| Steam
escapes from the calliope pipes as the music rings
out. On the American Queen, the piano-like
instrument is played on the deck 5, while its pipes
are off deck 6. |
 |
ST.
PAUL, Minn. — High atop the American Queen, Richard and
Marilyn Jensen sat on deck chairs outside their stateroom,
holding each other’s wrinkled hands. Beyond the railing,
the bluffs of southern Minnesota, tinged with fall colors,
slid by. A distant sound drifted from the big boat’s
paddlewheel, which slapped at the Mississippi to propel us
at a mere 10 miles per hour.
The
quiet mood altered only when Richard got up to snap a
photograph of the evening sky as it shifted to violet,
rimmed with the same brilliant orange of the cap he wore
to ward off the chill of autumn.
"We
were glad when the American Queen started running
again," he told me after I stepped outside my
stateroom door beside them.
The
boat’s return to the Mississippi this year, after a
four-year dry spell, meant that the couple from Fort
Collins, Colo., could finally complete a voyage of the
river they began a decade ago. The Jensens had cruised
from New Orleans to St. Louis on the Mississippi to
celebrate their 50th anniversary in grand style. This
long-dreamed-of trip, from St. Paul to St. Louis, marked
their 60th.
"It’s
just so pretty," Marilyn cooed as she took in the
view.
A
weeklong trip on the American Queen is a journey that
gives travelers just what they might expect: a lazy
passage on a snail-paced boat decked out in Victorian
splendor on America’s great river. But during my trip
last month — the first departure out of St. Paul since
the American Queen made her splashy re-entrance — I was
struck by the unexpected: the insistent beauty of the
Mississippi.
All
along the Upper Mississippi, a stretch before the waterway
is joined by the Ohio River, brown waters seep into
marshes and meander behind wooded islands. Except for the
river towns, whatever development that exists lies well
beyond the riverbanks, mostly shrouded behind leaves.
Bluffs tumble toward the water. Great blue herons stalk
the shallows, undisturbed by the boat’s slow pace.
One
day, a juvenile bald eagle soared through the sky and
perched on a tall treetop just off to starboard, eyeing
the boat.
Who
wouldn’t? The American Queen — the largest steamboat
ever built, at 418 feet long and 90 feet wide — is quite
a sight to see, with her towering smokestacks, ornate
decorations and the big red paddlewheel that turns round
and round. Whenever we passed a town, people stopped their
ballgames, pulled cars over to the side of the road and
stepped out of houses to stare.
Those
of us lucky enough to be aboard found there was plenty to
behold inside the boat, too.
The
main entrance leads up a sweeping set of stairs to a hall
that separates the Ladies’ Parlor, which is frilled out
with lace curtains, and the Gentlemen’s Card Room, where
a taxidermied boar’s head and bear set the tone. (Though
the era the rooms evoke may have segregated the sexes
after dinner, these are solidly unisex. One afternoon, I
spied a gentleman splayed out and snoozing on a
floral-patterned sofa in the parlor. Across the hall, a
woman read a novel in an armchair that was crowned with a
carved wooden eagle, its wings extended so it looked as
though her hair was about to be snared by talons.)
Next
door is the stately Mark Twain Gallery, a dark
wood-paneled room where passengers stop to read
newspapers, piece together puzzles and drink cappuccino or
hot chocolate (pick your poison, press the button and it
comes hissing out of the machine).
There’s
also the grand staircase, whose overhead painting depicts
an egret soaring among angels.
Head
down the stairs, and you’re in the dining room, awash in
white tablecloths and chandeliers. There, the evening
extravaganza was impressive not so much for the food
preparation (which was fine), but also for the culinary
ambition (blackened red snapper with black-eyed-pea
vinaigrette) and the size of the portions.
No
one goes hungry aboard the American Queen. Cookies, ice
cream and snacks are available day and night from the
so-called Front Porch of America, at the wide bow of the
boat. The informal cafe, with wicker dining sets and
rocking chairs on its veranda, also serves three buffet
meals a day. That’s handy for those who were assigned
the 8 p.m. rather than the widely preferred 5 p.m. dinner
seating. Anyone can choose to forgo the formal dining
room, or get a hearty snack to hold them over, at the
Porch, where andouille sausage is a kitchen darling.
———
Days
aboard the American Queen quickly assume an easygoing
rhythm. Wake up in a new port, gather energy for the day
in the dining room (let me recommend biscuits and sausage
gravy), then roll off the boat and onto a bus for a
hop-on, hop-off tour of the town. In Dubuque, Iowa, I saw
a memorable Grant Wood painting at the art museum and a
Methodist Church nearly wrapped in Tiffany glass windows.
Passengers can also opt — and pay for — "premium
tours." During the only day in which we spent a full
eight hours in port, at Davenport, Iowa, I spent $89 to
see the Amana Colonies, a peaceful place where German
Pietists lived communally from 1855 until the mid-1930s.
All
other days, passengers had to be back aboard by 12:30
p.m., in time to dine again and then dash to the River
Grill on Deck 5 for the calliope concert. That carnival
sound, created by a tiny piano-like instrument and its
steam-powered whistles one deck up (to save everyone’s
eardrums), marks most departures and is enough to get
anyone in the mood for a little steamboat history.
Then
it’s off to the Grand Saloon, a small replica of Ford’s
Theatre in Washington, D.C., that is the hub of onboard
entertainment. Each afternoon, Travis Vasconcelos, an
expert on the river’s long history (he’s known onboard
as the "riverlorian"), illuminates the more
fascinating aspects of steamboats.
He
moved around the space, jumping from stage right (which we
were to envision as the Mississippi) to stage left (which
supposedly represented California), as he told the tale of
the American Queen and her sister boat, the Delta Queen.
"My
time slot is after lunch, so I’d best keep the
conversation lively," he told me one day in the Chart
Room, where he can often be found, explaining how to read
river charts, doling out binoculars and answering
questions.
During
one of Vasconcelos’ lectures, amid a few dozing
passengers, I learned that the American Queen is now
"the only overnight steamboat left on Mark Twain’s
river." The paddlewheel that propels her is 38 tons
of white oak, poplar and steel shaft; her smokestacks ride
99 feet above the water; she burns 100 gallons of fuel per
hour; her body was built in 1995 but the steamboat engine
dates to 1932, salvaged from a long-buried steam-powered
dredger.
All
those impressive numbers make a listener happy that the
newly formed Great American Steamboat Co. rescued the boat
last fall and poured $6 million into wiping away the
cobwebs.
The
boat had been dry-docked since 2008 by the U.S. Maritime
Administration, a reluctant recipient after two previous
owners became insolvent in turn, unable to pay the
government loan that helped build the vessel. The Delta
Queen Steamboat Co., which originally launched the
American Queen (and christened her with a giant bottle of
tabasco), also had two smaller boats once upon a time: The
Delta Queen is now a floating hotel in Chattanooga, Tenn.
The Mississippi Queen befell a much worse fate — sold
for scrap.
Each
evening, passengers poured into the Grand Saloon for a
pre- or post-dinner show. I joined them the night a Mark
Twain impersonator was on the bill. But his performance,
management regretted to report, was rescheduled for
undisclosed reasons (a nice representation of the rascally
side of Twain).
Instead
of tales of life on the Mississippi, I listened to soul
and gospel music from a quartet in sequined choir robes.
It was far flashier than anything a Twain impersonator
could conjure up.
After
a costume change, the group — whose members sang with
verve and were backed by a band impressive for its size
and talent — moved through a few decades’ worth of
hits, culminating in a rousing performance of the Chicken
Dance Song. Suddenly, my view was blocked by bobbing heads
and cocked elbows.
———
On
my last day on the boat, I walked into the Engine Room
Bar, popular for its late-night sing-alongs and portholes
that look out onto the churning paddlewheel. It was empty
at 10 a.m., but offered the only public entrance to the
Engine Room, where steam cylinders power gigantic arms
that crank the paddlewheel. I opened a heavy metal door
and descended the stairs to the boat’s belly. There I
took so many pictures and asked so many questions, I began
to wonder if I would be reported to the Transportation
Security Administration as a possible threat. Instead, the
engineer on duty, Ricky Idlett, invited me to his side of
the metal gate, which generally keeps passengers (some of
whom may have imbibed at the bar) away from the controls.
I clearly had not been sipping anything stronger than
coffee, and we were docked, so Idlett offered to snap my
picture with the engine thrusters.
I
let my hand rest on one of those unassuming metal bars
with a rubber handle, and to my surprise, it offered a
thrill. I was struck by the power of the paddlewheeler,
not just to transport people up and down the river, but
into a simpler past.
Just
then, I caught a gentle breeze. Because the engine room
heats up, workers there prop open a side door. It looks
straight out onto the rolling brown waters of the
Mississippi.
———
IF
YOU GO:
BOAT
DETAILS: The American Queen can carry 436 guests in 222
staterooms and suites. My cruise, which departed St. Paul
on Sept. 21, was nearly full, but the big six-story boat
never felt crowded.
My
stateroom had a sofa and a wicker chair and ottoman,
flat-screen television, large closet, ample bathroom with
tub, and a second sink just outside the door, across from
a mirrored vanity. I stayed in an outside stateroom.
In
January, when the American Queen takes a monthlong break
in New Orleans, the boat will get another spiffing up.
Wallpaper in the staterooms and artwork and carpet in the
public spaces will be replaced.
During
my trip, a stealth worker replaced dated, dark wallpaper
with a more modern version in public spaces during the wee
hours.
THE
PRICE: Prices for the seven-night trip I took range from
$5,795 for a suite with a veranda to $1,995 for the
smallest inside cabin (per person, double occupancy); they
include one night in a hotel before or after the cruise,
all meals, wine or beer with dinner and hop-on, hop-off
bus tours in port towns.
CHOOSING
YOUR TRIP: Voyages between St. Paul and St. Louis run
regularly through early November, with one three-night
round trip that begins and ends in St. Paul, departing
Oct. 19. I opted for the St. Paul to St. Louis route
because the boat stops in a port each day. Trips upriver
from St. Louis include a few days exclusively on the boat.
"People build a strong relationship with the river on
those trips," said the boat’s river historian,
Travis Vasconcelos.
There
are 26 locks between the two cities. Experiencing the
90-foot-wide boat squeeze into the 110-foot-wide locks
(and sometimes feeling a gentle bonk as the boat taps a
lock wall) is a trip highlight for many on board.
The
American Queen plies the Mississippi, Ohio or Tennessee
rivers nearly year-round. Many trips have themes, such as
"Polka Cruise" and "Walk in Elvis’
Steps."
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INFO:
