My private ferry.
Yesterday I was the first person on the first ferry of the season from Providence to Newport. They run from mid-May to mid-October. The pleasant one-hour cruise down Narragansett Bay is a refreshing way to get to the city by the sea. There were only three other passengers on that initial run, a grandma with her four-year-old grandson, and another solitary man hugging his laptop.
I ambled more than twelve miles during the day, much of it along Ocean Drive, mesmerized by the waves thundering onto the rocks. Doctor-mandated exercise is better with a scenic backdrop. The day was windy and cold, despite the sunshine, and I was glad I wore my light jacket and long-legged pants. After relaxing to a sophisticated French film late in the afternoon at the chilly Jane Pickens, Avenue Montaigne (Fauteuils d'orchestre), the weather turned dark and omninous as I boarded the evening boat for my return. Driving rain would greet me in Providence.
This time there were only two other passengers, two dozing men. The crew outnumbered us by one person. I had hoped I would be the only one on board, as though it were my personal ferry.
Perhaps on the ferry from Providence to Hades, I will be the only traveler, rowed across the Acheron by ferryman Charon of the fiery eyes. On my own private ferry, the only passenger! But on the ferry to hell I don't think that would be as likely as on the ferry to or from Newport.