Providential!

Saturday 13 July 2019

       All gassed up, packed and ready to roll to Rhode Island Saturday morning, if only I could finish all the stuff – primarily watering in advance of a long dry weekend – that needs to be done at home.

       What’s supposed to be an 11 a.m. exit is a whole lot closer to noon. Nevertheless, my astrological twin and co-pilot Jack Dumpert is forgiving. Once we hit the I-290, it starts to feel like an adventure.

       As adventures go, it’s sunny, way faster than the speed limit and remarkably without incident. The itinerary is hard to mess up – a straight shot down I-90 to Worcester, Mass., then a right turn and an hour later the towers of downtown Providence, such as they are, rise before us. Three stops, one change of drivers back and forth, 7½ hours, 450 miles or so, not even a whole tank of gas.

       I remember my phone charger and my meds and other supplies, but I always forget something. Around Batavia, I suddenly realize what it is – the tickets! I left behind the print-outs of the receipts for this baseball excursion – the Buffalo Bisons vs. the Pawtucket Red Sox on Sunday afternoon in beloved McCoy Stadium, to be abandoned next year when the team moves to Worcester, followed Monday night by the parent teams, the Toronto Blue Jays and the Boston Red Sox in Fenway Park in Boston. But not to worry. The tickets came via e-mail. At the hotel, I can print them again.

       Ah, the hotel! A lacrosse tournament has fully engaged the Hampton Inn and Suites and every other lodging in downtown Providence. The room we expected to get with two beds has been “upgraded.” Spiffier, yes, with a great view from the eighth floor, but only one bed. We may be astrological twins, but we’re not Siamese twins. Our super-helpful desk clerk, Aaron, can’t help us here. He suggests, apologetically, using the pull-out couch. He also gives us $25 off.

       When it comes to restaurants, however, Aaron is flawless. We want a seafood place and he directs us to a dandy one – Hemenway’s, a short stroll via pedestrian bridge across the Providence River (gondolas!).

This being sort of the coast of New England, the seafood is fresh at Hemenway’s. So is the local craft beer. So is our barmaid, Holly. 

We tuck in at the bar for ceviche in a spicy sauce of the Puerto Rican chef’s creation, local oysters and a chilled seafood medley salad, which I order when I see the magic word “lobster.” All excellent. Only disappointment – the crab cakes, a far cry from what you get in Baltimore, says Jack.

We hear live music on our walk back to the hotel and detour slightly to discover a quartet of gray-haired guys playing old standards on the sidewalk. They’re outside a restaurant which has filled the street curb to curb with white-tablecloth-covered tables, most of which are occupied. We arrive just in time for the last number. Providential!