Island to island

Block Island is a short ferry ride off the coast of Rhode Island. It's where my cousin Liz and her husband Jim got married in 1986 and I was there for the wedding. I'd mentioned to Liz that I had a yen to see it again, so here we are on the boat from Point Judith. Liz is bringing a stack of her paintings to Jesse's art gallery on the island and we we are wheeling those, as well as a weighty consignment of textured glass that I am delivering to the Hamptons on Long Island, but more of that later. We deliver the paintings to the gallery first. It's a sunny spot overlooking the harbour and is crammed with every conceivable interpretation of this picturesque place, including work that Liz brought over last time she visited (below).

We're staying at the Sea Breeze Inn, a group of shingle-clad cabins overlooking a small lagoon, owned by old friends of Liz and Jim, the Newhouse family. Each room has a distinctively individual look. Our cabin (below) is predominantly peach / coral but colour coordinated in such a subtle way that it isn't overpowering. A quilt comprising tiny coral hexagons hangs on the wall and a tall vaulted ceiling gives a feeling of space. 

The lagoon views are serene and meditative.
Liz and I take bikes and cycle up to the north point of the island, past the long beach where I remember us working on our tans the week before Liz and Jim's wedding. The wind is at our backs so we have an easy ride to the most northerly beach on the island where the only sign of life is a lonely wind-lashed lighthouse. We sit with our picnic lunches, savouring views, and Tuscan tortilla wraps.

We call in at the house where I stayed in 1986 and meet the owners, Gordon and Frankie, a retired engineer and social worker respectively. He tells stories with writerly flair, she asks for news of Liz's family and friends. I look out to sea over the dense bush to the front of the house. The air is alive with birdsong. We bike back via the Labyrinth, a circular maze that purports to act as a space for contemplation as you pace its rings and approach the centre. I find it quite meditative but there's no eureka moment when I arrive in the middle.

We have dinner with the Newhouses and emerge later into a frenzied squall of rain and have to make a dash for our cabin.

The next morning it's still raining so we walk down the road into town, via the local menagerie, a mini-zoo housing camels, llamas, kangaroos, emus and a Shetland pony! We call in at the Lazy Fish antique store, a treasure trove of vintage finds, upcycled clothing and jewellery, and arty household pieces.

Then we do free wifi at the Library, along with all the migrant workers of the island who are often to be found Skyping in the doorway late at night, in a Babel-like assortment of languages. We also visit Green Onion, a store that stocks Liz and Jim's glassware, together with an Aladdin's cave of covetable stuff. It has brightened up so we jump on bikes to see the south of the island, cycling past the historic Spring House Hotel, where Mark Twain once stayed, apparently.

We visit the lighthouse that had to be rolled back from the eroding cliff on logs. It's foggy over on this, the Atlantic side of the island, but when we cycle back to the beach on the east side it's sunny again. There are even people in swimming.

Later that day Liz catches the ferry back to Rhode Island and I catch one in the opposite direction, south west to Montauk, Long Island… with the consignment of glass, which is so heavy I have to leave it outside on the deck (below). The journey is rough and the boat rolls from side to side . I'm the only passenger out on the deck and I'm kind of enjoying the wild ride, but I'm also keeping a close eye on the consignment.

My cousin Mary meets me at Montauk and we drive to her daughter Kathleen's place, then on to dinner at a place called Navy, fitted out with vintage swimming hats and bathing suits in display cases on the walls, and blue sun-lounging beds facing out to sea. I can imagine the beach jumping with hipsters at the height of the summer but tonight, with the waves crashing, only smokers venture out of doors. Mary's youngest son James has just started work here – it's his first night – and serves our food, to a wolf whistle from his big sis.

Next morning, Mary and I spend a completely absorbing two hours at the Montauk Point lighthouse. It's a small, brilliantly curated museum on seafaring and local history with all sorts of curios, including this antique lighthouse beacon with its tiny bulb, which reminds me of the bit in The Wizard of Oz when they pull the curtains back to reveal a tiny old man.

There's a Walt Whitman poem, From Montauk Point, on a plaque that seems to perfectly describe today's wild weather:

'I stand as on some mighty eagle's beak,
Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing (nothing else but sea and sky),
The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance,
The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps – that inbound urge and urge of waves,
Seeking the shores forever.'
We seek out coffee in town and I'm almost tempted by the fish and lobster cookies.

There's a rather windswept art fair in a little park and one artist whose work reminds me of Scots painter Jack Vettriano.

Finally Mary and I must deliver the consignment. Someone with a holiday house in the Hamptons has got to be worth a bob or two and, sure enough, the woman we're delivering to was once one of Andy Warhol's young film stars, a contemporary of Edie Sedgewick at Warhol's Factory. Her name is (Baby) Jane Holzer and as we make our way up the drive of her beachfront house we pass this Jeff Koons puppy. I'm not convinced it's the real thing but there are plenty more sculptures dotted around the grounds, including a bronze cabbage on legs. Baby Jane is not at home but we manage to persuade the maid to let us in to leave a note with the glass, and so get a chance for a bit of a nose around. Nothing too shocking to report, though, with an interior more Elle Deco than avant-garde.