I recently took a trip to Portland ME, and discovered more than a quaintfishing town with lively waters and cobbled streets. I found the best lobster roll of my life. It was a perfect balance of crispy, buttery and chewy all bundled into one softly grilled hero. Perfection.
Once the blissful indulgence had been consumed, I was in for a much needed walk. My man and I tottered down by the water for a good mile or so, stopping to enjoy the benches planted just off the path, and to explore an old unused train car.
I was anticipating no more than a hollow shell, but was overjoyed to find the seats and luggage bins intact ( I am fascinated with old things… especially those of the preserved kind).
We slowly made our way to town, where the streets were thriving with people. Only a few major name stores had made their way there, while the rest were boutiques ranging from art and pottery to furniture and clothing stores. Everything appeared to have been hand made or at least produced in small batches, so no two items were identical. There was something delicate and enchanting about downtown Portland that I had not been subject to since moving to New York. It only occurred to me as I stopped abruptly and made a dash for the edge of the sidewalk that I was not being bulldozed out of the way. Pausing was no longer a frustration so much as an opportunity to experience, and not a soul seemed to care.
Meandering of the little cobbled streets led us to what appeared to be an Irish pub. As we made our way to the back, however, it opened out onto a beautiful courtyard circled by trees and bushes, filled with communal tables and laughter. We took a seat next to a large group of jolly women, who enquired about everything from where we were from to which shampoo I used. Some could find such open conversation with complete strangers off-putting, but we reaped joy in discovering new personalities and learning about our surroundings.