New England road trip; May 2022

(Featured image; Ferry Beach State Park, Maine. You can enlarge any image by clicking on it.)

Our purpose for this trip was to meet the east coast branch of the de Anguera family.  I don’t know much about the family tree, but it seems that we are all cousins to various degrees.  It was also a chance to see some New England sights and, as it turned out, to make new friends.

Chicago?

Monday 5/16: This trip got off to a rocky start.   In Chicago’s O’Hare Airport we discovered that our connecting flight to La Guardia was cancelled due to thunderstorms in New York.  There would be no more flights to New York that day.  Since weather was the cause of the cancellation, American Airlines didn’t consider us entitled to compensation.  They did give us a coupon for discounts at hotels.  I compared the coupon price for a room at the Best Western to Best Western’s own website; the coupon price was higher.    

We summoned the Best Western’s shuttle to fetch us.  I always pack a change of underwear and a toothbrush in my carry-on, and this time I was glad.  Pat usually packs them too, but she’d forgotten.  The hotel gave her a toothbrush. 

The next issue was dinner.  We had no car, and I hadn’t realized that this motel is in an industrial area with few restaurants in walking distance.  We looked over the room service menu; dinner delivered would be meager, expensive and slow.  On Google Maps I found a pasta restaurant next to our motel.  We walked over there, climbing some steps over a retaining wall since there were no sidewalks. 

Here was an anonymous modern office building with the proper address but no sign of a restaurant.  A knot of people was talking earnestly in a foreign language outside the plate glass doors.  We slipped past them, went in and looked at the building’s directory.  Just as in Winnie the Pooh, the more we looked for a restaurant, the more it wasn’t there.  A man who was walking by confirmed this; “I’ve worked here for years.  If there were a restaurant here, I’d know it.” 

A short blond woman with a strong east European accent left the group outside and joined us.  When she heard that we’d been marooned without luggage, she told us her name was Ana and insisted on driving us to an Italian restaurant and buying us dinner.  We mentioned a MacDonald’s we’d seen on the corner.  “Those sandwiches are not for you!” she said firmly.

Her car was a beautiful new white SUV.  Chuckling proudly, she pushed a button that gave Pat a back-rub via the vibrating passenger seat.  On the short drive, she told us that her family had brought her to the US from Poland when she was nine.  She had a cleaning job in the office building next to our motel.  Recently her family had suffered two deaths, and she was channeling her grief into helping others.  The knot of the people we’d seen earlier were Ukrainian refugees whom she was helping to find work. 

We were seated on a wide patio decorated with striped awnings and strings of red lights.  It was sunset, and the darkening sky showed off the glowing windows of the glass towers around us.  Ana called Kasha, her friend and dentist, to come to the restaurant.  They withdrew to another table while Pat and I had our dinners (grilled chicken salad for me).  Pat showed them some photos that she makes notecards from, and she will send them a set of notecards with our thanks.

New York City

Tuesday 5/17: American had rebooked us on a Tuesday flight to JFK instead of La Guardia, via Nashville.  But they sent our bags to La Guardia, so when we landed in New York we had to go get them.  We drove across Long Island thru heavy traffic and road construction to La Guardia Airport.  Here in Baggage Claim American has a lost baggage office.  Pat quickly found her Spinner in a roped-off pen of about 150 orphaned bags.  But mine wasn’t in sight.  I wished I’d remembered to take a picture of it.  The attendant invited us inside; in a back room, steel shelves held more bags and random objects such as a big white cowboy hat.  I wondered if a thrift shop would be these treasures’ next destination.  Pat quickly found my Spinner here.  We tie a twist of bright yarn to the handle of each suitcase so we can spot them.

Connecticut

By now it was dusk.  Faced with two hours of driving to reach the VRBO cottage that we’d rented in Lebanon, Connecticut, we had to postpone our planned meeting with Phil.  We stopped in Greenwich, Connecticut to stock up at Whole Foods.  We had dinner at Asiana, an Asian fusion restaurant.  It was nicely decorated, quiet, and the food was all right.  The staff was friendly and helped us relax.  They pointed out an outlet I could use to charge my phone so I could navigate to Lebanon.

Unlike the west’s long interstate highways with their branching interchanges, here seemed a chaotic web of back roads that led off in arbitrary directions yet never quite where we wanted to go.  How did people get thru the thicket before there was GPS?  We arrived in Lebanon at midnight and went to bed.

Wednesday 5/18:  Our VRBO Lebanon cottage, dubbed “Jump in The Lake,” was a classic farmhouse with exposed beams across its high ceiling.  The main bedroom and bathroom were across from each other at the end of the kitchen.  A spiral staircase in the main room led to a loft for kids.  The layout was similar to that of a barn, and we wondered if it had been converted from one.  The cottage was a block away from a residents-only beach and boat launch that we could use.  We’d hoped to go paddling here, but we’d run out of “float” time. 

Mystic Historical Seaport

We drove down to Mystic Historical Seaport and spent the afternoon wandering its village of 19th century workshops and homes.  Mystic was once a major shipbuilding community; it built over 600 ships in 135 years.

We talked to one re-enactor who was baking a rhubarb pie in a kettle held by a hinged rod over an open fire.  She said it’s hard to grow wheat here, so in 19^th century Mystic wheat flour was an imported luxury.  To save money, the people cut it with cheaper rye and cornmeal.  She was having trouble getting the authentic rye/cornmeal/wheat crust right.  Too bad I couldn’t think of a way to offer my services as an expert rhubarb pie taster.  Someone has to do it.

We visited several sailing ships, some of which are being restored by the museum’s specialized shipyard.   A Maine schooner that’s now used as a small cruise ship had been drawn out of the water on a track into a large sandy yard.  The owner was up on a scaffold, working on the bow.  Ships mount this track via an underwater elevator.  On the whaler Charles T. Morgan we got a private tour of the top deck.  Our guide was a retired educator.  We learned that this is the last wooden whaler in the world.  It’s a sibling of the ship that Herman Melville went whaling in before writing Moby Dick.   It seemed rather small to duel with whales.  In the center of the ship stood a brick oven fitted with cauldrons for rendering whale oil from blubber.  When the ship was full and heading for home, the crew would take the oven apart and throw it overboard, possibly to lighten the ship and reduce the danger of fire.  I hefted a harpoon; it was rather heavy, and I found it hard to imagine flinging it into the guts of a whale who’s trying to get away on a heaving ocean.

Thursday 5/19: We went back to Mystic to see a scale model of the port as of 1870.  I was amazed.  At a scale of one inch to ten feet, it depicts one mile of the Mystic River, occupying an entire building.  It’s a masterpiece of archeology and history that continues to be modified as more of Mystic’s story comes to light.  1870’s Mystic was a steampunk pastoral scene; huge wooden hulls under construction looming over farmhouses and workshops or at wharves being fitted out, a few steamboats including a tug at work, and an oxen-powered drawbridge.  Mystic was a boomtown for 20 years, until shipbuilding shifted from wood to iron and steel after the Civil War.

We had lunch in the museum’s cafe.  We drove to Boston, taking a side-trip to look for gas stations.  We penetrated the city’s medieval streets and rush-hour traffic to the Navy pier where the USS Constitution is based.  

USS Constitution

Unlike typical warships of the 1700s, the Constitution is streamlined with no raised forecastle or quarterdeck.  It’s crewed by a cheerful young group dressed in cammo and baseball caps, commanded by a female captain.  A spunky little woman about Alice’s size talked to us.  She hadn’t heard of the ship until an officer offered her a berth in Boston.  He said she’d be a sort of tour guide much of the time and asked if she was afraid of heights!  The crew was excited at the prospect of taking the ship out for a practice run on Friday, tho they would be shepherded by a tug; they had no sails on board at the time.

Vermont

We proceeded in darkness to Montpelier, Vermont’s Capitol.  Our AirBNB farmhouse “Yellow Gables” was a challenge to find, but Lauren the hostess came out in her slippers to welcome us.  We’re staying in half of an 1825 farmhouse, very comfortable and full of children’s things.  Pat enjoyed a Nancy Drew mystery from the little desk in her room, and wondered what became of the Emily who’d written her name on the wall.  Lauren told us that she has a café and tea shop in town that I hope to visit tomorrow.  Also we look forward to meeting Courtney.

Friday 5/20: After a slow morning of recharging, we set out for Burlington to meet Courtney and her partner Hon.  We had lunch at the tiny Pingala Cafe, which specializes in dietary issues (we have several).  Thai fresh rolls and smoothies all around.

We took Courtney to Waterfront Park to stroll on the boardwalk and enjoy the big swings.  I was impressed with her determination, patience and humor in the face of severe disability. I told her that Seattle looks west across Puget Sound to the Olympic Mountains; so the view of Lake Champlain with the Adirondack range to the west gave me a comfortable feeling of home.  She said “It gives me that feeling too!”

Saturday 5/21: A high of 91 was forecast in Montpelier today, but only 65 on the Maine coast where we were headed.  We drove into town to experience our host Lauren’s North Branch Café.  She has 130 kinds of tea and plenty of choices for the diet-impaired. I got to try cold brew coffee.  I had it iced with oat milk; it’s refreshing but it doesn’t have the electromagnetic effect of espresso.  Lauren provisioned us with sushi, a salad and a gluten-free raspberry bar.  She plans to visit Seattle in October; we agreed to get together then.

New Hampshire

We headed vaguely northeast on hilly back roads thru verdant forest.  Unlike Washington’s dense, dark evergreen forests, New England’s forests are mostly broadleaf; and the fresh spring foliage glowed in the sun.  Now and then a small town put its civic assets on display; white churches with tall, sharp steeples, little cemeteries walled with stones, dark, narrow groceries with worn wooden floors, and prosperous old houses heavy with bay windows, dormers and turrets.  Lunch was in a picnic ground on the shore of Joes Pond.  An excellent graveled 91-mile bike trail extends eastward from here thru the foothills.

We stopped at Franconia Notch State Park.  We strolled over a closed highway bridge that gives a fine view of Lafayette Peak.   While we were stopped in a large parking lot, we saw a fire engine moving about.  A young recruit was at the wheel, getting a driving lesson from a firefighter.  The topic seemed to be driving a large firetruck quickly thru heavy traffic. 

On Kancamagus Highway, recommended by Courtney, we walked thru fresh green woods along a stony creek.  

Maine

Our first impressions: Lots of ponds in the lowlands eastward, surrounded by cabins.  The coast was muffled in fog.  We found our cabin at Old Orchard Beach and ran our laundry.  

Sunday 5/22: A neighbor across the street said hello to Pat.  They’d seen workers fixing up our cabin, and they were hoping we were the new owners.  Another neighbor told us that it used to be a close neighborhood, but now 17 of the houses in the area are AirBNBs.  Later, Marti described Old Orchard Beach as a classic tourist beach town, and not in a good way.  We saw a little of that, like the roller coaster on the beachfront, while looking for the Visitors Center.  We were glad we had come before Memorial Day!

Ferry Beach

We drove to Ferry Beach State Park for a walk.  Like other attractions, it doesn’t fully open until Memorial Day weekend.  So the entrance road was closed.  We parked by the gate as other folks were doing and got ready to walk in.  Pat put a few items in the trunk for safety and shut it.  Then she belatedly did her usual pocket-check and didn’t find the car key.  

We called AAA.  I walked into the park to locate the toilets and a park map while she waited for AAA.   Within the hour, a locksmith arrived.  He pried a door open, pulled the back seat forward, crawled into the trunk, felt around and found the key.  Should be wearing a cape. 

Meanwhile, obvious large mosquitoes lumbered after me in the chilly breeze.  I met a lady ranger.  She finished mowing the lawn around the closed Nature Center, and she picked up a bicycle.   She told me it was a gearless Huffy bike, perfect for patrolling the park’s trails.  She had a jovial New York accent.  “Rangers have interesting lives,” I said; she liked that.   

Pat and I walked to the beach.  Atlantic waves washed the coarse tan sand just like we’ve seen the Pacific do, an uncanny resemblance.  We followed a trail thru wetlands and forest.  

Then we picked up haddock dinners at Huot’s Seafood as recommended by the ranger.  Huot’s sits near the tip of the north headland of the Saco River.  The road that runs past it dead-ends a block further on at a rocky breakwater.  Huot’s consists of a service window in a dirt parking lot; there is also inside dining space and a covered patio.  Even so, we felt uneasy about eating in a crowd; so we took our dinners home.   

Back at the cabin, we admired a sunset rainbow with friendly neighbors and petted their exuberant year-old Australian sheepdog.  

Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens

Monday 5/23: Monday was produced by sisters Marti and Julie.  (Julie is Courtney’s mother.)  We spent the afternoon with them at Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens.  As we approached the park, traffic slowed to a crawl; a highway crew in two trucks was getting ready to repaint the highway stripes.  It turned out that Marti was in the same procession, two cars ahead of us.

We had lunch in the garden’s cafeteria.  Mine included a slice of key lime knockout pie that was not my fault; Pat put it on my tray.   Julie brought out sweet photos of past de Anguera families, including herself, Marti and Courtney as children.  Also hand-drawn family trees and Phil’s typed account of our common ancestor Jose de Anguera’s life.  We will collaborate and try to organize and improve the history.

We toured the nearby gardens.  Julie is about flowers like our daughter Alice is about birds.  I have no idea what plants we saw, but they were pretty and sometimes they smelled good too.   Outside the cafeteria we saw our first troll, a huge wooden figure gripping a tree near the edge of a pond.  The Hobbit troll scene quickly came to mind.  I was pushing Julie’s borrowed wheelchair.  It didn’t do well on gravel.  But the sisters had reserved seats for us on an electric tour cart that took us far into the 300-acre grounds to see more plants, pretty woods and trolls.

On our way home Julie showed us Booth Bay Harbor, an old and wealthy retreat full of handsome buildings, charter boats and yachts, including some schooners.  We got back to Old Orchard Beach in time to make a fine braised-chicken dinner.  Later, Julie sent us a news photo of a big fire at a Booth Bay Harbor building that we’d just seen. 

Tuesday 5/24: We said goodbye to our friendly neighbor, Mike Shannon.  I gave him Seattle-made Theo chocolate and some food that we needed to jettison because we’d be hoteling it from here on.  He disappeared into his basement and came back with a jar of homemade apple sauce.  “I’m afraid we can’t return the jar,” I said.  “Give it to someone who can use it,” said Mike.  He urged us to stay longer so we could see him in the Memorial Day parade, in the Precision Lawn Mower Drill Team.  “We’re a bunch of old farts now.  When we started it we were just farts,” he explained.  Some of the lawn mowers no longer have engines, but nevertheless are able to participate somehow. 

New Hampshire coast

We explored and had lunch at Fort McClary State Historical Park, where an artillery battery (partly restored) had protected the harbor of Portsmouth, New Hampshire from British, Spanish and Confederate raiders.  Probably happily for all concerned, Fort McClary turned out to be a minor outpost that never saw much action.

Massachusetts

There are lots more toll roads in New England than on the west coast.  In some states their fare collection system is fully automated.  But there’s no standard for how this works or how tourists in rented cars can pay.  

So, I figured out how to set Google Maps to avoid toll roads.  It led us on an interesting tour of obscure villages with more pointy white churches and cemeteries full of monuments.  We came upon Walden Pond and wanted to see it.  But it’s now a major attraction with a toll booth at the head of a parking lot, and they were charging out-of-state seniors $30 a head.  What would H. D. Thoreau have thought of his retreat becoming a shrine?  We moved on, following Thoreau Street (a Thoreau-fare) out of town.

In Springfield, Massachusetts, we checked into a Best Western.  We picked up a delicious dinner at New Joy Wah, a little Chinese restaurant where a lone chef cooked furiously and also ran the counter.  I resolved to save half of my kung pao chicken for breakfast.  This didn’t happen.

New Jersey

Wednesday 5/25: We headed southwest thru Connecticut to Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey to meet Phil, who is 92  He guided us to a nearby wilderness park.  I had put a bottle of insect repellent in my vest pocket just in case.  We hiked up a dirt trail that was rough in spots.  Phil didn’t use a cane, and he declined the loan of a trekking pole; de Angueras are hearty folk. We followed a nice stream to a pool with a little waterfall and a convenient bench, a favorite spot of Phil’s.

Dinner was at Peppercorns, a good restaurant with a classic decor.  Phil has five children, including Lynda, who is able to see him often.  He thought that Julie and Marti were related to his father’s brother.  He might have some family history on his computer.

We left Phil at Sunrise Assisted Living and checked into the Paramus Best Western.  We reorganized our luggage for flying; my backpack became my carry-on.  Pat noticed a stain on my vest and pants; the repellent bottle now was half empty.  I had another pair of pants; but the vest is part of my travel outfit.  It has five pockets, and when they’re loaded it’s like a wrap-around pack, but it doesn’t count as a carry-on.  At Security, I empty my pockets into it and toss it onto the scanner conveyor belt.  And, seated on the plane, I can reach my pockets without writhing around.  So I washed it in the sink and, as suggested by Pat, dried it with the room’s hair dryer.  This worked.

New York

  Thursday 5/26: On our way to JFK Airport, Google Maps diverted us again and again as New York’s awful rush hour progressed.  The streets are an obstacle course of  double-parked delivery trucks, fearless pedestrians, road construction and gridlock.  Motorcyclists rode on the lines, El trains clattered overhead, and red-light cameras lurked above the intersections.  A video game could be made of all this.  “Can you get to the airport on time?  If you lose, you see your jet soaring overhead while you’re stuck in traffic.”

We turned in our rental car, took the Airtrain to Terminal 1 and caught a cab to the OTHER airport—because, despite arriving at JFK due to the cancelled and rebooked flight at the start of our visit, American still expected us at La Guardia for our return flight. 

We made it to La Guardia with over an hour to spare.  The air transport system took us in, bar-coded us and our bags, and delivered everybody and everything to rainy Seattle on time.