Maine Part One

This is going to be a completely impossible job. How hard is it to set down in words every moment, every nuance, every memory of ten full days of life? Have you ever tried it? It’s tough. But I feel like I need to make an attempt. Because this was possibly the best visit home I’ve ever had.

So, there’s not much to say about Thursday the 15th. We got up at an inhuman hour (3:30), the shuttle picked us up right on time, the flight left on time, the layover in Ohio was tolerable (as was the beer cheese soup I had at one of the restaurants in the terminal). The flight arrived in Boston on-time (5:15 pm), and we acquired the Enterprise shuttle to the rental lot with relative ease. We scored a Camaro, which at first blush seemed wicked cool, then proved to be annoying and uncomfortable throughout the trip. So! Bill won’t be begging for one of those any time soon.

We took a slightly wrong turn getting out of Boston Logan, but got straightened around easily enough. Not that it mattered much, time-wise, because we were stuck square in the middle of rush hour traffic. Bad timing. All the friggin’ TOLLS we had to pay didn’t improve things, either. The roads finally cleared when we were nearly to New Hampshire. We pulled off briefly for the required stop at the State Line Liquor Store (no sales tax!) and grabbed a bottle of Gentleman Jack (for my uncle). The place is altogether too convenient to the highway.

The bridge over the Piscataqua river crossing from Portsmouth NH over into Maine is always a moment I treasure. One of these days I’m going to take a picture of that bridge, and that “Welcome to Maine” sign. In the meantime, enjoy this one by James Lee on Flickr Creative Commons:

Piscataqua Bridge by James Lee

We found the Eastland Park Hotel quite easily, since it’s one of the tallest buildings in the Portland skyline, adorned with a big, bright red neon sign proclaiming the name of the hotel. It’s in the uptown Arts District area of the city, away from the Old Port and the waterfront where we stayed the last time we were in town. Only a fifteen minute walk from the Old Port, but through a rough-ish (by Maine standards) area of town that we didn’t want to traverse at night.

Anyway. The hotel was quite nice, and we were situated on the thirteenth floor, with only the roof-top bar, the “Top of the East”, above us.

Eastland Park Hotel Lobby

Our room at the EPH

A blurry night shot of the city from the vantage of our room.

We off-loaded our luggage and parked the car in the adjacent parking garage (at a “discounted” rate of $17.10 per day), then sat in the lounge in the hotel lobby. We had dinner (a great salad with steak and FANTASTIC fresh cukes for me, ribeye for Bill) and sipped on beers while I acquired and perused a city map. Then we decided to check out the Top of the East bar, as we’d been given coupons for free drinks for each night of our stay.

The bar offeres a nearly 360 degree view of the entire city – Back Cove to the west, Portland Harbor to the southeast, and Casco Bay to the northeast, plus the entirety of the Commercial District, Arts District, and Old Port. The West End historic residences were immediately to (wait for it) the west, and the hospital I was born in dominates a nearby street. As we sat and looked across Portland Harbor, we could see the Portland Head Light, across the harbor in Cape Elizabeth, winking away every four seconds. Yes, we counted. We watched the Casco Bay Bridge raise and lower a few times as it let marine traffic through.

We could have (and did, on a couple of occasions) sat there for hours, watching the city bustle away.

The Top of the East

Top of the East

Foggy Portland Harbor, with the Head Light's wink barely visible in center horizon.

The bed in our room was hard as bricks, and the pillows even harder, if that’s possible. That’s pretty much the only complaint we had about the place, though.

Friday the 16th we got up at a decent hour and had breakfast in the hotel lounge (free coupons!). We took a stroll down to the Old Port, just to see how long it would take us to “get there from here”. Fifteen minutes and we were standing in front of J’s Oyster.

Monument Square near One City Center

Civil War Memorial in Monument Square. "1861 - 1865 More than four thousand men were enrolled from Portland in the Army and Navy for the War of the Rebellion. More than three hundred were killed in battle or died in service. Honor and grateful remembrance to the dead, equal honor to those who, daring to die, survived."

The hole-in-the-wall that is J's Oyster.

Fore Street - the black specks are seagulls.

We hiked it back up to our hotel, and got the car out of the garage. Armed with the Maine Atlas & Gazetteer, we took my old commute down Washington Street where it turns into Route 100, into Gray and Route 115, which lead us to Yarmouth. Which is when we decided that we would NOT be attending the Yarmouth Clam Festival after all. The town was a zoo, the weather was close to ninety, and both parking AND shade would be a nightmare to find. That decision made, with little disappointment I might add, we eventually made it to the ever-popular Route 1, and headed north up the coast.

The route of our first day's coastal exploration is in green. Click for a larger map.

We turned down the finger leading to Harpswell, making our leisurely way down to the point. The road was crowded in with trees, trees, and more trees. I just soaked up all the green. Every now and then the trees would thin a little, and we could see glimpses of water on either side of us. Presently the trees cleared out, and we were in the midst of tiny little fishing villages straight out of “Message in a Bottle”, or really any other movie that takes place in coastal Maine. The houses either crowded up right next to the road, or sat far back away, in the middle of a field or right on the water. It was a steely gray day, with the sky just about matching the color of the ocean. As we cruised slowly through the little villages, folks working in their yards would turn to watch us pass – some waved, some of them clearly wondered what a couple of flatlanders (with “Mass-hole” license plates to boot) were doing in their neck of the woods. There was deep pride of ownership demonstrated everywhere – flower beds, freshly painted fences, carefully tended lawns. American flags and those colonial looking windowsill draperies adorned nearly every home. Every little town sported a grange, town hall, Methodist or Episcopalian or Baptist church advertising a chowder or baked bean supper.

Harpswell

We got to the end of the road – literally, for the ocean was right in front of us – and turned around. On the way back Bill stopped the car at the side of the road so I could get the shot you see above. It was a very tiny road, with absolutely no traffic at all. A single car came along as I got out of the car, and I paused to let them pass before I realized they were pausing to let me cross. I grinned at them and waved, and the driver waved back before going on his way.

Small town manners. I miss ‘em.

We headed back up the finger, through Cooks Corner, then down again toward Bailey Island. It could have been the exact same road as the one we traversed down Harpswell way, so ubiquitous are those little coastal villages. We crossed over onto Bailey Island (it’s accessed by a very short, rickety bridge – they’re rebuilding the more modern one), headed down to the point to see what we could see, then turned and made a beeline to Cooks Lobster House.

Glory glory glory.

Our visit coincided with a lull in the usual bustling activity of the place, and we got a great booth right up against the windows. I got my first lobster roll of the trip, Bill ordered the baked haddock. And we therein began a tradition – we WILL be going back there every time we visit from now on. I can’t believe I never took Bill down there before. Won’t be making that mistake again!

Bill peruses the menu in our booth at Cooks Lobster House.

The interior of Cooks Lobster House.

My lobster roll - sorry, couldn't wait so I took a bite before I took the picture.

Up the finger again, and down the next one towards Phippsburg, and Popham Beach. We arrived just before high tide really hit. The beach was rapidly shrinking and patrons were scrambling to move their belongings away from the encroaching water.

Popham Beach

At low tide a person can walk all the way out to the island you see in this picture, and collect sand dollars and sea glass. Bill and I took the kids out there back in ’99 when we all stayed with Grandma. Anyway, we spent an amused hour watching their frantic activities, then grabbed the 495 in Brunswick to make a quick trip back to Portland. We crashed for about an hour, then got ourselves together for an evening in the Old Port. We hailed a cab from the hotel for the short ride down to the waterfront, and got dropped off on Commercial Street. We strolled up to Wharf Street and checked out a handful of establishments before settling on dinner at Havana South.

We were seated at a great table on the patio, though we had to endure the hooting and hollering coming from a private party across the way at 51 Wharf. Bill ordered the ribeye, I ordered the scallops, and we amused ourselves snapping photos as we waited.

Wharf Street as viewed from our table at Havana South.

Bill, perusing the menu.

Me, perusing Bill.

Bill, I’m sorry to say, did not enjoy his steak. The chef paired it with some strange sort of chocolate sauce, of all things, and rather unappetizing greens. I felt bad, since my scallops were excellent. Still, we had a great time people watching and enjoying the fresh night air. After finishing dinner, we headed up to Fore Street and grabbed a couple of seats at the bar at Gritty’s. I stepped outside for a few minutes to call my cousin Laurel and make plans for Sunday. Then I made myself comfortable at the bar, where Bill and I had a couple of beers, a ton of laughs, and departed at around midnight in an excellent frame of mind. We grabbed a cab back to the hotel, went up to the Top for a final cocktail, and went back to our room to crash… and whatnot.

The Old Port at night.

Wharf Street at night

Gritty McDuff's

Oof. I’ve spent hours on this entry. Clearly, this recapping business is going to take some time.

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Getting caught up

Just saw Bill off to work this morning. This time next week, I’ll be headed back to AcronymCo, myself. It has been a truly excellent sabbatical, and so renewing that I actually don’t even mind the thought of returning to work, all that much.

Today is all about getting caught up. Yesterday I managed to wash and dry all of our clothes, today I’ll get them all put away. There’s two weeks worth of doggie doo to be picked up in the back yard. The cupboards are bare bare bare; I have a grocery shopping list a mile long. The lenses I rented for our Maine trip need to go back today, and I have a couple of library books to return. Then there’s the 1000+ pictures that we took that need to be sorted through, and I need to get back on my writing schedule. The roofers arrive on Thursday, and I don’t know how much work I’ll be able to get done with all of the anticipated banging, so I’m going to try to get my writing quota done before then.

And, of course, I need to regale you all with tales of the FANTASTIC, FABULOUS, WHOLLY WONDERFUL time we had in Maine. Meantime, enjoy this – yet another shot of the Portland Head Light for our collection:

Tonight’s menu

Oysters Rockefeller

Steamed clams, fried clams, ahi tuna, snow crab legs, local microbrews.

Today

The Pemaquid Point Lighthouse.

Real Quick Like

I have a few minutes of downtime while Bill and I await the arrival of my cousin Laurel and her husband Eric, who are joining us for a touristy day of exploration. Here’s what’s been going on thus far:

Thursday:

Didn’t get to our hotel until 8:30 p.m., since our arrival in Boston coincided with rush-hour traffic. But, we are renting a Camaro, so the drive to Portland wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Made the inevitable stop at the State Line Liquor Store. We found our hotel with very little trouble – it’s one of the tallest buildings in the area and has a great big red lighted sign reading “Eastland” that’s a fixture of the skyline. We off-loaded our luggage in our room, then went back down to the hotel’s cafe for a late dinner. Then it was up to the “Top of the East”, the bar on the top floor of the hotel, that offers panoramic views of the city and the bay. After a quick beer, we went back to our room and crashed.

The view of the Portland waterfront from our room on the top floor of the Eastland Park Hotel.

The lobby of the Eastland Park Hotel.

Top of the East.

Friday:

We got up early, determined to do some coastal exploring. We were in the car all day, heading down three different coastal “fingers” or “necks” that are unique to Maine. One finger lead down to Harpswell, one down to Bailey’s Island, and one down to Popham Beach. We had lunch at Cook’s Lobster House on Bailey’s Island (haddock, lobster roll, beer). We observed the rapidly encroaching tide at Popham and laughed at the beach-goers who kept having to inch up the beach to avoid the waves. Then we drove back to Portland, napped for an hour, then cabbed it down to the waterfront (it’s a fifteen minute walk from our hotel, but we didn’t want to have to walk back up buzzed, or try to find parking with our own car). We had dinner at Havana South, on Warf Street, then spent the rest of the evening at Gritty’s, knocking back local beers. We grabbed a cab back to the hotel, went up to the Top for a final cocktail, and went back to our room to crash.

Little villages like this are all over the place.

Warf Street in the Old Port.

The Old Port at night.

Saturday:

Didn’t get up quite as early, and I was hungover fit to beat the band. We drove down to the waterfront and had breakfast at The Farmer’s Table, then drove Route One down to Kennebunkport. We then hooked the 95 up to Gray, drove over to Windham for some lunch, then met my sister and her family at Tripp Pond in Poland. We hung out for a few hours enjoying the company, the conversation, and the scenery. Lots of complaints that it was “wicked hot”, but I’ll take 90 degrees over 115 any day. Then Bill and I headed back to Portland, showered and changed, and took the hotel shuttle (that we didn’t know about until then) back down to the waterfront. We got a table at J’s Oyster, and I had a lobster roll while Bill had king crab legs. His plate came with steamers, which he offered to me, but then discovered that he really liked them as well, when I made him try one. Steamed clams are one of those delicacies that you don’t want to look too closely at, you just swish ‘em in brine, dip ‘em in butter, and pop ‘em in your mouth. After J’s we strolled up to Bull Feeney’s, and I decided I want to live there. GORGEOUS old bar, heavily Irish/Scottish, with the “largest selection of Scotch Whiskey outside of Scottland”. We enjoyed the inevitable troubadour, had far too much to drink, cabbed it back to the hotel, and (wait for it) crashed.

Me at J's Oyster.

Bull Feeney's. Bill's the one looking at the Scotch menu.

And now we’re headed out for another sight-filled day! Pictures of the Portland Head Light are in your near future, rest assured.

Outie.

We’re out! I’ll be blogging, Flickr-ing, Tweeting, and Facebooking sporadically. TTFN!

Meta

I just finished writing the last two articles for Beyond Megapixels that needed to be scheduled prior to our departure on Thursday. I find the thought that I have NO writing responsibilities from now until the 26th to be pleasing.

Now I am eating a tuna sandwich to fortify myself against the asstastic amount of house cleaning that is on the schedule for today. I do like our habit of cleaning the house prior to a vacation; it’s nice to come home to a clean house, though it’s painful to be cleaning when there’s all the other vacation prep going on at the same time. Robert and Joy will be staying here while we’re gone, but I know Joy at least will keep things neat. Robert claims that his cleanliness habits have improved since his teenage years, but we all know it’s Joy’s influence that keeps their apartment as lovely and tidy as it is.

There’s a thought in my brain about how funny it is to clean the house as if company is coming, when it’s just the kids coming over, and when the heck did that shift take place, and why the heck should we care if the house is clean for the kids. There, the thought is out there, even if the prose isn’t pretty.

Be happy for Bill today, as he is in the company of a lovely 24-year-old female co-worker, headed down south for some client calls. There are days, he will tell you, that his job is a pleasure.

Speaking of Bill, he just called me to let me know that he heard on the radio that temperatures are supposed to be as high as 118F by the end of this week, with humidity up to 60 percent (it’s monsoon season). That works in a similar yet opposite manner as wind chill factor, such that it will “feel” about 135. Degrees. Fahrenheit. Or 57 degrees Celsius, for my metric readers. The National Weather Service has posted an “excessive heat warning”, stating that the weather will be “oppressive, even for Phoenix resident standards”. Translation, “It’s going to be really fucking hot.” We’ve timed our departure to Maine quite well, actually. I’m glad the kids will be here to rescue the dogs from the back yard.

I find it amusing that the highs in Maine are not supposed to break 85 during our stay, while we keep our A/C at 82 during the day here in AZ.

Also, shout out to Kim. And you thought YOU had weather to bitch about! Heh.

Alright, I’ve lallygagged long enough. Time to get on this house cleaning. Son of a bitch.

Today, Tuesday, Wednesday

Today, I am going to Kohl’s to pick up a few items of clothing for myself. We went clothes shopping for Bill on Friday evening, and I’ve got to say he is going to look quite dapper during our vacation! Which you shall see in photographic evidence. And no, I don’t plan on being in any of the pictures myself, thanks. (Heather is gonna pitch a fit at that one – “I want to see pictures of YOU, not just the places you went!”)

I’ll be fetching a rat for Kali so she doesn’t need to be fed again until after we get back. I’ll need to time that particular trip for later in the afternoon, so that the critter doesn’t languish over-long in the box before Bill gets home. I procure the food, Bill offers the food. I just can’t do it. Then, probably after she’s eaten, Kali will hang out in the tub with Bill keeping an eye on her, while I clean out her tank.

I have GOT to make a trip to the post office today to mail a couple of boxes. I have this thing about the post office in that I HATE going. I don’t know why. Is it the line? The way that I feel vaguely inept? The fact that there’s all this small talk going on around me that makes me want to scratch people’s eyes out?

And, oh, crap. I almost forgot it’s Monday, which means the landscaper will be here today. His schedule is probably the only reason why we’re not hip-deep in doggie doodie in the back yard. I just don’t go out there in the summer unless I have to.

I have three remaining articles to write – one for UpTake and two for Beyond Megapixels. That’ll probably happen between today and tomorrow. Tomorrow itself is going to be all about house cleaning and laundry, and the beginnings of packing. Which leaves Wednesday to balance the checkbook, back up my computer hard drive, get a pedicure, top off and chlorinate the hot tub, select a bunch of CD’s to take with us on the trip, hit the grocery store for toiletries, and finish packing.

———-

I think I must have been distracted about a week ago, when I wrote the article that posted today for Beyond Megapixels. There were a couple of mistakes that several folks in the comments AND on Facebook pointed out. Ah, but it’s a comfort and a joy to a writer to know that there is a whole PLANET of editors out there, just WAITING for their chance to point out where you went astray. But seriously, I do appreciate it when folks point out that I may have been misleading, or unclear, or just plain in error. In today’s case, I’d mentioned the use of a high ISO when I meant to say a low ISO, a certain product link was in error, and for some reason folks kept getting the idea that I was suggesting that the shutter speed controls the pop-up flash on a camera, when I was just talking about ambient light exposure (the aperture controls the flash). So, I actually went into the article and made changes, which is something I rarely do after something publishes. When enough people get the wrong translation, clearly it is the fault of the writer. Live and learn, right?

———-

Okay, I’m gonna get breakfast, work out, shower, and get this show on the road. In parting, I’ll just say that it’s interesting to still have a wicked case of the Mondays while on vacation.

Erp Durs

Goofball dogs, waiting for a cookie:

They pay Very Close Attention when someone is in the kitchen. And it’s a rare thing indeed that I can get a fairly clear picture of them all sitting still at the same time.

(*Title explanation – that’s what we call the pack of dogs, in general. A bunch of erp durs.)