On our final morning in Boston, we taxied to Mr. Hertz’ Park Place palace and picked up our sturdy Corolla for the drive to Maine. Portland is a mere two-hour trip on a slow day, so the pace was leisurely. We had limited wardrobes due to bringing mere carry-on baggage, so it was laundry day. Laundry day used to be a dirge, a slow walk with death for Siobhan, who would sit in front of churning machines for hours reading a book and commiserating with the local nonecks. Then, on one propitious morning, she discovered the wonders of Wash & Fold and she has never been the same. When she returns with her armful of warm, carefully arranged treasures, she is as giddy as any astronomer who has discovered a new planet. She feels like a crafty con man, a sly fox who has somehow cheated The Fates and is hoping not to hear the sirens of police cars arriving to deliver a comeuppance.
I have some history with Maine. My Father, a stern Irishman, was born in rural Aroostook County, about where the town of Presque Isle sits now. This may or may not have been responsible for his disposition, which was less than sunny, and his dedication to hard work and no nonsense. Mainers are not known to be frivolous, lazy or unprepared, nor was my Father.
My mother, as a young girl, spent copious amounts of time with her girlfriends at Maine’s Old Orchard Beach, about 25 minutes south of Portland, and we have plenty of those old black and white photographs to prove it. The girls wore different bathing suits in those days, fur-trimmed ones in Maine, where the minuscule beach season quickly gives way to the glory months of ice-fishing, hockey and frozen windshields. I don’t recall where my parents first met, but Maine gave them the opportunity. Fortunately for me, they had the good sense to get out of there.
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| Siobhan & Bill on the Portland Sunset Cruise; (2) solitary fisherman moves on stage for the sunset special. |
“We Were Sailing Along….On Casco Bay”---old Maine ballad.
After days of mid-nineties temperatures in Florida, New York and Boston, the cooler climes of Portland were welcome relief. We stomped around town, met John and Kathy Scanlon for dinner and headed for the docks, where the Portland Discovery Tours company had a big boat waiting. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life it’s that no matter what the daytime temperatures are, you need to take a jacket along on an evening cruise. A soft breeze accompanied us out into the bay, but as sundown neared the wind picked up and sent passengers scurrying for their parkas. Siobhan moved to a more protected spot and prepared for sunset photos. John Scanlon, who professes never to be cold, offered to dive into the icy 68-degree waters to prove it. His wife gave him a stiff drink and he settled down.
Casco Bay is an inlet of the Gulf of Maine on the state’s southern coast, its easternmost approach being Cape Small and its westernmost Two Lights in Cape Elizabeth. The Portuguese explorer Estevao Gomes mapped the Maine coast in 1525 and named it “Bahia de Cascos”---or helmets, based on the shape of the bay. In 1700, the English Colonel Wolfgang Romer, a military engineer, claimed the bay had “as many islands as there are days in the year.” Naturally, someone counted and found out that this was not true, but there are 136 of the little buggers, each with its own colorful historical tales. Legend has it that Willy Nelson built a primitive hut on Chebeaque Island in 1820 but left shortly after due to deficiencies in the island’s soil quality.
The evening’s talk came ‘round to travel with the Scanlons’ 50th anniversary fast approaching. John and Kathy will be celebrating in merry old Ireland, ancestral home of their forebears. My sister encouraged me to visit Paris, but I told her I was waiting for improvements in teleportation technology. I was temporarily encouraged the other day to note American Airlines’ purchase of several supersonic jets, but then they reported they wouldn’t be ready until 2029 when I will be teetering on the brink of senility. Besides, that’s the year Will Thacker and I will be taking our dune buggy to White Sands for the Senior X-Games. It’s always something.
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| Standin' by the dock of the Bay. |
It may not look like it on your national map, but Maine is a big place with lots of interesting things to do. The Pine Tree State features the terminus of the iconic Appalachian Trail at Mount Katahdin, which offers opportunistic visitors a chance to sneak up there early, backtrack a couple of miles, roll around on the ground a bit, then come staggering out to the cheers of the waiting crowd. You can do the same thing at Acadia National Park’s Cadillac Mountain, which sturdy hikers spend hours to climb. Fortunately for the lazy hiker, there is a road to the welcome station at the top where a miscreant can change into trail gear, sidle into the underbrush and return to the end of the trail. We suggested this ploy to avid non-hiker Jeff Goldstein as a means to impress his son. “I’m afraid to get too close to nature,” he confessed. “If you get too woodsy, they don’t let you back into Manhattan.”
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| (1) Breakfasting in Kennebunkport; (2) the requisite Kennebunkport bridge shot. |
Kennebunkport & Beyond
On our last day in Maine, we drove to lovely little Kennebunkport for breakfast. While virtually every tourist-oriented town in the country is teeming with breakfast places, Kennebunkport is not among them. “There’s a place over the bridge there,” one local told us, “where they serve breakfast all day.” Just try to find it. After trudging for endless minutes we finally came upon “All Day Breakfast,” with a long line of customers running out the door. Under almost any circumstances, I will not fester in a line but this time I had little choice. At least I had the assurance I was at the be-all, end-all breakfast utopia of the town, assured of a sumptuous meal.
Nope. How do you mess up breakfast? I mean, even the Hampton Inn can do it, right? Burned bacon and dry eggs on a breakfast bun shipped in from Roanoke is a good way to start. Poison the coffee a little and take a half hour to bring the bill and you’ve got a special place. Determined to salvage the day, we moved on to cheery Ogunquit, then made a seaside stop in Rye Beach, New Hampshire to commune with nature. After that, off to the old childhood haunts of Hampton and Salisbury beaches. I hasten to report that lunch at the latter on a deck overlooking the Atlantic was wonderful. Salisbury Beach is no longer the amusement park of our youth but Tripoli Pizza is still there and so are the memories.
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| (1) Mermaid frolics on the rocks at Rye Beach, New Hampshire; (2) The Strand at Salisbury Beach, Massachusetts. |
It’s Discomforting.
The last two nights of our trip we stayed at Hampton Inns in Amesbury and Revere, Mass. Now as a full-fledged member of the prestigious Hilton Honors group I feel obligated to say the Hampton Inn excels in almost every area of service from the brass band which greets you at the door to the free eggs benedict breakfast with twelve-dollar champagne. So far, so good. I just have one nit to pick, but it is an extra-large one. Hampton uses the world’s hottest comforters. You know comforters….those things hotels discovered years ago which cut bedmaking time in half. No more bedclothes for the maid to fuss with, just toss the comforter on top and move on to the bathroom.
Trouble is, Hampton Inn makes their comforters in a secret lab in Reykjavik. Instead of a mere thick, fluffy quilted blanket, they’ve added two layers of Icelandic wool wrapped around a nuclear heating element, guaranteed to fry your behind in no time. Inevitably you will wake up in a cold sweat crying for your mother. Don’t bother looking in the closet for normal bedding, there’s no help to be found. I have discussed this matter with Hampton personnel at all levels and their only suggestion is to bring my own bedclothes or just use the sheet. I’ve offered to forego the brass band in favor of a normal blanket, but no dice. The simple answer, of course, is to stay somewhere else where civilized bedding is in use, but I really do like my eggs benedict breakfast.
There’ll Always Be A Bangor
If you dislike change, move to Maine. What you see today, you’ll see tomorrow and the next day and ten years later. People are not moving to Maine in droves. Mr. Hilton is not planning any multi-million-dollar resorts on its rockbound coast. Maine is one of the safest places you can live with very low crime rates. Its cost of living is always below the national average.
Maine is made up of many exceptional small towns where everyone knows your name. Places like Waterville, Camden, Bar Harbor, Kennebunkport and Augusta, the state capital. The citizens are very independent and tend to mind their own business, something which will be expected of you, too. You will eat well in Maine. They grow their own potatoes there and the lobsters are large and unexcelled. While it’s true that 90% of the nation’s lobster supply comes from Maine, the locals definitely keep the best ones for themselves. Maine is also the largest blueberry producer in the United States, so now you have all the essentials….lobster, potatoes and blueberries.
The moose is the state critter of Maine. There are 76,000 of them roaming around, the highest population in the lower 48 states. Don’t mess with them, even the calves can outrun you by the time they’re five days old. You can’t outswim them, either. Fortunately for you, moose are pacifists and will bluff a charge far more often than actually attacking. Nonetheless, the males---like all of us---become more highly strung during the mating season and can be belligerent at times. Don’t goose the moose.
Maine has endless acres of relaxing forest, long stretches of desolate ocean and unthreatened wildlife everywhere. It has affordable housing, 192 sunny days a year and 31 colleges and universities. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived there, as did John Ford, Nelson Rockefeller and Dorothea Dix. The Bush family owns a frolic house in Kennebunkport. Stephen King, long a resident, got his best ideas there. The quality of life is good. And people are catching on. Portland’s population is steadily increasing and almost every county in Maine had an overall population increase from 2020 to 2021. The Mainiacs can hardly wait for global warming.
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
