AMERICAN BEAUTY
A journey by tall ship along America’s glitzy New England coast proves to be thoroughly wet but utterly wonderful
THE first destination on my New England holiday is doing its best to be inhospitable. The rain in Camden, on the coast of Maine, is pouring in biblical fashion, and the boat that will be my home for the next three days is bobbing frantically in the bay.
I have travelled to the U.S. to glimpse one if its most fabled regions — New England, where six beautiful s t ates ( Maine, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Hampshire and Vermont) form the north-eastern shoulder of this great country. It is a pretty playground of forests, fields and beaches which has enthralled presidents past and present.
But as I stand on the dock, waiting to board The Mercantile — a 115 ft windjammer built in 1916 — I am not convinced I will see much of it at all. Today, Maine is almost lost behind a pale curtain of mist. And it is too late to head for somewhere less damp.
A five- strong crew — including manmountain O’B, who is dressed head-to-toe in a fully weatherproof fisherman’s outfit — leads me and ten other shipmates on to the deck. He points directly upwards. ‘ That cover there is meant to keep you all dry while up on deck. I’m not sure it’s going to work though, to tell you the truth . . . ’
And with this, we are at the mercy of the ocean. I quickly learn three things. That if a giant canvas sail is coming towards you, you move out of the way; there is a good chance of lobster for dinner; and that I should have bought better and more expensive waterproofs.
A tall ship The Mercantile may be, but it is not a ship for tall people — as my friend and travel companion Carolyn discovers when she almost has to fold herself in half to sleep in our two-berth cabin.
STIll, the next morning, homemade pancakes and coffee go some way to easing the cramped conditions. We dine well ll — three meals a day, from cornbread to clam chowder, alll made on board, all excellent. Of course, with the downpour ur continuing and the sea choppy, y, we have to employ different nt strategies to keep hold of our food. I lie in my bunk, concentrating on the ceiling. Some stare at the horizon. Others stay in the cosy galley, spilling mugs of hot tea.
It is not until the captain lowers the sails and the wind calms to a breeze that I venture out on deck — and see that we are sailing between the islands which frame Maine’s s plendidly rugged coastline. Suddenly, the sun appears, and casts the scene in a golden glow — a panorama alive with whitewashed houses; trees burnished orange and red.
This is the iconic New England I had hoped to see. And it stays in focus for the rest of the trip — certainly when we return to land, where Portland waits as a haven of 19th-century brick warehouses, many converted into galleries, boutiques and cafes. This is Maine’s foodie capital, and it is impossible to eat badly here — try the poutine at Duckfat, oysters at Eventide and the spiced cookies at Standard Baking Co.
We continue south, crossing the state line into New Ham Hampshire and rolling i nto Port Portsmouth. The third oldest city in the U.S. is perched next to the Piscataqua River.
Should the mood take you, go for a sail on a gundalow — a replica of the cargo ships that were used on the state’s broad estuaries in the 19th century.
Across the bridge, New Castle offers refined glamour at the stately Wentworth By The Sea — a gleaming jewel of historic elegance with modern convenience
in its accommodation, and which revels in fine food at its Salt Kitchen & Bar.
It would be easy to idle here, but we carry on down the coast, into Massachusetts – pausing at essex, a town which claims to have invented the fried clam (Woodman’s is the place to indulge).
Then it is on to rockport, and the stylish emerson Inn — a Doric-columned fancy of a hotel, all creaky oak four-posters, toile wallpaper and c and lewick bedspreads, perched next to halibut Point State Park’s jagged, almost lunar, rock beach.
rockport is practically a suburb of Boston (an hour south-west by train). Flashy yachts are moored in the harbour, a glass- fronted concert hall adds a note of culture and lavish restaurants compete for customers.
The same is true of Salem, f urther south, where we ignore the tacky museums cashing in on the witch trials of 1692, and instead admire the wharf, with its restored merchant residences and air of tranquillity.
Before long, we are on the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard.
This elegant island, tucked discreetly off the south coast of Massachusetts, is a vision of t he American candycoloured, clapboard-house dream. here, history veers from the cinematic (parts of the Spielberg classic Jaws were filmed on its beaches) to the tragic (Chappaquiddick witnessed the notorious 1969 car crash that killed Mary Jo Kopechne and ruined any chance that Senator Ted Kennedy — who was the driver that night — ever had of becoming president).
We make our base at harbor View, a hotel built in 1891 in pretty edgartown, then dash out to explore.
There are long walks on the white sand of South Beach State Park, plenty of tasty lobster rolls and endless games of Guess Which Movie Star Lives here? (almost every property on Martha’s Vineyard is owned by a celebrity, if you believe the local cabbies). There is no sign of President Obama — America’s first family take a break on the island every summer — but New england does not need celebrity sightings to be a delight.
TRAVEL FACTS
MY America Holiday (020 8003 6081, myamerica holiday.co.
uk) offers an eight-night Along The Maine Coast By Land and Sea trip which takes in Boston, Maine and a three-night cruise on a Windjammer. From £1,995 pp, with flights, hotels and car hire. Find out more at
massholiday.co.uk and discovernewengland.co.uk.