Bay State Exploring…

So my first shift at the Cheesecake went well, even if it was just a training shift. I needed to have one before hitting the floor live, just to get acquainted with the floor plan, table numbers, and the general flow of the restaurant… of which I must say I really like, so far. I got out of training around 9pm and decided I wasn’t going to sleep in the parking lot again—I made a general rule to try not to sleep in the same place twice in a row if I’m in my car. So I searched Massachusetts’ crime rates by town/city, and saw that one town by the seacoast, Gloucester, had a pretty low crime rate. Boom—I set off, figuring I’ll probably sleep in my car again, but at least it will be in a safer area.

Thirty minutes later and I reach Gloucester. I parallel parked between two other cars under a street lamp, across the way from what looked like the local bar (with a biker couple sharing a cigarette outside the front door), and a marina storing lobster-trapping tugboats. To ensure people passing by wouldn’t see me, I put my sun-shade up into the front windshield. To my left (if you’re looking out the back of my car) I have a three-tier plastic bin holding my clothes, accessible by opening the back passenger door. It’s tall enough to block the entire window. To my right, I have my work clothes hanging up, plus a soft, roll-out storage set that is meant to hold make-up, but instead I have lighters, sunglasses, headphones, a hairbrush, mints, batteries, and more. For the back window, I have hung up my red, lion tapestry that my friend Dan gave to me for Christmas. I have two bungee cords hooked onto notches in my car, which allows me to drape the tapestry over. Then, I use clothespins (purchased from a thrift store, 50 for a buck, and have been one of the best investments for this trip so far) to pin it up onto other notches in the car so it drapes and covers the back window. All people can see from the outside is a gold lion with a jeweled crown holding what I think is a trident. So hippie, so rasta. I love it so much.

The next day (Friday) I woke up to the sound of families rolling in for their weekend vacations. As I took down my tapestry and crawled my way into my front seat, I tried to avoid any eye contact from those walking by, but was definitely seen by some. I wonder what they are thinking. I don’t necessarily care as to what they think, but I definitely wonder. I made way to the closest Dunkin Donuts I could find. It’s 9am, I am wearing raccoon eyes, and have a wrinkled, stained t-shirt that I’ve been wearing for three days now (however not to the Cheesecake). I had to slip in to the bathroom for a painfully long morning pee, and then ordered an iced butter pecan coffee. I figured I could use a shower, but before going through the hassle of all that, I decided to go to the beach, and maybe go in the water, providing how hot I got. I drove to the next town east, Rockport, and realized that, for what little beach they have, the price of parking was horrendous. I mean we’re talking $25 for the day. YIKES. I’m used to not paying a dime for parking at the beach in Florida. Granted, we have more real estate for beach-goers than Massachusetts does, but I didn’t expect to pay a whole week’s budget of food on parking. So, I did the unthinkable. I parked in a motel parking lot labeled “PARKING FOR MOTEL PATRONS ONLY, CARS TOWED AT OWNERS EXPENSE.” I figured I’d test my luck, again. I was less than 500 yards from the water and another 500 yards from the pay-to-park lot. I flipped open my computer to realize that they even had free Internet; I just had to type in some bogus email address and voila, instant access. I lay in the back of my car and began to do some tinkering online. I think it’s against the law to tow a car if there is a person within the vehicle, so I was comfortable enough relaxing watching tourists trek to the beach with arms full of chairs and coolers.

A few hours went by and I got a good whiff of myself—I was in desperate need of a wash. So I locked up my car and walked to the bathhouse to use the shower, which was outside, and freezing cold. I wore my bathing suit and lathered up my hair and body with some Camp Suds, bathing me over in the rich smell of mint and pine. My feet started to hurt from the hard plastic mats they laid down, and I started shivering when the sun got caught behind the tree. After showering and changing, I headed into town to get some food, and I instantly fell in love with the area. Downtown Rockport is made of these tiny shops that are painted a mix of bright colors. There were shops selling sandwiches, ice cream, beads, books, and paintings created by local artists. The blend of languages spoken by passing tourists filled my ears—French, Spanish, Chinese, Indian—to think they all flocked to this one little sweet piece of paradise on the east coast. As usual, I wasn’t up for spending a ton of money. I had an apple and a peach for breakfast, so I figured a good ice cream cone would suffice for dinner. I ordered a peanut butter soft-serve with chocolate jimmies, and for fifteen minutes, I was enjoying a little slice of Heaven as it dripped down my chin.

I drove about half a mile out of the hustle-and-bustle of town, to discover some free parking (until 10am) right beside a mini beach. I made the decision to give it a real effort to wake up at 5am so I could see the sunrise. And to my surprise, I actually did wake up. It was the most pristine, beautiful sunrise I could ever imagine. I grabbed a coffee and sat down to enjoy the view of this burning orange and red ball cresting the horizon. God and Mother Nature, when they combine, become two vastly astonishing, powerful forces that can create the most peaceful moment in time; so serene, it’s a type of feeling that calms the soul, and brings you back down to earth, even if for a second, and lets you forget all the calamity occurring in this busy world.

I spent the whole day being happy, and thankful, that I woke up so early. I love to sleep in late, but it’s not conducive to being productive. So getting up THAT early, for me, was a real treat. I spent the morning by giving my car a little love (cleaning it out and reorganizing everything), and then enjoyed breakfast at a busy diner closer into town. I drank about three more cups of coffee while savoring my egg and cheese omelet with a side of rye toast.

Afterwards, around noontime, I was starting to crave a nap. I drove back to the motel and noticed the lot was full, so I pulled around to the pay-to-park area. This time, there wasn’t a sign stating “$20 to park” so I pulled in, but was immediately stopped by some kid in a blue shirt demanding money. I mentioned that the sign was down, but he still demanded I pay. “No way! You can’t advertise parking without the price.” I started to drive away, but figured I’d test my luck out once more. What’s the worst that could happen? I swung by him once more, threw up my hand and spread out my fingers, and yelled out my car window, “How about five dollars?” He shrugged and responded, “Yea, sure I don’t care.” Awesome! I hand him the five and thanked him a couple of times. I parked and walked over to the beach, where I proceeded to take a two-hour nap.

As for sleeping arrangements that night, I just stayed in the lot I paid to park in. Several nice beach houses surrounded me, with much activity going on outside and in them, and there was plenty of light around so I wasn’t blacked out of society. For dinner, I made a tuna fish sandwich with mayonnaise and whole wheat bread, and dipped some carrots into a spicy chipotle hummus I purchased a few days earlier.

The next morning, a knocking on my glass window woke me up. An older man, wearing the same blue shirt as the kid from the day before, said to me, “I’m sorry miss, but you cannot be here.”

“But I paid to park here!”

“Yes miss, but that was for yesterday. It’s Sunday now.”

Shit. I had planned to wake up at 5am again to hit the road, but I slept through my alarm clock and it was now 10am. People were getting parking-hungry.

“Okay, I’ll be out of here in a minute, I’m so sorry.” I stumbled out of the trunk door and hopped into the driver side, still in a daze from my overnight coma.

“It’s okay miss, you may use the restroom to freshen up if you need to.” He was doing his job, understandably so. But when he asked me what I was doing sleeping in my car, I could only tell him the truth. “I’m road tripping and needed a safe place to stay. I felt this was sufficient.” He smiled and said back, “A road trip eh? God I wish I could have done that at your age. The bathroom is right around back.” I sensed his understanding, and could see him picturing himself doing the same thing at my age.

I drove back to the place I slept two nights before, beside the beach. It was after 10am so I threw a few quarters in the slot and rested in the back of my car while listening to the waves, the gulls, and the people meandering by. I ate two Nutri-Grain bars and gave my back a few good cracks. That’s when I felt it hit me—I needed to sprawl out! I needed a bed! After a couple hours passed, I headed west towards inland to find a place to camp. That’s when I remembered reading about Harold Parker State Park; it’s only a 30-minute drive from work (which I had the following day), so I pulled it up on my GPS and headed that way.

Upon arrival, I was greeted by a couple of friendly faces. I purchased a campsite for three nights, one close to the bathroom, and of course close to other people. For dinner, I cooked lime-vinaigrette marinated chicken over the grates of the fire, along with asparagus that I covered in garlic salt (my favorite). And finally, I busted out the cast-iron skillet and cooked kidney beans on it. It had that smoky flavor from the flames and the firewood. I ended up making so much; I was able to have it for dinner two nights in a row. S’mores are always on my agenda when a campfire is in sight, so I divulged in about three or four. I didn’t go to bed hungry, that’s for sure.

Monday, I worked a double and made $200 in cash, so that started off on a positive note. I was off Tuesday and spent it by relaxing, reading this new book I picked up a few months back, titled Dewey’s Nine Lives. If you’re an animal lover, especially cats, this one is perfect. Although I just started, it’s a nicely written and an overall inspiring book. Dewey is a gold and white, long-haired tabby that, as a kitten, was thrown into the book chute of a library on a cold winter night. But for 19 years, he roamed the shelves of a library somewhere in Iowa, inspiring and touching every person he met. It’s a sweet story.

I worked Wednesday morning and then headed back up to New Hampshire, but only a couple miles into the state, near the seacoast. Some close family friends are allowing me to stay with them for a few nights while I’m in the area, which gives me the opportunity to continue to explore more and see friends in the process. Yesterday, I visited the new Smuttynose Brewery and proceeded to get nicely lit up in the process, and only enhancing my buzz by getting a margarita with a friend from high school. I ordered a plate of killer BBQ pork nachos and dove right in.

After two nights of sleeping in an actual bed, I’m back to the woods, camping again in the state park from earlier in the week. I have to work practically all weekend; any other of my free time will most likely be spent sitting beside a warm fire, popping from the sap on the pinecones mixed in with the wood. I’ll be bundled up in my Ithaca sweatpants and a grey knit sweater, drinking boxed red wine, with ice, in a pilsner glass. Weekend, I’m ready for you!

A Pass through the Pine Tree State

Where do I begin? The last week and a half I’ve spent most of my time experiencing what the beautiful state of Maine has to offer. Earlier in the week, last week, I camped in the Acadia National Park situated on Mount Desert Island, halfway up the coastline of Maine. It’s one of the most visited national parks in the country, and I could see exactly why. The cool, salty air is thick and rich, especially during low tide. It stings the nose, but it’s the type of smell a true New Englander loves. It flows off the ocean water, which by the way, reaches no warmer than 55 degrees F due to the Atlantic current. The aromas that float out of the tiny restaurants and ice cream parlors are enough to drag anyone inside. And the view, whether you’re in downtown Bar Harbor or sitting atop Cadillac Mountain, is absolutely breathtaking. Last time I visited the area was about 14 years ago, so I was definitely excited to come back and check out what this place had to offer.

When I made my way onto the island, I made it my first mission to find shelter. I was weighing the idea of camping versus seeking a cheap motel for the night, since there was talk of evening showers coming through. However, I forwent the idea of having a sturdy roof over my head and made my way to the visitor station to purchase my pass. They made it known to all those migrating inbound to the island that all the campsites were full, but I decided to test my luck and go directly to the campground itself. I pulled up to the ranger station and questioned if the rumor was true. An older gentleman greeted me, and said that there actually were, in fact, just a handful of campsites unclaimed. I paid for two nights, and sought out my plot of land. I was nestled nicely in the woods amongst other campers, mostly families and younger kids.

I set up my tent between two pine trees, and then tied a rope between them about two feet over my tent. I proceeded to hang up a blue tarp in a V-shape over my tent, so incase it were to downpour, I wouldn’t have to worry about my tent getting soaked. The clouds started to hustle in with the wind and I was losing daylight rather quickly, so I decided to collect firewood and kindling for later in the evening. As soon as my campsite was situated–tarp, tent, chair and all–I headed down a few miles into town to contact my parents (since I had no cell service at the campground). As well, I went to the local corner convenient store and purchased some burgers to cook over the grate installed atop part of the fire pit. Oh, and I picked up some marshmallows too, of course.

Dark was starting to settle in with a chill, so I threw on some sweatpants and lit the fire. It was awe-inspiring, staring into the flames. The embers look as if they’re trying to talk, with their waves of orange and red shimmering over the torched debris. After I ate my burger (which was delicious as all get out) I engorged myself in a few mallows. The smoke swayed in the moonlight and danced with the surrounding fires of other camps. It was only 9:30 but I was destined for bed. I tuckered in to my tent and wrapped myself up into the sleeping bag, and proceeded to fall asleep to the smell of campfire on my sweater.

The next day consisted of adventures and discoveries. I began by hiking around Great Head trail, which takes one around the cliffs of Sand Beach and peaks around one corner of the island to deliver breathtaking views. Although a few hundred feet up from the ocean, the waves crash onto the rocks and splash beads of water into the air, landing on my face. The air has never felt more crisp and clean; this is God’s country-—this is where one goes to calm the mind and cleanse the soul.

After my hike, I shimmied down the hillside to relax on the beach. The water was too cold for my taste (three years in FL will do that) but the sand was warm on my back beneath my towel. After the beach, I decided to head downtown to Bar Harbor, which got its name from the out-going tide. The seawater washes away and exposes all the mystery beneath–crabs, starfish, sea urchins, and more. Kids were squealing while carrying their bright colored plastic buckets and shovels in hand, finding the sea creatures. I remember feeling that same excitement when I was their age.

I felt a thirst coming on so I sought out the Bar Harbor Brewery and purchased two 2-oz summertime beers-—just enough to satisfy my pallet. But then my stomach started to growl, and what better way to settle the noise than with a lobster? The Lazy Lobster, situated a couple doors down from the brewery, was a perfect choice. Their seafood is all local and fresh, and the lobsters were caught just the day prior. A pound-and-a-halfer with melted butter and Maine-style slaw was such a delight, I couldn’t have asked for a better lunch. To me, a trip to Maine would be incomplete without indulging in said crustacean, really.

I headed back up to camp, but swung through the grocery store first. I picked up some hot dogs and a zucchini. At camp, after letting my lobster digest, I set up shop for the evening. I cut up the zucchini and wrapped it up in aluminum foil with some oil and seasoning, and threw it over the fire on the grates. While that cooked, I poked a stick through a dog and roasted it over the fire. Dinner was perfect.

The following day was my last in Bar Harbor. I was determined, from the moment I drove onto the island, to find lobster ice cream. Sounds gross, I know, but since my first time visiting over a decade ago, I’ve been craving it since! Somehow, patience prevailed, and I walked right into a parlor that, low and behold, had it in stock. I ordered a scoop; buttery vanilla ice cream, slow churned and thick, with chunks of salty, rich lobster. The two textures and flavors sent mixed messages to the brain-—“is this good? I can’t quite tell.” But trust me, it’s worth confusing the taste buds. As I licked the dripping cone off my hands, I made contact with Bryan, a friend from college who invited me down to Portland for the weekend, and up to Fryeburg to float the Saco River-—something I’ve always wanted to do since I was a teen. I accepted his offer, and made way down the scenic Route 1 to Portland for the night.

Unfortunately for Bryan, he had to work all Thursday, so I took the time to go downtown to Old Portland and entertain myself. I walked through the docks and made my way to the Shipyard/Sea Dog Brewery for a tour and free beer sampling. Shipyard’s Melonhead and Sea Dog’s Sunfish were two divine summertime beers. I’ll definitely have to get my hands on more while I’m in New England. I found lunch at an old clam shack on the water where I ordered, shockingly, fried Ipswich clam bellies. They literally melt in my mouth, the bellies exploding a rich, fatty goodness on my tongue. From there I drove down to Old Orchard Beach to walk the seashore. I found a little unoccupied driveway about a mile down from all the hustle-and-bustle in the tourist town.

That Friday, Bryan and I headed up to Fryeburg, ME where we were greeted by about 50 people within our “community”. A tent was pre-pitched for us in the sand, which saved a lot of headache. The captains of our little community created a barge to float down the river on, and the night ended with an intense game of flip cup on the beached barge. I went to bed with no recollection of who won.

I prevailed through the next morning, somehow. A coffee and breakfast bagel from Dunkin Donuts always does the trick. The goal was to meet up with the captains on the barge, and tie up with our floats. Rest assured, we found them at the launching dock, with about a hundred other people tied up. The water was speckled tye-dye with all the colorful floats and bathing suits. The five-hour float proved successful. Even though I lost an earring and a pair of sunglasses, I found I had gained a good buzz and formed some great bonds with amazing people.

After our weekend adventure at Saco, I rested at Bryan’s house back in Portland for one more night before heading down to Durham, NH—-home of University of New Hampshire and the Wildcats! Again, I drove the scenic route, going through Ogunguit, York, and Kittery, Maine. I found a quiet beach to relax and close my eyes at for a about an hour, and also happened to stumble upon old Fort McClary. I went to Durham to visit my good friend Jay from high school, who had the day (now Tuesday) off to show me around Durham and Portsmouth. We chowed down on some Irish eggs benedict for breakfast, and toured two breweries come lunch. First stop was Red Hook, and for $5 each we toured the brewery, received a pint glass, and tasted about 30 ounces worth of different craft beers. We proceeded to Smuttynose (aka Portsmouth Brewery) where Jay and I split a flight, and I ordered myself a pint of their special cask- Dirty Blonde made with lavender and chamomile… and HOLY CRAP it was probably one of the BEST beers I’ve ever had in my entire life. I must go back for more, someday.

Now came Wednesday, and I had to suit up for a meeting with the managers of the Cheesecake Factory outside Boston (and by suit up, I mean jeans and t-shirt). After working at the one in South Florida, I found I could transfer to any CCF in the country. I chose this location since it’s close to family and friends—I can bounce around and stay with them if necessary. However, it got too late last night for me to make arrangements, so I slept in my car in the parking lot outside of work. I parked underneath a few bright light posts, and when I saw a security officer drive by, my worries subsided a little bit. I took a sleeping pill and went off into dreamland.

Now I’m just waiting to start my first shift tonight at Cheesecake, and from there I can easily begin to manipulate my schedule around adventuring the area for the next month. So Boston area, I’m here at your beck and call! Let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve for me. I hope it consists of the Red Sox, Sam Adams, and the seaside. 🙂

For more pictures, check out my instagram @kpolucha or #blondiewanders!

11 days in and I’m still alive!

I’ve been away from South Florida for 11 days now. It took about 28 hours to drive 1,722 miles. The first day I drove, I went straight up I-95 into GA and the Carolina’s, but took a detour towards Asheville, NC to see my longtime bff Caroline and spend the night. It was a quick fun visit, and trust me when I say I’ll be back. I drove the next day up through Tennessee, over the Mason-Dixon Line, around the outskirts of NYC and into Connecticut. What a crazy beautiful drive that was–it definitely left me thirsty to see more on my way back down! Somewhere around 10pm it started to downpour and traffic came to a complete stop. I had about three more hours to go, but I wasn’t about to deal with the mess. So, I pulled off I-84 into a 24hr McDonald’s somewhere outside of Waterbury, ordered a chicken wrap, and went to sleep in the cocoon I created in the back of my Q5.

I woke the next morning to a phone call from my poor worried mother. I slept like a rock actually, she probably didn’t though (sorry mom!) The morning commute went smoothly as I drove up through Mass and into NH. I stopped off to see my dad at his work since I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him for the next few days… for it was bachelorette time!! My girlfriend Justina, that I’ve known since preschool, was marrying the man of her dreams. Now that’s something to celebrate, and we did, with class. You know, we decked her out with
penis-shaped-everything we could find! She owned it, just another reason why I love her. The whole bridal party slept like rocks on the limo ride home. The wedding was simply beautiful; a country style theme with an outside ceremony and reception. God couldn’t have given this wonderful couple a more amazing day. Blue skies, a light breeze, good people and delicious food. Justina and her family also rented out the most adorable, rustic, beautiful bed and breakfast, located in Hebron NH, a very quiet, very small town with a calm lake nearby. The bed I slept in was made in the 1800’s, and the two nights I slept in it absolutely rocked my world; it was some of the best sleep I’ve ever had. The windows were open, allowing the cool air to circulate around my room. Sounds of crickets and bullfrogs filled the night.

That Sunday after the wedding, I woke up to the smell of sausage and blueberry pancakes being made in the kitchen. After breakfast, I freshened up in the outside shower. There’s something about showering outside in the raw, fresh air that awakens the mind, body, and soul.

Later that night, I met back up with the bride and groom and another friend to grab some munchies at my favorite little place in the Lakes Region– The Common Man! I’ve been going there since I was a little girl, and it still looks and smells the same. It’s an old barn converted into a rustic, very comfortable, two story restaurant and bar. They run the fireplace upstairs in the winter, and open the upper porch up in the summer. I almost always get their escargot (whatdya know) but instead I ordered a steak bomb sandwhich and a Sam Adams Summer. Oh yes.

The next few days since, I’ve had some good bonding time with my dad. We watched the World Cup and grilled out a couple of nights– steaks, burgers, BBQ chicken. We took a trip to the farmer down the road and picked up some super juicy strawberries, plump tomatoes, carrots and now a new favorite of mine, mesculin mix (greens, herbs, and flowers!) I helped him with his and my uncle’s own garden. Plucked some weeds, mowed the grass, and discovered the fruits of their labor were definitely showing!

Fourth of July weekend was relaxing, and I didn’t mind. It rained on the 4th, but the next day we celebrated with close family friends. We went upta camp, and took a boat ride, went swimming in the lake, and ate some grilled goodies. The fireworks later that evening were the cherries ontop of a lovely, patriotic day.

I must say, it’s definitely weird coming back to the place I grew up in. So many things have changed yet I still get the same, comfortable, low key vibe that this place gives off. The air still smells so fresh, and for the first time, in a long time, I could see the Milky Way painted across the sky. A chorus of birds is my alarm clock every morning, and I love it. They’re familiar sounds that I welcome into my ears to start my day. It felt good to be home, and I could begin to feel my roots tickle and come to life as I spent more and more time here. But I’m starting to get antsy, so it’s time to lift up and take off again. Next stop? The great state of Maine 🙂

Happy days and nights all.