Reluctantly leaving Canada, we had forgotten the huge silhouettes Americans cast as we pushed south into Maine. The quiet fields of corn and groves of Maple trees gave way to small towns and the familiar business chains we know from home. Maine is famous for the changing of the leaves and has a reputation for great hiking, camping and scenic parks; after Canada, Maine seemed tamed and crowded.
An immediate change was the signs striping the highway for lobster, even as we entered Arcadia National park we didn't go a minute without seeing a 'local lobsters' sign.
Arcadia National Park is an amazing giant, smooth rock, jutting into the Atlantic, in stark contrast to the geologically flat surrounding area.
It was beautiful, and an industry of hotels, tour buses and cruise ships knew it; at the park summit we shared the view with hordes of retirees hobbling about and taking photos, gassing at the view with their enormous cruse ship below. The cruise liner in the bay below was so huge that even from our distance it resembled a destroyer from star wars, landed, deploying hunched troops.
We enjoyed a lovely sunset, at a post card perfect beach and drove slowly through the small towns within the park admiring the colonial era houses and manors.
Realizing this isn't the sort of park you can camp in, we gave into staying at a fancy looking historic hotel; we felt out of place as we parked out Toyota between a pair of Mercedes coups.
Unwashed and scraggly we paused as we entered the lobby, silent but for the ticking of a grandfather clock, a semicircle of well dressed readers were silently enjoying the fireplace with upright postures.
We had gone back in time!
Our room came with free breakfast and was on the third floor of an enormous hotel built in a prime local, long before the area was a protected park; above our golden mirror was posted “ if joining us in the dining room, please make sure to wear your dinner jacket and appropriate shoes”.
In the morning we creaked down the stairs for breakfast to find the power was off, the stormy weather had followed us.
Two couples in their seventies sat ridged in the foyer waiting for breakfast, both the men sat upright with sweaters draped around their well fed necks.
What shall we do this morning George?
Well in this weather I suppose one plays bridge Charles.
Genius, George!
At this point the silent wives hummed and smiled in submissive approval.
We enjoyed our breakfast looking out onto the croquet lawns and row boats while listening to more antique conversation. Families had been 'summering' here for generations and there were pictures to prove it.
With our time table pushing us, we dove south towards the big cities of the East Coast with no illusions of familiar west cost culture awaiting us.