

Something to keep me going through the night.

And then.

Arrive home.

It’s a dark, stormy, wet night.

The heating hasn’t been on whilst I’ve been away.

It’s a cold, dark house. Arctic was warmer!

Welcome home.

It’s good to be back.

Not.

NWP 41. Cheers

25-Sept-24 Boston, Massachusetts

Always wanted to go to Harvard since a family friend studied there in the 1970s. And today, can finally say ‘I’ve been to Harvard’. Well. OK. I walked through its campus. No actual study was done. But have watched Suits. Does that qualify me for law school?

Not quite what I was expecting. Quite a plain campus and not very architecturally interesting. Unlike Oxford or Cambridge. Englishman John Harvard was a Puritan minister in New England who bequeathed a large amount to set up a college upon his death in 1638…which was named after him. The oldest university in the USA.

Harvard Law School occupies one campus across a busy road from Harvard University’s campus. Harvard’s statue sits proudly in the main tree lined square of Harvard University.

Memorial Hall reminds you of St Pancras station or the Natural History Museum in London with similar architecture. Lots of bright young things are streaming in through a door to its lecture hall. Tempted to follow just to see inside. But. Stick out like a sore thumb. No study papers or rucksack in hand. And not a bright young thing.

A pleasant hour or so meandering around campus before heading to the corner of Brimmer and Beacon Street on the northern edge of Boston Common.

Why? You might wonder?

Well.

In the 1980s, Channel 4 broadcast a sitcom on a Friday night. And many happy memories watching said sitcom with friends each Friday as a teenager.

The name of sitcom?

Cheers.

Where everybody knows your name.

An iconic theme tune.

Walking down the steps to the basement bar it’s somewhat disappointing to find it’s nothing like the Cheers bar. No. Rather a small cramped bar selling burgers and other greasy food stacked high on a plate. Ground floor has a mock up of the Cheers set but again it doesn’t quite hit the spot. Tourist trap.

But. A tick on the bucket list.

By coincidence a young lady who lives a few hundred yards away from me at home is also in Boston this week to see ELO. Take up her recommendation to follow the Freedom Trail. From Boston Common to Copp’s Hill Burying Ground.

An excellent way to see Boston and understand the history.

Liking Boston. Lot smaller than anticipated. Quite white and middle class. There’s a nice feel to the place and obviously historic. Named after Boston in Lincolnshire it was founded in 1630 by the Puritan settlers.

Starting in Boston Common, which is the USA’s oldest public park and originally used for Puritanical punishments, head up to the State House, built in 1798. Located high up on top of a hill it would have had impressive views in the days before high rise buildings.

Nearby is the Granary Burial Ground, established in 1660, where a number of important historical figures are buried. Benjamin Franklin’s parents, John Hancock, Samuel Adams (both Founding Fathers) and Paul Revere (American patriot and famed revolutionary). Plenty of headstones popping out the ground in tightly packed formation.

Passing the Old City Hall, built in 1865, intrigued by the donkey in the courtyard. Which explains why the Democrats are represented by a donkey and Republicans by an elephant.

In 1828, when Andrew Jackson established the Democrat party he ran for President using the slogan, ‘Let the people rule’. His opponents thought him silly and labelled him a ‘jackass’. Jackson used this to his advantage though by using the donkey on his campaign posters. Which became the accepted symbol of the Democrat party.

The Republican elephant was adopted after cartoonists used it to symbolise them.

Many of you will have heard of the Boston Tea Party. Well. It began in the Old South Meeting House. Being the largest building in colonial Boston, it was well used for public meetings and became the centre for protests against the British.

When three tea ships carrying East India Company tea arrived in Boston, American patriots refused to allow the tea to be unloaded and the tax paid. For three weeks, mass meetings gathered to appeal to Royal Governor Hutchinson to send the ships away.

On 16 December 1773, 5,000 people assembled in the hall to protest about the Tea Act before setting off to the nearby harbour to destroy the tea. All 342 chests of it.

What became known as the Boston Tea Party.

Those pesky British were trying to enforce laws without the consent of the people.

In June 1774, the British imposed martial law on Boston and closed its port to shipping with thousands of troops occupying the town. Which brought the colonies closer to revolution and independence.

On 19 April 1775, war broke out and the British were forced to evacuate Boston. A year later on 4 July 1776, the Declaration of Independence was signed. And the USA eventually became free of British rule after a war lasting just over eight years.

But we’re not done with revolution yet, dear reader. Further towards the harbour is the Old State House and outside is where British soldiers shot several in a crowd of a few hundred protesting taxation and occupation on 5 March 1770.

Those pesky British again.

Intrigued by a tall white stone building. Investigation required. Originally the Custom House built in 1849 with the tower being added in 1915. Now a Marriott Vacation Club of private residences and hotel rooms it appears. Pretend to be a guest. And walk in. Looking like I know where I’m going. I don’t. But soon find myself on the upper floor of the domed interior. We don’t build ‘em like this anymore unfortunately.

Passing through the newly developed harbour and market arrive at Faneuil Hall, built in 1741. Cited as the home of free speech as it hosted America’s first Town Hall meeting.

In Little Italy is the former home of Paul Revere. Famed for his midnight ride to alert fellow American patriots of approaching British troops prior to battle in 1775. He subsequently organised an intelligence and alarm system to monitor British forces advancing in battle.

Those pesky British again.

The alert was made by raising a lantern signal to the top of the Old North Church to warn colonists in Charlestown, across the Charles River. Built in 1723, the Old North Church still stands. Nice to see that America has some buildings older than 200 years.

Just up the road from the Old North Church, self guided walking tour ends at Copp’s Hill Burying Ground. No more time to continue the trail. Need to go back. And pack.

An illuminating insight into American and British history following the Freedom Trail. Well worth walking.

And sadly, dear reader, the final day of the trip.

Started with Frasier in Seattle.

Ends with Cheers in Boston.

Tossed salads and scrambled eggs to a place where everybody knows your name.

Cheers.

NWP 40. Betsy’s

24-Sept-24 Boston, Massachusetts

Looking through the photos I took of my time in Falmouth in September 2007, realise I stayed in the same room now. No wonder it felt familiar.

As in September 2007, brunch is at Betsy’s Diner. Back then I was served by a young girl dolled up in 1950s style dress. Black permed hair. And bright red lipstick. Exactly like Betty Boop. A memorable image.

Back then it was a Sunday morning. And promised myself I would return. Had a nice vibe.

And it still does. And nothing much has changed since 2007. Typical traditional diner.

Corned beef hash. Two fried eggs. On an English muffin. Homefries. With a dash of hot chilli sauce. And a few brews. Sets you up for the day. And very happy memories from visiting Falmouth previously.

I will return again, dear reader. It’s that sort of place.

Having decided to drive to Hyannis to visit the JFK museum have a change of heart. Traffic is a nightmare and slow going. So turn off and re-route to the main highway. And head to Boston. The final stop of the trip. Boo.

Have always wanted to go to Harvard. But my plan to park car and have a wander around the campus is stymied by a significant lack of parking. Will do it tomorrow.

Dropping car off at Hertz the shuttle bus drops me off at Terminal E. Recce for Thursday’s departure. Thankfully there’s a Fast Track lane for Business & First travellers. Unlike LAX where you have to queue. And queue. With all the others.

Booked into the Hilton airport hotel and my plan of spending a few hours in Boston is somewhat curtailed by an afternoon nap. I didn’t mean to, dear reader. I just lay on bed to stretch out after driving for a few hours. And. Well. You know. Just dozed off. Like you do.

But make the effort for dinner. And an Uber to North End. Little Italy in effect. Lots of Italian restaurants. And an immediate impression that this is a nice chilled out place. Warm evening and people sitting out at various pavement cafes.

There’s a nice buzz here.

NWP 39. Dan…Dan…Dan…

23-Sept-24 Falmouth, Cape Cod

The last time I was in Falmouth I promised myself I would make the trip across the water to Martha’s Vineyard. A short 45 minute crossing on a knackered old car ferry.  The sort the rich and famous who live on Martha’s Vineyard would avoid. No doubt they use private jets to its small airport.

There’s a surprising mix of ethnicities onboard. Many appear to be workers on the island. Tradesmen and domestic staff.

Was meant to be docking at Oak Bluffs this morning. So imagine my surprise when we dock at Vineyard Haven a few miles along the coast. Strong winds have shut the more open Oaks Bluff quay for the past four days.

Pass large houses with large gardens tumbling down to the shoreline as we enter the small harbour. Clearly a lot of wealth.

About nine hours to kill on Martha’s Vineyard as the only available return ferry is 1930hrs. Leisurely stop in Vineyard Haven for a brew. And to plan what to do and where to go. Put drink order in and give my name.

Stand near the servery. Waiting for a brew. In the queue. Various names called. Various people grab and go.

And then.

It’s Dan’s turn for his drink.

Dan…Dan…Dan…Shouts the barista.

Everyone looks around. Looking for Dan. Who is surprisingly slow at coming forward.

Again.

Dan…Dan…Dan…Shouts the barista.

Nope. Dan is not here.

Barista asks what I ordered.

Milky coffee. Say I.

This is yours she says.

But I’m not Dan.

It’s yours! Says she. Somewhat exasperated.

That’s Dan’s.

It’s yours! As it’s handed to me.

There’s a nice feel to Vineyard Haven. Restaurants. Boutiques. Galleries. It’s that sort of place.

Google Maps shows lots of small roads leading down to beaches and headlands. Should be good for having a nosey at lots of large houses.

Except. As I soon discover. All those small roads. Are actually private roads on tribal lands and private residential estates. With big signs saying. Keep Out. You are on CCTV.

Oh. OK then.

So. Somewhat disappointingly. There’s only really one road on Martha’s Vineyard looping around the centre of the island. With plenty of inaccessible private roads leading off it. Doesn’t make for an interesting drive, dear reader.

Apart from the few small towns. There’s not a lot of houses you can see. They’re all hidden away in the woods. This is where the rich and famous clearly come to hide. You only know how many houses are down a track by the number of letterboxes clumped together by the entrance. None of these letterboxes are secure. Always amazes me that people seem OK with all their post being placed in these. Can be opened by anyone.

And only a few places where you can seemingly reach the beach.

Wend my way to Menemsha. Towards the bottom of the island. Some scenes in Jaws were filmed here. Tiny harbour with small wooden houses and decks over the water. Somewhere to dock your small boat. Right outside your home.

Has fresh fish shacks. Perfect for lunch. Order a lobster roll. Small cob with lobster. $35! Crumbs. Wasn’t expecting it to be that expensive.

The bottom of the island appears to be less wooded and more open countryside. The southern tip is at Aquinnah Cliffs and the Gay Head Lighthouse. Located on tribal land. Belonging to the native Wampanoag people. Built in 1799, the lighthouse had to be relocated in 2015 and moved back 40m due to coastal erosion. It too features in Jaws.

Passing through West Tisbury see statues in a garden. An open air art gallery. White women in various naked poses. Amuses that across the road is the First Congregational Church. Founded 1673. What must the congregation think. Seeing naked women.

At Edgartown is the Chappy Ferry. Short couple of minutes transfer across the water to Chappaquiddick Island. Ferry is small. Very small. Takes four small cars max. Consequence is queues. Can tell queues can be long judging by the separate ‘queue lane’ winding through Edgartown.

Landing on Chappaquiddick Island is more of the same. Basically one road with private tracks off to more large houses.

Chappaquiddick Island famous for Dike Bridge. Famous for the Chappaquiddick incident. When Senator Ted Kennedy drove his car off Dike Bridge. In July 1969. With Mary Jo Kopechne in the passenger seat. Car overturned into the water. Kennedy swam free. Leaving Mary Jo to die. Although he alleges he tried to save her. Any normal person would raise the alarm immediately. He only reported the incident 10hrs later.

The bridge now has thick wooden timbers to prevent you driving off.

Having driven for nearly a mile down a very rough sandy track. Unable to drive further than the bridge. It’s a nature reserve and only vehicles suitable for driving on sand can go further. Not wanting to get the Toyota RAV4 stuck. Walk across bridge to the entrance hut. A lone man sits reading a book.

Quick chat. Has an air of wealth about him. Tanned. Expensive watch. Well spoken. Educated. Intelligent. Funny. Retired. Used to be the Global Marketing Bod for Westfield shopping malls. And a life travelling around the world.

As he says. Been there. Seen it. Done it. Very happy to sit in my hut. Reading. Quietly. No internet. No interruptions. Just me and nature. Peace and quiet.

Yes. There’s a lot to be said for that, dear reader.

He directs me to another nature reserve at the other end of the long beach. More tribal land at Wasque Point. What he omits to say is that it’s another mile of very rough sandy track. Jostled there and back with not much to see.

Unless I get out and walk along sandy tracks to the beach some distance away.

But.

Conscious that I need to cross back on the Chappy Ferry. Conscious that it’s now late afternoon. When everyone will also be wanting to get back to Edgartown. And so it is. Queue in the dedicated queue lane for the ferry. For over half an hour. Inching forward a few cars at a time. Only takes a couple of minutes to cross the water. Three or four cars at a time.

But we get there. Eventually.

Edgartown is nice. Larger than Vineyard Haven. Very upmarket shops, restaurants, galleries. Its Town Hall used in the film Jaws.

But we’re not done yet with Jaws yet, dear reader. The famous beach and bridge where Jaws swims into the lagoon is just up the road. Between Edgartown and Oak Bluffs. Channelling Steven Spielberg you can watch the video below.

Quite stormy by now. Now understand why Oak Bluffs dock is closed. Its floating pier is wallowing in the swell. Exposed to Nantucket Sound with no shelter. Unlike Vineyard Haven which is sheltered away in a cove.

Oak Bluffs is noted for its gingerbread cottages. Well preserved wooden mid 19th century buildings.

Now 1700hrs. And getting dark with the storm clouds brewing overhead. The only return ferry I could get when booking a few days ago was the 2030hrs. But waitlist request for an earlier ferry brought this forward to 1930hrs. Not particularly wanting to hang around for a few hours. Turn up at ferry and see if it’s possible to get earlier ferry. Instructed to go to line 1 for standby. I’m car 4 on standby.

The 1815hrs ferry starts loading. Fingers crossed.

Standby line starts moving. Yay. Going to get the earlier ferry.

Cars 1, 2 and 3 drive up the ramp. Yep. This is it. Just about to follow when instructed to stop at the ramp. And told to reverse. Cars 4 and 5 have to reverse. To make way for a last minute truck.

Oh flipping ‘eck. Thought I. Sod it. So near and so far.

After a lot of shouting between ferry car deck and car park marshals. In a will they let me on or won’t they sort of way. Finally directed up the ramp and on to ferry. Yay.

Just in time for dinner back in Falmouth.

Glad I’ve been to Martha’s Vineyard, dear reader.

Not sure I’d rush back.

NWP 38. I can do that for you

22-Sept-24 Falmouth, Massachusetts

Heavy rain all weekend whilst in Newport, Rhode Island. But didn’t dampen spirits when you have magnificent houses to wander around.

On arrival Friday afternoon. Rain had subsided a little. So a little wander into town. Not had a haircut since Vancouver so could do with a trim. Barbers is about half a mile away. Off I trot. In the damp. Warm. Humid conditions. To discover it’s closed for an hour. In a ‘Back Soon at 4pm’ sort of way.

On the way back from visiting Rough Point and Marble House historic houses (see previous blog posts) pop into some local shopping arcade for provisions. Spot a hairdressers in one corner. It now being 1700hrs. Ask young girl receptionist if they do gents haircuts. It being more of a girly salon. Yes. We do. Said she.

I only want a quick trim. Out of habit…do what I always do when abroad wanting a haircut…make a buzzing sound as I waft my hand over my hair. Pretending I have a razor in hand. I do this as normally dealing with folk who don’t speak English. But she does. Obviously. Because she’s American.

Alarm bells should’ve started ringing when the young girl receptionist said. I can do that for you.

Sit down.

Want a Grade 4. Yes we can do Grade 4. What length is your Grade 4. Ask I. I don’t know. Said she. But it’s a Grade 4.

Ask to see the plastic grader. It says Grade 6.

Oh I know. Said she. But if I twist this lever on the razor it reduces it Grade 4.

Hmmm. OK then.

And off she goes. Very gently.

How’s that she says? After five minutes.

Don’t know. Can’t see. Put glasses on.

Hmmmm.

That’s a bit long for a Grade 4. Hardly anything taken off.

Tries again. But not convinced it’s making it that much shorter.

Is that OK? She says.

Hmmmm. Still not short enough. But it’s hot. Humid. Sticky. And can’t be bothered with this rigmarole.

Go to reception desk to pay.

$30!!! Bloody hell.

As she’s sorting out card machine. Feel the back of my neck. Clumps of loose hair cuttings still there. Realise she’s not cleaned off the excess cuttings with brush or blower. Or shaved the nape of neck.

Back in the seat again. For a bit of shaving and cleaning of neck.

Truntering as I depart. $30. Not even a decent haircut.

And then.

Back at hotel.

Look in mirror.

Dear God.

Look like Worzel Gummidge.

Not even graded around the ears. Parts have not been cut at all.

It’s the sort of haircut my 12 year old goddaughter would give me for a laugh.

Were it not for the now heavy rain and late afternoon. There would be a Grumpy Taurean striding back. For a rumpus, dear reader.

Jeez.

Heavy rain continues all day Saturday. So you will understand my joy when it’s dry on Sunday as I head off to my next destination.

Falmouth.

Cape Cod.

Last came here in September 2007. Back then hadn’t booked a hotel and arrived in Hyannis early evening. Deciding Hyannis perhaps wasn’t the best place to stay tracked back to Falmouth. And what a little gem of a discovery it was.

And a nice little hotel called Beachside Village (www.beachsidevillageresort.com). Overlooking Martha’s Vineyard a few miles across the water.

Like Newport. Said to myself I’d come back again. And here I am seventeen years later. Same town. Same hotel. More a holiday apartment. Exactly as I remember it. And a reminder of a cracking weekend.

NWP 37 part 4 – The Gilded Age – Breakers

21-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Dear reader. You’ve now seen Rough Point, Marble House and The Elms.

What did you think? Pretty impressive and opulent aren’t they.

Well.

They were just the amuse bouche.

For the Big Daddy and Giant Haystacks combined.

This house was built by Cornelius Vanderbilt II, one of the richest men in America at the time it was constructed in 1893-95. As the grandson of Cornelius Vanderbilt, he was involved in the family shipping and railways business. His brother William Kassam Vanderbilt built the other house down the road, Marble House. William K Vanderbilt hired the architects for Grand Central Railway Station in New York City.

This house is called…The Breakers.

Enjoy the photos.

How the other half lived.

You can read all about it here….https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Breakers

NWP 37 part 3 – The Gilded Age – The Elms

21-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

You’ve now seen Rough Point and Marble House. So something a little bit more subdued in comparison, dear reader.

You can read all about it here…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Elms_(Newport,_Rhode_Island)

NWP 37 part 2 – The Gilded Age – Marble House

20-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Having toured Rough Point, we now move on to the Marble House.

Another Vanderbilt built house.

This time as a birthday present to his wife.

Most blokes buy jewellery. But wait until you see this present!

You can read all about it here, dear reader…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marble_House

NWP 37 part 1 – The Gilded Age – Rough Point

20-Sept-24 Newport, Rhode Island

Dear reader. Today and tomorrow’s blog is in four parts. For reasons which will become obvious. Too many photos for one blog post.

Having woken to heavy rain in Portsmouth there’s no sitting outside admiring a sea view. The closest thing to a sea view is the Blue Peter-esque ship formed into a rather ornate chandelier in the hotel lounge.

Dreadful weather so no pottering. Straight to Newport in Rhode Island. Quickly zooming through Boston as I do. Back in Boston in a few days.

Last came to Newport in September 2007 whilst working in New York. Said to myself back then I’ll be back. Only taken 17 years. But here I am.

Newport famous as being the summer resort for the rich and famous in the 18th and 19th centuries. Not for them staying in the likes of Butlins. As you will see, dear reader, specially commissioned summer ‘cottages’ were built for the likes of the Vanderbilts and Astors. There’s rich. Then there’s Vanderbilt rich.

By summer ‘cottages’ I mean. Massive mansions. Opulent in their interior architecture.

First up is Rough Point.

Going to direct you to its Wikipedia page, dear reader…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rough_Point

Photos below.