Today I’m taking a break from my American adventure to pop up to the wild north of Canada. Not just any Canada, French Canada. I begin the trek in Maine, heading up through New Hampshire and the White Mountain National Forest, before crossing the Connecticut River heading up towards the border. The weather took a turn for the snowy along the way:
The north-easternmost state of the US has a long and varied history of ownership, from its Wabanaki original inhabitants to the French and the English. It is, however, its varied Irish settlers who gave it its name: the first settlers from Northern Ireland landed on it and declared it “Mine”.
I haven’t been mentioning where I’ve been staying on my travels, since it’s almost always cheap and unimpressive, but I must make an exception for the quite lovely Inn at St. John, in Portland. It is a somewhat bonkers scramble of a building, with staircases sprouting off at random angles and there being no way to get from lobby to room without losing all sense of direction. It’s marvellous.
“When Jed first took me to his house, which was 25 miles from anywhere, he said, ‘Awasiwi Odinak. Far from the things of man.’ What a jackass.” – Abigail Bartlet, The West Wing
As I continue my rambles through New England, I come across a ski lodge waiting for the snows to deepen.