We hit the train for Stamford, Connecticut, at precisely 8:07 AM. Lots of New Yorkers ride the train out of Dodge every day to work outside the city. Amtrack runs a tight ship. The conductor is no-nonsense about taking up tickets, charging extra for those who try to sneak aboard without buying tickets back at the terminal, and making folks stow their briefcases, baby strollers, computer bags and other items in the overhead racks. If it doesn't inhale and exhale, it is NOT going to ride in a seat on the 8:07 to Stamford.
Also, if you don't like your personal "space" invaded, you'd best not visit the northeast, and you'd especially not be advised to ride the 8:07 out of Grand Central. On the train to Connecticut, and especially on the seats that face one another, without so much as two seconds notice, you could easily be knocking knees with someone who has evidently never seen a Dial, Safeguard, Scope mouthwash, or Tide commercial. They slide quickly in the door of the train at every stop, and without comment or gesture, attack the first slither of space that resembles a seat. Most times, they are either on their iPhone, playing with their iPad, or listening to their iPod. Steven Jobs would be so proud.
Too, a friend told us that we HAD to ride and have the train experience while we were there, because we would not BELIEVE the smooth ride. After about thirty minutes of the constant "clickety-clack", I asked Debbie if she too had entertained the thought that perhaps our friend had never actually ridden in an automobile on a newly paved street before. The 8:07 was NOT a smooth ride. But, having come from a railroad family (as I do), I knew that already.
Once the train ride was done, we rented a car and enjoyed the two-three hour drive from Stamford, Connecticut, to Newport, Rhode Island. Newport is such a beautiful place. Mansions galore. Sailing is the operative word. And, I freely admit, the Rhode Island, yankee folks really know how to do two things very well: seafood and hot coffee. We enjoyed some great fish for lunch, and some even better decaf at one of the nicest coffee shops I have ever seen.
The Rhode Island yankee folks also do a good job with historical sites, lighthouses and upscale homes. For the next day or so, we made our way down narrow streets with stately homes dating back to 1710, and strolled past some of the most unbelievably beautiful mansions that either of us have ever seen. If you ever go to Newport, do the "Cliff Walk." You'll have the ocean on one side, and some sure-enough "high-cotton" estates on the other. Breath-taking!
And, as before, we met some of the nicest, friendliest people one could ever hope for. They immediately realized that we were not locals as soon as the first syllables fell out of our mouths. It must have been Debbie's pronounced West-Tennessee accent. After all, us Atlanta folks don't have a southern accent (wink).
Truthfully, I am convinced that I must have sounded like Ernest T. Bass to some of those folks. But, they never made fun, and they didn't treat us like we were from, as Zsa Zsa used to say, "Hootersville." We even met a high school senior at one restaurant who talked to us, gave us directions, and detected right away that we were not from around there. She was a tremendously friendly and personable young lady.
On Friday afternoon, we headed back for Stamford, and once again boarded the train. It was not as full as the day before, but still had lots of folks on it that were headed back into the city. Again, we saw people of every conceivable nationality. The conductor, once again, was all business. And, the train was still doing that "clickety-clack" thing as we bumped our way back into Manhattan.
After about thirty different stops of letting people off and taking others on, we finally arrived back in the city. Being Friday evening, Grand Central was a heap-um busy place. No standing and talking unless you were nestled in a corner of one of the corridors, shielded by one of the large concrete support columns holding up the roof.
Sarah was waiting for us at Grand Central. She was excited to see us, and even more so now that we were in her hands for a weekend of sight-seeing. We hoofed it back to her apartment with our luggage, freshened up for a few minutes, and hit the streets once again on our way to dinner at a place called the, "Chat and Chew." (More on NYC cuisine later in the blog.)
To get to the Chat and Chew, we had to take a combination of trains on the NYC subway system. Riding the subway is an experience all its own. I will share more about this in another chapter.
We had now seen the, "countryside." Mother was still doing well. The husband was only a little tired from all the driving and train riding during the Connecticut/Rhode Island jaunt. The air was getting progressively colder - as a bitter, northwest wind picked up. And, the daughter - the transplanted southern belle turned NYC tour guide, was just getting cranked up.
The next three days would truly be the adventure of a lifetime. Maw & Paw Kettle have finally made their way to the Big Apple.
Let us pray!
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