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.

Hit the "Reset" button

Wandering down 7th avenue in Greenwich Village, my friend and I stumbled upon the Village Vanguard. (Yeah I know. Shocker I left the house, much less trek to a trendy town in NYC for a day). The endless line outside their dark and eerie doors drew intrigue. How curious this tiny place could draw such a crowd? Once at the door, we were greeted by a kind-faced man requesting “$35 dollars please”. My thoughts-- this place better be damn good!

As the heavy door swung open, a steep and dark staircase led us deep beneath the depths of the bustling city. A small, congested room appeared as we turned the corner. Soon another 70 or so people crammed themselves in there with us, making us a sure fire hazard. The rows of seats were solid wood, and terribly uncomfortable. Drinks were pricey and reminded me of those tiny beverages offered on airplanes. But no one sat down here for a comfy seat or tasty beverage. What would soon begin is what we all came to consume.

The room darkened more and a warm red light filled the stage before us. Six musicians took their places and began to gear up- two saxophonists, a drummer, guitarist, bass player, and a signature piano man. A miss-mash of keys and chords played as they warmed up. Then with one deep breath, a “1-2-3”, I was soon blown away to a whole new place.

I was captivated as each musician grew lost in their own ecstasy playing their instrument. What are their thoughts while up there on stage? Do they worry about their bills, kids, or even a ride home? Watching the man with his eyes closed tight while straining to hit a high note, I thought- No way! This must be their escape; their bliss. Doing what they love, and playing before a crowd hooting and hollering for more. What a feeling that must be? To satisfy the music cravings of people each night.

And that I did. I craved. The music. The city. The absolute escape. And then it happened-a key change. The piano man massaged the ivories with a bit more oomph, and the guitarist strung a heavier chord. The music ran right through me. As the walls shook from the passing subway train, my body warmed from every sound within the room that came to create perfect harmony. A moment where I wanted to lie down before the stage and close my eyes to remember; to just devour the moment for just a bit longer. Ironically enough, I turned amicably to my New Yorker friend, only to find her fast asleep (oh geez, and not even a mom yet!). I chuckled. My night owl eyes were still wide open at this ungodly hour, like they were years ago.

In a New York minute, everything DID change--body, mind, and spirit. What a difference a day makes. Twenty-four little hours. It was my much needed mommy escape. A re-awakening of my soul. Only in New York- the city that never sleeps.

Winter-07