Well, I’ve been back in San Francisco for a couple of days now, after a very relaxing week in Maine. The flight out there was anything but relaxing, though. Bloody United. I had to revise my entire itinerary and arrived several hours late.
Sarah’s folks have a really cosy little summerhouse in Port Clyde, a tiny fishing village with a picturesque bay and lots of lobster pots. It was great to meet them and discover that we got along really well. I’d been so curious what her parents would turn out to be like.
Other spots visited in the course of the week were Camden, Booth Bay, Mount Batty, Damariscotta and Belfast. A week is far too short for a holiday. As a European, I’m used to disappearing for at least two consecutive weeks, sometimes as many as four.
Back in the city, I went out for crepes with pompeiisneaks this evening. Unfortunately, when we left the restaurant, we were horrified to discover that his mountain bike had been stolen. Poor Phil. He’d had it only two weeks.
In Maine, people don’t even lock their front door. Yes, there’s certainly a price to pay for living in the city.