So I'm taking a break from the hot and nasty NYC grid, where it smells like broiling dog pee and garbage. Yesterday I hopped on the Luxury Liner to the Hamptons for a job interview which I don't want to jinx so I will remain silent on that. This morning, after my friend let me drive his awesome antique Alpha Romeo convertible out to Montauk, I hopped on the Viking ferry to Block Island. The weather was squally and the marine forecast predicted four to seven foot seas, and they were right on, so the boat was pretty pitchy. Luggage was flying. Two little girls in front of me were screaming. The guy across the aisle from me barfed up his still-purple berry-and-granola yogurt. BLEEAAAAAAAAH! Then the woman in front of me got up and barely made it to the garbage can before she too hurled. Yuck. I played Mother Teresa and brought barf bags and paper towels from the galley to the people who were too petrified to move. I feel bad for people who get seasick. It must suck.
So here I am, on Block Island, which I can't really enjoy because I have a big heavy rolly suitcase in tow. And it's kind of rainy. So I'm waiting for the Newport ferry, conveniently spaced five hours afterward and in a totally different harbor from when and where the Montauk ferry arrives. Next stop New England. I'm in a cafe with WiFi, but I think it's time to move on to a bar for a burger and a beer. Only two and a half hours to go. Block Island is really cute. It's like a mini-me version of the Vineyard.
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