We came upon Portland two separate times during our trip. Once while headed north, and again as we made our journey back home. The stretches we drove in Maine were no joke. Not only did we lose cell reception far earlier than expected, but modern civilization soon became a distant memory. Rest stops transformed from official looking buildings with bathrooms and vending machines to random General Stores surrounded by unpaved parking lots in the middle of nowhere.
Once we entered Maine, I began diligently searching for moose*. There were times I began drifting to sleep and forced myself to stay awake just in case that was the moment a moose decided to cross the road.
*Spoiler alert: I didn’t find any.
Our second visit to Portland came after hours on the road. We were tired, hungry, and ready to be anywhere that wasn’t our car. After an incredible dinner, we grabbed some gelato and headed to our room.
Somehow we managed to score a pretty sweet balcony that looked out over Portland.
I spent an hour or so curled up outside with a book, listening to live music being played at a restaurant nearby.
With the morning came a fresh look on Portland.
I love how my completely untalented skills in photo editing gave this picture a vintage feel.
This wall makes me think of my front porch and the vines that I worked vigorously to keep from growing only to have them pop back up a few years later. It’s a lovely look, until it all starts to die. Then you go from a full of life look to the extreme opposite.
Now is as good a time as any to mention a travel habit I have begun to form. Whenever we go away, Jonathan continuously asks for how long we will be gone. In his mind, two days is two days too long. A two-week vacation is unacceptable. To help alleviate the stress of us being gone, I’ve taken to sending him postcards in each new place we stop.
Which means I vicariously become familiar with the locations of post office boxes in each and every place we visit.*
*Yes, I know, I could certainly leave my mail with the concierge at the hotel. But, here’s the thing, I know they are going to read my postcards. After all, a postcard is fair game**.
**This is just one of many lessons I learned from I Love Lucy.
I actually have come to enjoy searching for USPS boxes. It’s kind of like a never ending road trip game.