A Day In Maine

For my husbands Birthday weekend, we decided to embark on yet another one of my signature “stealth-weekend-getaways” that usually encompasses approximately 24 hours in another city. Completely blank on ideas on where to go, I somehow managed to stumble upon $20 Amtrak tickets to Maine. You can hardly get half a tank of gas for that these days.

I had no idea what to expect on our first journey to Portland, Maine. In a nutshell, it was “nice”. After visiting NYC several times in the past few months, and now living near Boston, I had become remiss of what land was like when left completely untouched.

As I watched the landscape pass from our coach-car window, the endless view of greenery and blue sky instilled a sense of peace that I can hardly describe in text; miles and miles without a hint of concrete, a car, street light, or human life. Only every so often were there were subtle marks of suburban life- a house here and there, t-shirts flapping on a clothesline, a swimming pool (geez, I hope it’s heated). Just tiny flickers of the rural lives tucked away in the pockets of Maine.

In true form, us Corredera’s took on the streets of this foreign town (at least to us) with no car or any real plans. Figuring out the city bus system and how to get around with a toddler (and no car seat) was quite the challenge, but we were up for it. Luckily, our bus driver was incredibly kind and guided us well in our unmapped quest.

Within our 24 hour stint, we managed to steer through Portland’s old and uneven cobblestone streets, and bask in the salty air along the harbor. The abundant art inspired locals were reminiscent of the artsy San Franciscans we had once visited; with their dark, streaky-dyed hair lying over their fair skin that must have been hidden from the sun all winter; often times carrying a sketchbook or a guitar. They all seemed to walk with a heavier step than what I am accustomed to. Possibly because of the long, wintry lifestyle they must endure. Speaking of which, we were clearly “the visitors”; the only family walking down the streets wearing sweaters, much less sleeves. I guess 45 degrees and sun, equals shorts and tanks tops here. Pay no mind to us wussy southern Californians running for cover from the wind.

Nonetheless, the trip was as success; just a little sample of another town; one more coastal place where seagulls’ frolic and confetti the sky; where caws evoke blissful memories from the past. A place where the warm orange and powdery blue skies blanket the town below while the sun tucks itself away at the close of another day.