Upon the delightful Chrysi Guzman's request, I decided to blog about my last few days traveling up the coast of Maine. First of all I'll start with last night and work backwards as things come into my head:
I wake up just before the 10 o'clock hr. to a sea of Korn fans eating breakfast at the La Quinta Inn right across from the minor league baseball Stadium in Portland, ME. "Still feeling the after effects" is what this nice spouse of one of the opening band's fans said. They were on their way back to Boston, Mass. To eat I had coffee to cure my delirium, and some bread for the starch.
On a side note, the previous night I wandered around the Portland bus station and Amtrak hub talking with the local cab drivers & fixed my sights on the Clarion. Since they were booked, this nice Spanish hotel clerk helped to get me a room at the La Quinta just down the road. It was a scene reminiscent of Don Quixote's stay at the Inn with Sancho Panza. More about Don Quixote in a second.
That night I was so happy that Eduardo had gotten me the discounted hotel room that I personally inscribed a message on this new volume of Don Quixote I was using to learn Spanish - with a recommendation that he read the Inn scene (I noted his Spanish accent). In the scene, if you recall, Don Quixote comes into the Inn and says, "I am the famous traveler Don Quixote, and this is my companion Sancho Panza" we must have a room at the Inn. If I can recall correctly Don Quixote gets upset that there is no room at the Inn because he thinks he is famous enough to get a hotel on credit. Anyhoo, it's funny for a bonefied traveler such as myself.
So with the Don Quixote dropped off at the Clarion safely in the hands of the day clerk, a Denny's meal in my stomach, I decided to explore Portland. I wanted to get to the Atlantic Ocean. So I walked into Portland after some delays with the snow removal difficulties, and wuddo I see - huge Greyhound sign, providential, and a train coming by. I checked the local market, the pawn shops had closed, so I decided to present the gift of my CDs to the local Chinese/French hoc (sp.?) shop to rest my feet. After listening to them talk and reading the local papers, all of which had great stories, some creative people in Portland, ME, I left with a Wing Hwa to the proprieter and headed off to the Greyhound station. A seemingly minor league basketball player, Celtics regalia on, came in and started to harrass the sweet little Greyhound desk clerk. He started off sweet but it soon turned ugly. He had this blank expression in his eyes and started yelling that she was a horse-haired bitch as he waited for the cab and complained that the hotel room was locked.
Gosh I should have become Don Quixote but in those situations I usually feel the situation will resolve itself. You can simply invite the psychotic to a seat or find a way to open the bathroom. After this retarded display, the desk clerk exclaimed - "Isn't that unbelievable." I asked her if she was alright and apologized that I couldn't defend her. He came in again, horse-haired bitch, etc. though in hindsight he must have been threatened by me. I told her I would show her something to cheer her up, so I pulled out my ticket from 2007 - my Stroudsburg, PA to LA ticket stub.
I charted a course to South Portland with her, good God I walked about 7 miles and across the Portland to South Portland bridge arriving at 8 o'clock at the Rodeway Inn & Suites with a story that I had walked 10 miles from Portland. It was not easy.
I will now present my tennis racket to the hotel proprieter for his kindness in allowing me to stay another night. I learned that Rahm and Hari live 15 miles from Sania Mirza, the #1 tennis player in India. More later fans, and thank you Chrysi for the recommendation. Cheers all, and would love to hear your Maine stories...
I've decided to add an addendum, if that is the correct word, to my Maine hijinks, though I'm running short of inspiration. Let's just say, because of the kind actions of some gentleman from South, India, I got to stay for cheap in South Portland for four days during the snowstorm. I told them yesterday that I had to become the traveling Buddha - see it would be unorthodox for Buddha to head out during the rainy season, or in our case, the winter season. The steretypical Buddha traveling Buddha statue which they had on their front desk counter is happiness personified, treasures and gold lamps in his bag and a dragon slung across his shoulder. He also looks like he weighs 300 pounds. First thing I said to Hari, the daytime hotel proprietor, was that it was doubtful Buddha was that fat surviving on one meal a day. "'S good for business" he replied.
I was shocked to find the same corridor of hotels in my own local area, Howard Johnson, Knights Inn, and Comfort Inn. Same as in South Portland, ME. I thrice stopped in at this awesome little place beside called Governor's. I sampled all the New England institutions - New England coffee, Hood milk, the chowda, and ironically, their desert first (which they recommend on their entrance banner). "Life if crazy, eat dessert first" something or other was the slogan.
I want to expand a bit on my experience at Concord Trailways in Portland, ME because I met a Vietnam Vet there. Now, you can learn a lot about a Vietnam Veteran because as I've always said, some men were forced into a very difficult decision:
This man was the first person I took notice of when I set my bag down near the Concord Train station entrance. He had his face obscured by a hood and he looked like a down and out bum. Turns out he was just napping and he was full of energy when he interacted with the Middle Eastern cabbie who continued to make profound remarks about the Egyptian protest. Were it not for his exclamations I never would have interacted with the Vet. I remember clearly the cabbie's remarks when he saw the protestors absconding with the tanks. "Democracy...this is not democracy." A wonderful exchange of words started when the cabbie began to mutter defamatory remarks about the protest in Egypt. Another of the cabbies was talking about the keys to becoming a rich man. "Guns and drugs," the cabbie remarked. Then the cabbie made a comment that I had to congratulate him on. Let's imagine the context. A man originally from the Middle East, Arabic, he's incredibly intelligent - "Name a subject, I can talk about any subject just name it" he was saying.
He said that the American military was tied up in the drug trade in Afghanistan. "You are absolutely right" I told him. Laudatory remarks. I started talking about how the soldiers are hooked on the drugs - just like in Vietnam, and I started getting responses from the Vietnam Vet, and we began a really nice exchange the three of us. The cabbie soon left but I broached the subject with the Vietnam Vet, "draftee or volunteer?" I asked him. I always use my father's sitch during the Vietnam war as a context when I talk with a Vietnam Vet. He, like my father, tried to get a position in the Army with specialized skills. Unlike my father, he spent his two years in the vicinity of Vietnam during one of the heaviest conflicts. He gave me a story that was quite vivid:
"Christmas Day, 1967, I'll never forget it, because I could see from my base the Vietcong firing at the battleships, and I could see from a few miles away the unmistakable sight of the bullets spraying the water."
