Kurt spends his time trotting the world seeking the finest. He’s a respected reviewer with over 20 years experience, so knows a thing or two about it and isn’t shy to give his opinion – Ed.
I’m a sort of a sea dog. I’ve spent several years of my colourful life sailing on at least seven seas – two years at a stretch when I was young, several months a year recently.
Until this year, when the cargo ships I used for my travels went off to be made into teaspoons in Taiwan, leaving me at the mercy of Airlines. So when VB brought me a message from an old salt named Matt to come and take a turn down the Medina from Newport on the paddle-steamer Monarch, I signed up with alacrity.
A nice, quiet hour, idling uneventfully on the river on a vintage steamer “¦ what better way to spend a peaceful Sunday? Hah!
Which way to Newport Harbour?
The P S Monarch is moored at Newport Harbour. I couldn’t see quite how Newport, being in the middle of the Island, could have a Harbour, nor did I know how to find it, but Red Fred and I have conquered Skinner’s Lane, so we set intrepidly out, mastered the Nameless Horror and suddenly found ourselves in the ghastly embrace of a one-way system. So I stopped.
Is it illegal to stop in a one-way system? A couple of cars just passed me, but then the Wicked Witch of the West, with her camp dark glasses and her HPH plates, stopped at my back and simply hooted and hooted.
My forefingers itched, but – reorientated — I moved on, and seconds later there I was, on the harbour.
An absolute Dark Tower of Pay Parking Lots, all but one utterly empty. I won’t tell you where I parked (well, his Lordship wouldn’t need it on a Sunday) but I didn’t break my vow.
The Monarch of the Medina
And there was the Monarch. What a ripping little lady! Down the river she paddled, towards me, every inch a dinky red-funnelled Duchess “¦ but where was my seadog, with the parrot on his shoulder and the promised gin-bottle in his hand?
All I could see was two teenaged (?) lads.
Well, there is no sea dog.
You see how you can get tricked by your imagination and the Internet? And no parrot. But Matt and Ian gave me and my ten fellow-passengers, the jolliest cruise imaginable, down the river and back, and it is just as well that the threatened bottle of gin wasn’t there, for I am quite sure that, had it been, the whole thing would have turned into one helluva a party.
Lessons and loud noises
Ian explained to me the workings of the steam-engine, from which I retain mainly the words ‘an eight-foot flame”¦’, Matt explained his triple function from his place behind the wheel, from which I retain only the words ‘we would all blow up’, and in between there were lots of other bits much less didactic, and a good deal more fun, to listen to and enjoy, as the funnel joined in the jollity, and hooted steam and a shower of droplets over us “¦
Check back tomorrow for part two of Kurt’s adventure
Images: One way sign by Secret Pilgrim under CC BY 2.0
All others © Kurt Gänzl
