Monday - July 24, 2006

Today we bid adieu to Montreal after savoring one last al fresco meal. I enjoyed a croissant and some espresso while Vienna munched on some sort of chocolate bread and a banana. There's something fun about sitting outdoors, enjoying breakfast and watching people stroll by. Even though we would have loved to stay, we knew it was time to find the highway and depart our newly beloved city. Our plan was to drive to Maine where Vienna would crack open her first lobster. Getting there took us through Vermont and New Hampshire on a bright, crisp day.

Along the way, I delighted in stopping at a couple of village greens, those iconic squares of Americana where you'll generally find a courthouse, a tall white church, and a gazebo for summer concerts. These New England town squares represent a kind of civic life we Californians don't often encounter. We stopped briefly in a town called Lancaster. I suppose it was the movie marquee with its lit neon in afternoon that attracted me. Walking by a gift store, I noticed a display of photographs and names, dozens of them, of local folks serving in the armed forces. I'm not sure, but I imagine that small towns like this one feel every American sacrifice in Iraq and Afghanistan even more acutely than we might experience in larger cities. Heading east, our spirits were lifted somewhat by a row of motel cabins painted like Ben and Jerry's ice cream labels.

Our drive into Maine took us along gentle rolling hills and tall trees lit by the sun. The contrast between the bright barks and deep green foliage captivated us. Along the road, orange and purple wildflowers marched toward the horizon. Pretty soon, I got a hankering for some Moxie. It seems that any visit to New England would be incomplete without at least one bottle of the stuff. It's hard to describe the taste, but I'll try: mix a cola-like base with cough syrup, add a hint of ginger, a whiff of licorice, and some unknown ingredient to ensure an oddly pleasant aftertaste and you've got Moxie. Make sure you drink it cold, though. That's essential. We stopped at a general store for a bottle and without expecting the favor got some free advice about where we might spot some moose.

Signs throughout this part of Maine warn that the beasts are wandering the state rampantly. Following the store owner's advice, we took a brief hike through Grafton Notch Park, looking for moose. The hike was exhausting but didn't see much more than blazes of a path that led steadily up a steep hill. A half-hour later, we abandoned the great moose search and returned to our car where even a warm bottle of Moxie tasted pretty good. Seriously, though: Drink it cold. From there we continued along the road, which was US-2 by the way. Vienna was surprised that we had returned to the Hi-Line that carried across so much of the country back west. As the sun began to set, we wound through dozens of tiny towns, many with tall white Congregationalist churches and an occasional Grange hall. We stopped to snap a photo of a Paul Bunyan statue in Rumsford but otherwise kept rolling through the countryside. After all, we had to return to the interstate in order to reach Bangor in time to grab a lobster dinner.

Vienna had always wanted to try "real" Maine lobster and this would be her night. We found a place near that airport (Captain Nick's) that offered a pretty good two-for-one deal. Upon ordering, we received all the necessary utensils and - most importantly - placemats with instructions on how to eat the darn things. I don't know lobster from lasagna, but our meals tasted great to us, and we left satisfied with our day's exploits. Stuffed and exhausted from the day's drive, Vienna and I found our motel and did laundry for the first time. After all of our travels, we needed to wash our clothes and get ready for our trip along the Atlantic coastline. Pretty soon, I think we'll miss all those tiny winding roads we traveled today.