Nerve Endings Firing Away

It is not that I hate writing travelogues but the fact that I probably will never be able to recreate the amazing experiences that travel bestows upon you in a literary form. I try hard but there are umpteen others, also on the desi blogosphere circuit who do a far better job even from a visit to a seemingly uninteresting slum. Maine, the small fishing state that sits snugly in the northeastern corner of the continental United States is an experience that probably would need thousand pictures (or more) to do any justice. To top that, we went during the off-season due to time and financial constraints; so probably had expected the natural beauty to be a little muted. On the flip side, the off-season tag keeps the crowds away leaving vast expanses of the landscape isolated enough for leisurely exploration.

Maine has a rugged midcoast that was carved by the glaciers of the previous ice ages. You wouldn’t find large stretches of smooth white sand extending into the horizon but instead your line of sight would run along the jagged edge to the island atop which sits a solitary lighthouse warning the ships away. Maine is probably not a destination if you want a quick vacation or precise touristy spots that offer photographic I-was-here moments. Maine is like a leisurely stroll that you take after a hectic day and see everyday sights that somehow you missed and yet manage to take your breath away. Be it the stormy seas over which the mist rolls in or the green blanket of spruce and fir trees that remind you of the upper end of the ecological cycle. A bicycle would be best utlitized on these grounds but for the less-adventurous and time-constrained, a car does just as good. Our tiny Pontiac Vega served us well and carried us deep into the nooks and crannies of Maine’s jagged peninsulas. We would often drive for fifteen or more miles to be greeted with a sight of glimmering ocean that would suddenly burst forth from beyond the trees. The undulating narrow roads with its twists and turns kept the surprise view hidden until the last moment. Missing signs and changed property rights also dampened our spirits few times but the drive was always worth it.

The state literally shuts down in the winter months as white powder envelopes everything as far as eye can see. We saw no such white powder but the nip in the air and postcards in trademark souvenir shops reminded us of the harsh climates that must keep everyone inside. We took our time to explore the peninsulas that reached down in to the bay and further out in to the mighty and expansive Atlantic. We camped out in Southport, further down south from Boothbay Harbor, a picturesque fishing town that is slowly beginning to be consumed by commercialism. Only the lack of teeming tourists let us enjoy the serenity of a practically dead-at-sundown town. The first two days kept us busy as we drove up and down aided by Frommer’s Maine Coast, stopping at regular intervals to let me indulge in my photographic instincts. Green fields dotted with dandy yellow dandelions have an irresistible pull that you cannot refuse to capture on film (or rather, on a chip). Add the whole blue sky, the azure serene ocean, and charming red houses, it is a typical postcard moment waiting to be captured forever.

Maine towns thankfully have taken the effort to preserve the small-town character of traditional fishing villages. Boats teetered in the harbor, wooden-faced paneling for tiny homes, seafood restaurants displaying signs of coastal cuisine — lobster, haddock, shrimp, clams — that Maine is known for make you want to park your car and walk down the pier. Both Ash and I have lived on the coast all our life or at least until we got to the United States. So these brief visits to the coastline bring forth fond memories and the salty air reminds us of home. Of course, not to mention the entire smorgasbord of seafood that otherwise you cannot indulge in. We tried out practically all kinds of seafood that Maine has to offer — lobster rolls, fried haddock, striped clams, crunchy shrimp, baked scallops, and crab cakes. We frequently the eating joints recommended by Frommer’s and trust me; sometimes it pays to take advice from a professional. Not once were we disappointed be it the lovely Dolphin Chowderhouse and Marina Restaurant at Harpswell, or Moody’s Diner at Waldoboro. Heck, we inundated ourselves with so much seafood that we had to resort to Chinese to get our appetites back.

We culminated our coastal exploration by spending time at Acadia National Park. Seemingly small in size, but it sits on an entire island dotted with picturesque views of the ocean and the rocky shore. We entered Acadia on a misty afternoon and unfortunately, until it was time to leave three days later, we never saw sun. The mysterious charm of foggy days and chilly nights reminded us of Indian hill stations except that this place was right on the coast. Shrouded in the mist, the Porcupine island with the boats in the harbor made an enigmatic image. The most-photographed lighthouse in Maine located at Bass Harbor, the southern end of Acadia was engulfed in mist and since it was already photographed so much, we didn’t beat up ourselves for missing the opportunity to add to the pile. Thunder Hole, on the other hand was at its best. A narrow cavernous opening on the rocky shore brings in the tide, compressing the air with each wave making a thunderous roar. I pity anyone who would ever fall into these waters; smashed to smithereens would best describe it. Fortunately for us, on the day of our departure, the gods smiled down upon us and cleared the sky just enough for us to take a fresh new look at the landscape. Cadillac Mountain, the highest point on the Eastern Seaboard — from Canada to Brazil and the first point in the U.S. to get the sun’s rays was nothing but a mysterious space misted over few days back but on a clear day, you got stupendous views of the harbor and of the ocean beyond. The chilling forceful wind however left you with little time to appreciate the view. My fingers nearly froze off as I struggled to take decently good pictures. Ash remained safely ensconced in the car and letting me do crazy things like venturing out in the cold along a curvaceous road to take seemingly inane pictures.

In other terms, this would also be my longest camping trip ever; previous incidents being for only a night. We snuggled comfortably at Boothbay as layers of clothing and thick sleeping bags kept us warm. However, we were forced in a motel for two days after rain continued to pelt down and make staying dry near impossible. You can bear cold by wrapping yourself in layers or brave the heat by stripping down but you can do nothing if its wet and cold in a fragile tent that is subjected to unseasonal storms. Heck, we did brave it out one night unmindful of the rain in the tent only to find my feet in a puddle of water in the morning. After draining it out and attempting to do it yet another night, we retreated to our car for an uncomfortable and cold night. Now, sitting in dry and warm Texas, it seems like a wonderful experience that one day we can narrate to our children. In words of Calvin’s dad, we built enough character to last us a while.

In spite of the travel woes and unseasonal spirit-dampening rain, it definitely was one of the fun trips and I would highly recommend it. I plan to make a second visit sometime in the future but will probably go at a different time of the year. I may have missed out on some interesting aspects of the trip but might make short posts as and when I remember them. It is difficult to cram a week’s vacation in one blog post. Here are more pictures.

PS. The title of this post is borrowed from the numerous signs we saw on the road making puns on the state’s name; the best one was Chow Maine.