Small state to Empire state

I didn't know which state was the smallest in America, probably because I didn't care, but nonetheless I know it now as we cross the state line from Massachusetts to Rhode Island. It must have taken about 30 minutes to reach the tip of the state and it's main town, Newport, but we do pass through some quaint towns along the way.

Fairhaven is the main town that springs to mind for it's general beauty and sedate nature. It feels like Britain years ago but cleaner and in more of a fantasy reality that never really happened kind of way.
Newport is yet another holiday destination for New Yorkers that houses huge mansions along the sea's rocky cliffs.
Newport is bigger than I initially gave it credit for as we find out from a long walk about town from it's small tree sheltered square. The roads are narrow and winding with a definite Britain feel. The houses are pristine and anything over a hundred years old has a sign attached to an outer wall to tell you that someone of interest lived there once.


Nearer the seafront is a long shopping and bar strip where we wander for a while in the chilling breeze of early evening. It's a weird fact of American towns that we stroll around without seeing more than a handful of people. A town like this would be teeming with life in England but here it looks like a deserted film set or a Walt Disney rendered theme park street.


More colourfully painted wooden houses back on to this row of bars and beyond that and up round the corner are cobbled streets and low lit cafes that lead up to grand mansions and their grounds with high walls to keep out the peasants. You can briefly walk along a narrow cliff path in front of some of these huge manors overlooking the ocean.

This does remind me of the America shown in many films, for this location I suggest some kind of college horror.
Newport is a nice stop-off and if the wind wasn't so unforgiving then the beaches around here would be worth a visit also.
We head back north into Massachusetts and to it's capital, Providence. The town seems decent enough with a youthful college streak but the rain is tipping down so we continue on. The town, or city I should say, of New Haven is next up. I'd heard of New Haven in a Doors song but never really considered why it was mentioned at all. It turns out to be the home of one of America's most famous universities, Yale. I also never realised that New Haven would be so big either. When we saw a handful of skyscrapers looming in the low rain clouds we were surprised. More leafy streets pass by with moderately cool kids hanging around and looking generally dopey. We spot a large student party at a detached house, it looked just like the movies!
We stop off later on in the grim town of Poughkeepsie. Normally we wouldn't bother getting out of town somewhere like this but we did notice that down by the river it wasn't too bad so we went for a walk. Kids and their parents were gathering in a small marquee at one end of the river walk preparing for the Mexican festival 'Cinco de Mayo', The 'Fifth of May' celebrations we find out later aren't really celebrated in Mexico, other than one city, with the common misconception being that this is the date of Mexican independence from Spain. In fact it's the date that the Mexicans defeated the French army, in the Mexican city of Puebla, when they stopped repaying a loan. Even then the French went onto invade and take over Mexico City for a while. Either way adverts for Mexican beer are all over and at least it gives the Mexican Americans a chance to celebrate their homeland. Although it's overcast the large suspension bridge and gathering Mexicans make for a decent walk.


We're right on the cusp of New York State here but visiting the most expensive city in America on the weekend is out of the question for us. Instead we head North West into New York State's lush green area of natural beauty, the Catskill Mountains.
The Catskills are a vast forested and mountainous affair that offer real tranquility in close proximity to New York City. We stay around the region for a couple of days. Starting in thick morning fog we negotiate hairpin bends that lead us into thickly covered green hills. We take a totally unprepared two hour walk up along a trail besides a ledge that looks out over to yet more rolling hills. If only we'd thought of taking some water or food at least.

Curving our way back down a mountain we stop off at a large reservoir that is perfectly still. A few people are strolling along admiring the dam and with good reason, it acts like a mirror beneath the green mountains and moored rowing boats.


A sign adjacent tells us that this in fact used to be the site of two towns before the valley was flooded, unfortunate for the inhabitants no doubt. Hopefully they could swim.


I didn't realise until it came to our attention on the map that this is near Woodstock. Soon we find ourselves passing a welcome sign into the aforementioned town that has made a name for itself by hosting two music festivals, the most famous being the original in the 60's. Although the festival was named Woodstock we hear that the actual farm on which the event took place is some 60 miles away, nowhere near but in American terms that's close! The main street of Woodstock is awash with old leather faced hippies with long, and now grey, hair and tie-dye t-shirts. There are some of the newer age of hippies hanging around and playing guitar. It seems strange after driving around the area and not really seeing much human life, it's been mainly farmland and cows, to suddenly enter a small town with one street and quite a number of people milling around.
We spend another day passing through the odd semi-rural town all wrapped in leafy surrounds. The time has come, we are too close to think about going anywhere else. Only one major destination in America left that I was really looking forward to, New York City.