A Weekend in Newport

With a thing for old houses and good chowder, author Hallie Davison hears the call of Newport, Rhode Island loud and clear.


“Second Beach,” I am advised. “Not First.”

Newport, Rhode Island is where I have chosen to park my pale (though not for long) body for the first weekend of the summer, my favorite 94-day stretch of the year. Officially, the season starts on the solstice in late June, but for a true maximizer, it’s Memorial Day. In the northern part of the US, this is conspicuously premature; decent swimming weather can arrive so late as July. This year, however, we struck it lucky with an early heat wave, just in time for a weekend in one of America’s most iconic beach towns.

I am taking recommendations for what to see and where to eat, since, despite living on the East Coast for more than ten years, living both in New York and Massachusetts and frequently shuttling between, I never once made a stopover in Rhode Island. There’s no reason for this, other than that when it comes to beaches, I am a creature of habit. I am loyal to Long Island’s eastern end — and if I’ve got more than a weekend, North Carolina’s Outer Banks or the cutely colonial town of St. Augustine in Florida.

But a reunion with a college friend was an excuse to visit Newport, situated smack between our respective hometowns (mine Brooklyn, hers Cambridge). Our choice of destination was more than just a convenient compromise; my college friend now studies architecture, and we both have a thing for old houses and good chowder. Newport’s call was loud and clear.

The drive from New York is not particularly scenic, until you split with I-95 and head east over the Pell Bridge. Narragansett Bay stretches out beneath you, tiny wooden boats struggle gracefully with the wind and water, and sun-bleached lighthouses dot the rocky coast. The pleasantness of the scenery is reward for suffering the punishment of traffic, particularly on America’s Cup Avenue and Thames Street, which join to form the main artery of town, running parallel along the harbor. We happily discover that our home base for the weekend, the Forty 1° North, is in the center of town, just off the northern end of Thames, and we’re even happier to leave our car with the hunky valet.

Forty 1° North opened just last year, and it still feels squeaky clean. Its ship-shape character is no accident though: this hotel is also a fully functioning marina. When we arrive, there are pleasure boats of all sizes docked in front of the restaurant, and the launch is pulling in with guests that have moored their Hinckley for the afternoon. It’s hard to distinguish between the restaurant and marina staff, who both wear head-to-toe white, including deck shoes (no socks, of course). The scene makes me antsy to change out of my urban wear, which involves way too much black and army green, into a more countryish costume, one that might, say, increase my chances of invitation to a lawn party.

Once inside, we knock back minty raspberry welcome smoothies and are led upstairs to a very well appointed room. This is where we learn many great things about Forty 1° North, including their efforts towards environmentalism, which will hopefully amount to a LEED certification (the official approval is still pending). Of all the eco tricks, we are most dazzled by the loaner iPad, which has digital subscriptions to the Globe and the Times, plus all of the hotel information — a directory, menus and maps — that you would normally find in one of those hulking leather binders.

Passing the afternoon comfortably indoors would have been more of a temptation had our stomachs not been ferociously rumbling. We set out on Thames Street but soon discover one of Newport’s drawbacks, which is that unlike New York, this city’s residents eat at proper meal times. Finding a lunch spot still open at 3:30 proved challenging. Gary’s Handy Lunch (462 Thames) is, confusingly, more of a breakfast place. The sandwich shops are now closed and Scales & Shells (527 Thames), our best chowder-purveying prospect, is only open for dinner. We end up at The Pier (10 Howard Wharf), where we enjoy the views more than our food. Luckily, we make up our losses at Cold Fusion Gelato (389 Thames) . The recommended flavor is cinnamon basil mascarpone — not nearly as complicated as it sounds, but subtle and smooth, with just enough spice to keep it interesting.

Blood sugar levels stabilized, we stroll home along Thames. With its old captain’s cottages and colonial homes, it is a postcard-perfect picture of summer in New England. We skip most of the t-shirt and taffy shops, but duck into the recently opened Tap Shop Studio (468 Thames), a kind of RISD spin on the traditional gift shop. There is a set of tiny wooden bud vases that would make a great wedding gift, patterned ribbon belts and paper goods and t-shirts emblazoned with pro-Rhode Island slogans like “go Rho” and “02840”.

While we missed the mark with lunch, our timing with dinner is spot-on. Forty 1° North has two restaurants: Christie’s for Asian-inspired casual fare, and then the more upscale option, The Grill, which seduces us with its dockside location and a menu of modern classics like a lobster tomato bisque with sweet corn pudding and a crispy artichoke salad. Had I known that The Grill is Newport’s new favorite restaurant, I would have made a reservation, but luckily there’s room for two near the bar. We order cocktails (something tall and gingery for her and strong and minty for me) as the sun goes down. The warm early summer light makes everyone at this restaurant look handsome, plates of deliciously fresh food arrives before us, and we find ourselves smiling from ear to ear.

As a city, Newport has a reputation for being a tad buttoned up, and this is to be expected. Just as the conservatism of the pilgrims still permeates New England’s culture, the legacy of Newport’s most famous residents — the Vanderbilts, Rockefellers and moneyed families of the early 20th century — still lingers. You would never know this, however, if you came to Newport after dark. The nightlife scene is hearty and inclusive. We try out the ’80s cover band at One Pelham (270 Thames Street) but prefer the less frat-tastic crowd at Pour Judgment (32 Broadway). On Saturday nights, Forty 1° North is also a destination for party-goers. A deejay has set up in their basement-level lounge and a Skittles rainbow of summer dresses is on display.

After a divine night’s rest (one that prompted a mattress label check: yup, Tempur-Pedic®) and a restorative breakfast, we decide to cruise the mansions along Bellevue Avenue. With a “go big or go home” philosophy, we park the car and walk along the stunning stretch of shoreline park known as The Cliff Walk, towards The Breakers (44 Ochre Point Avenue), the largest and most famous of the Newport mansions. I was utterly unprepared for such dramatic beauty. I tend to think of the Atlantic as the more deferential of America’s oceans, but in this part of the country, it is gloriously gallant. Upon seeing the miles of impressive cliffs, Newport made a whole lot more sense as the site for some of the country’s grandest examples of domestic architecture.

We spend much more time at The Breakers than we had allotted, as rushing through a compound dedicated to leisure would have been an insult to its creators. So we only arrive at Second Beach in time to stick our toes in the sand and turn around to head back to our respective cities. Sachuest — a wildlife preserve further down the road that was also deemed a “must-visit” by my local friend — will have to wait for the return trip, which, thankfully, will be soon. While downtown earlier, I picked up tickets to the Newport Folk Festival in late July. It is hard to top the joy of avoiding Ticketmaster fees, but planning another trip to this seaside town more than did the trick.

Like this feature? Sign up for email alerts, subscribe to our RSS, or follow us on Tumblr.