Some of the things I love about travelling: a story of five days in five parts

Characters

I went into town (Bar Harbor) to find a coffee and a Wifi connection to upload my last blog post 6 mornings ago. There were several people in the cafe but the two that caught my attention did so because they were speaking to each other in Dutch. After about 30 seconds of wondering if I should or shouldn't, I said something like, “Ah jullie zijn Nederlanders. Wat leuk om weer Nederlands te horen, het is wel lang geleden.”

Which lead to a brief conversation in which I found out that they, Syb and Ane, were driving around New England for their holiday, and an invitiation to try to find them later that evening at the “restaurant with the big moose on the roof”. Which I did, and found out further that they planned to drive south, same direction, same destinations, roughly the same speed (although theirs ended up slowing down to accommodate the Jamboree and I) to reach NYC by the weekend. They had to fly back to Amsterdam on Saturday, and I needed to be in the vincinity of NYC around then in order to continue to make my way to Washington DC by Wednesday to catch a flight of my own.

So, we travelled together. They, of course, were very impressed with the Jamboree and wee little me behind the wheel of it. I was impressed with their TomTom (with John Cleese as the narrator, which is, I found out later when I listened to it, suitably hilarious: “if you will please just press the button now so that we can get started, because I am old and need the money”) and their habit of playing frisbee just about anywhere. At a gas station, walking down city streets, in the Jamboree.

So it seems that whether backpacking and hostelling through Asia, travelling by train through Europe, finding myself stranded in the middle east or driving the vehicle of my choice on North America's roads, I end up meeting new people and moving along together.

Settings: the bigger picture

The first day we all pulled out of Bar Harbor, I took one road, they took a different road, but we exchanged cell phone numbers and agreed on a final destination to meet up again at the end of the day: Saco, Maine, just south of Portland. We carried on to Boston the next day, then to Cape Cod, and finally to Mystic, Conneticut. The second day we took the same road, they and their TomTom in the lead, remembering to slow down whenever they looked in their rearview mirror and noticed the Jamboree drifting off further behind in the traffic. The third day, they took turns in the passenger seat with me in the Jamboree. Then we got smart and decided it was easier for me to lead and them to stay behind, as it is much easier to spot the Jamboree in traffic than an unremarkable white Jeep Cherokee. And finally they drove away from the campsite on the last morning in Mystic to get to their flight from JFK back to Amsterdam. Me waving goodbye.

When settings and characters intermingle

Saco as a first destination after Bar Harbor was a result of the boys' American Halloween experience, which included a party in a bar in Portland with Christina and Paul. Christina and Paul are both teachers who also run a B&B on the coast in Saco: Christina's B&B. That Halloween night, Christina invited the boys to stay on their way back through again; she also lost her scarf. The boys had found it, and thought it would be a nice way to turn up again, with her scarf. Now that the clocks have changed, 6pm is suddenly very dark, and this was the time that we three knocked on the front door of Christina's B&B, scarf held out as our offering. Picture a dark street of beach houses, some of them vacant summer houses, others occupied year round, silent but for the insistent crash of the Atlantic waves just 50 metres beyond. Christina opened the door, recognized the boys, invited us all in, gave them both warm welcoming hugs, then one for me when I was introduced as the extra they'd picked up along the way, and laughed with genuine pleasure at the sight of her lost scarf and returning new friends. How could I refuse a night in the B&B, drinking wine and engaging in ridiculously interesting conversation well until midnight, and then waking to the peaceful ocean, the eclecticly fascinating company, the dog and cat and breakfast and delightful veranda?

Boston: an Amy Render story, in authentically unbelievable plot twists culminating in “Waar een wil is, is een weg”/ “Where there's a will, there's a way”

(PS: For those of you who don't know what an “Amy Render story” is, sorry, I won't go into detail here. I just couldn't possibly do it justice in this short forum. For those of you who do, enjoy)

Ane and Syb and his TomTom lead the Jamboree and I on a harrowing (for me and the Jamboree, anyway) drive through Boston. I literally ducked several times when going under the short bridges and underpasses, and while luckily we made it through unscathed, I now know that any bridge less than 11 feet I will not attempt to take the Jamboree under.

The YMCA in the centre of Boston was the goal. The plan was to get the boys into the YMCA for the night (girls not allowed) and get me a parking spot in the lot along with them. Unfortunately, the Jamboree didn't quite fit into the YMCA lot. Fortunately, the friendly parking attendant suggested we go around the corner to the big secure lot attached to the Northeastern University.

So that's what I did. And when the lot attendant told me that I couldn't park there because I didn't have a permit, I explained that the other guy said I could. After circling the lot twice, and me asking again, just once more, with perhaps a lost-in-translation insinuation that I was there for some actual reason, he stopped traffic for me to park temporarily on the street, leaving one of the boys in the Jamboree, and directed me across the street to the University parking control/Boston police authority office for a temporary overnight permit.

I went to the office, told the officer behind the window that I was now told by two people to come there and get a permit and park, just one night sir, I'll be gone by noon. He seemed a bit flummoxed but made a call, asked me for the license plate details and my name, and then said, very simply, “ok, you can park for the night, tell the attendant I gave you permission”. So I did. And he called on his walky talky to confirm and then directed me into the lot.

All the while the boys were watching on dubiously from the Jamboree parked on the side of the road with its hazard lights flashing away.

As soon as I got back into the Jamboree and was about to pull into the lot, a woman pulled up in a golf cart and asked what I was doing. So I explained it all to her, and rather than give me a hard time, she said, simply, “damn that thing is big, girl, we gotta get you out of the way and park it. Follow me.”

So I did. She guided me to the back of the lot, directly under the gaze of the 24 hour security guard and also, kind of unfortunately, right beside the incredibly noisy train station. She asked me all about my details, made sure I was parked well in the bus zone, and, after engaging me in a friendly conversation, laughed at us Canadians “I tell you, girl, its cold up there in Canada.” After being wished a good evening and to enjoy my night in Boston, she tooted and drove off in her golf cart to help the next unusual, I'm sure, parking tenant.

The lot was 5 minutes from the YMCA, right in the centre of Boston, and gratis. So off we went, we three lucky travelling bastards, into Boston for the evening.

There, I lost my debit card. Had a great walk around the town. Played frisbee at a square. Listened to some live music in a pub with a beer and watched the Phillys playing the Yankees on the TV screen.

And then I returned to my parking lot to try to drown out the noise of the trains so I could get some sleep. One of the boys stayed in the Jamboree with me because they wanted to make sure I'd be safe. And I, at least, slept well, until 7am.

You know how you can recognize a sound even if you've rarely heard it in real life, if you've only ever mostly heard it on TV or in movies? You know that sound of a police officer talking into his walky talky? The scratchy connection when he presses the button and then the mumble into it, and then the scratchy connection again, usually followed by a deedle-de-deep beep sound?

That's what woke me at 7am. Right behind my head. And then, a few seconds later, a very loud knock on the Jamboree door. It took me a minute to fumble my way out of bed, and then I opened the door and said brightly, but not fakey “good morning, officer!” He asked what I was doing and I explained to him that I'd registered with the police station the night before, and that I had permission. He asked when I'd be going and I said “before noon”. He explained that he had a call about my Jamboree parked in the student parking lot and just had to follow it up. And then he apologized for waking me and wished me a good day.

I tell ya. I didn't even need to use Amy's name, but it certainly is Amy's luck.

And finally, A Camp Story

We decided that the boys needed to have a real North American camping experience before flying off back to Amsterdam. And we all wanted to see Cape Cod. So we found a State Park campsite on Cape Cod in which I think only two other sites were inhabited. We got a lot of firewood, beer, wine, fresh fish and veggies, and camped. They loved it so much that they cancelled their original idea to find a hotel in New Haven, CT on their last night and stayed again in the Jamboree at a slightly more upscale and occupied campsite in Mystic, CT, home to Mystic River and a really nice street with really nice shops and restaurants and a cool band that covered really common, great American classics like “All Shook Up” and “Bye Bye Miss American Pie”.

And so you see why when the boys drove away to catch their flight, I was left for most of the day feeling like something was missing. That empty feeling when encounters and adventures like that end.

Bar Harbor - Mystic