I'm Ba-ack
Wayell, I'm home from my adventures in America. Weird place, that. Here's an account of my travels. Beware, included below is things like too much information and random Amby babblage.
I've been to America many, many times. Each time is always a little different. My perception changes each trip. I also start enjoying road-trips with my parents less and less as I get older. Things change, too; malls are under construction when they hadn't been before and some are shut down. Campgrounds have new rules, or are some different from the way I remember them - if I even remember them. The people are kinder or crueler. I notice different things that I never noticed when I was younger, like the predominance of Christian books all over grocery stores while there is nothing on Judaism or Taoism or Buddhism or anything else. America is a real melting-pot, and no mosaic as I am used to them.
We left the 7th of Sunday. We left Ottawa, went to Montreal. We got caught in Montreal traffic. And I discovered the use of seatbelts. While checking to see that the car we were towing (we'd never pulled a car before, though we bought the car = several years ago - for just this purpose) on the back bed, Dad was forced to break hard. I was moving forward now... and I slid off the bed and slid two metres and slammed into the corner of the counter. I still have the bruise.
We drove through Quebec to Vermont, which was as lovely as I remembered. It really is pretty; all those lush mountains. We camped at Moose River Campground, which was catered mostly to adults. Which as well and good. It was a pretty location, and there were fluffy cats to pet. But unfortunately, the speed-bumps were so high, our jacks scraped them as we drove over them. And the woman of the couple who owned the place was a rude bitch. Still, we weren't too fazed - we were in travel-dazzle.
Now, our motorhome: it's a 34-foot thing with a slide-out at the front. It has a lovely washroom area, more storage space than we could've asked for, and two TVs (which we didn't use). And a cd player. The last RV we had didn't have a cd player. It is white on the outside with colourful - green and blue and deep purple - wavy stripes on the side that make an illusion of mountains. There are little Canadian flags on the down corners to the rear. That first night at Moose River I discovered something unpleasant: the matress to the fold-out bed beneath the couch was terrible. I could feel springs in my side. So that night and each following, I took down the cushions from the couch and put them down in order at the foot of the couch, threw a thick comforter down as an added matress, put a sheet over that, and that was my bed. The lumpy affair was one of the most comfortable beds I'd slept on.
From Moose River we traveled to Mount Washington, where Dad wanted to take the cog railway up (he adores trains), but they were so messed up (I'm not sure why everything was disorganized), that we had to return, with a reservation, on Wednesday. Their washrooms were very prettily painted, however. So from Mt. Washington we went onward to North Conway, New Hampshire.
We went to North Conway for a very specific reason. And if you know the attractions of North Conway, you will know exactly why we went. We went to shop. For North Conway is home to the Settler's Green factory outlet village (among others), where you get great goods for greater prices. Man, do I sound like an advertisement! But yes, to shop.
We camped at Saco River, where we had many, many times in the past. I remembered it pretty clearly, too. The people who worked there were rude, so it's unlikely we'll ever camp there again. And, besides, it's a family campground, overrun with annoying brats-- I mean, little children. High annoyance factor.
We spent three days at North Conway, shopping till our feet ached and refused to carry us. I bought shorts, this really bizarre funky jacket that comes to my knees that is so completely weird that if (when) I wear it to school I shall attract numerous stares, and some chocolate. Lindt Factory outlet. Mmmm. I'm not fond of chocolate; you should hear my Hershey rant (this comes of having a brother who owns a chocolate factory: you finally get sick of chocolate), but Lindt chocolate is of fine quality and has a special place in my heart. I also bought a gorgeous pair of black, clunky-heeled boots at Dress Barn for some cheap price.
At the Wal-Mart I bought a needlepoint design to work on. Now, you must understand this: America, or North America, is very fond of cross-stitch. I don't cross-stitch. I do needlepoint. I embroider. Which means all the prettiest designs; the running horses, the other pretty ones - they were all cross-stitch! The pathetic selection of needlepoint was rather discouraging. So I bought a little thing that has some random asiatic character (I assume Chinese) and the words happiness below. I can spend quite a lot of time whiling away minutes with a needle and thread. Ok, so I'm your original badgirl; I've fenced, I want to do martial arts (money being a problem right now...), I'm a feisty, rude, bold, blunt sort of person. And I love needlework. I love sewing. I love embroidery. It all works. Trust me.
On Wednesday we spent the morning at Mt. Washington. Now, here's a very good piece of advice I want all to take to heart: Never put a PMS-ing teenager on a train. Especially when she's not overly thrilled to be on vacation and hates trains with the burning passionate hatred of a thousand hells. I cramped badly up, cramped down, started bleeding a few hours later. No wonder I was such a grump for the entirety of the trip... and I was, never fear. That's Amber; wrecking vacations a day at a time. There were good moments. I like shopping (just not too much). But yes, train and mountain, not fun. Nevermind the fact that we were going up near vertical at five mph. I was scared out of my wits besides the infernal cramping!
And after that, more shopping. Yes, we shopped a lot. The nxt day we started out to Maine; specifically, Old Orchard Beach (where we actually didn't end up going) and Portland. We ended up spending some time at a Wal-Mart in some place in Maine called Windham, since we attempted to buy contact lenses.... the affair is a bit convoluted and I don't feel like explaining why we spent so much time there.
We spent a night in some campground in Maine. I don't know where we were, except by the ocean, which covers way too much area. There was something very peculiar about this night. First of all, in this quare of campsites, there were two Quebecois, and two Ottawa peoples (Us and a family from the Valley - the accent was audible). Now, it just so happened that something (I'm still not sure what, it's all jargon and Greek to me) went wrong, electrically speaking, with our motorhome. And the other Ottawanian man, one Darryl, just happened to be a retired electrician. The coincidence still has me reeling. It's like something out of a bad novel. Yes, whatever was wrong was ... if not swiftly... at least fixed.
The campground didn't really have much room, so the next day we were given the boot. We shrugged and, car in tow, traveled over Maine searching for a campground. Mom found one on the map, and through some twisting, twiny streets we arrived at a small campground with a large sign: NO RVs. I sighed and settled into the co-driver seat (I called shotgun for most of the trip, to my parents' general displeasure, Mom more than Dad) and said, cheerfully, "Well, it's an adventure!" Those words heralded an event that was certainly adventurous.
For you see, in Maine, or at least that area, there are a very many picturesque cottage-like homes. It's all very pretty. And one house (for sale, but we didn't know it then) had a very lovely stone wall. One problem: it was crumbling. Now, this house is a corner house located by an insection. We stopped at this intersection for half a second, and then hastily turned left upon consultation of map and sign. It was fine for three seconds, and then there was a sickening crunch. We stopped, alarmed. A (Quebec) motorcycle passed us by, and stopped, swerving, shouting at us to stop. For something was dreadfully wrong with our car!
In panic we raced out of the RV to see our car's left tire had rammed into a giant boulder that had fallen from the crumbling wall. (Other boulders were scattered about.) Our RV has escaped the boulders, but the poor little golden Saturn could not. We attempted to unhitch the car, but the angle made the pins hideously difficult to pull out. The kind Quebecois motorcyclist, his wife and we watching on, used a mallet to get the pins out, and finally we could unhitch.
Around then a fire-rescue chap and the police arrived. They had thought there was a motorcycle-motorhome collision, and were relieved to find that no one, save our poor car, was injured (and parts of the motorhome, but nothing too serious). Dad backed up the car. The police informed us that 400 yards (or something... I don't know yards...like, wtf is a yard?) the road widened and we could hitch there. So Dad and I drove the motorhome to this widening of the road (a chalked off area with a sign "Parking by Permit Only"), and awaited Mother and the car. Shortly, one of the police came over and informed us something was wrong with the car (something wrong with the tire... and not the one which had collided with the boulder!), and he would drive us back to the intersection.
As I investigated the police car (never rode shotgun in a police car before...), the policeman, a rather young, polite chap, received a message: the car was coming down slowly. And eventually the parade came: Mom and the Saturn crawling at 5 mph, followed by two police cars and a police van! I wonder what the locals thought.
They called for a tow-truck, and as we waited (for a longer time than we'd hoped), we talked to the first policeman. (The rest left). Eventually, Policeman1 was joined by a puffing, panting 21-year old Policeman2. We discussed sports and politics (sortof...) and tourism and the weather and other topics. Two bicyclers went by, one calling to the other, "I've never seen anyone parked there before!" And eventually the tow-truck came.
We in the motorhome followed the tow-truck out of Maine into Portsmouth, New Hampshire (a few miles away), to a Saturn dealer. I spent the entire rest of the day reading Dragons of Winter Night and eating rainbow sherbet while we waited for our car to be fixed, and then, while we drove to the campground we'd put a two night reservation for. It was a quaint little place with an impossible road and some very amiable, affable, and thoroughly friendly owners who were very polite. I saw a lobster on the road... it was small and black and I kicked dirt at it to see if it were alive.
We spent our nights in Portsmouth, NH, and our days shopping in Kittery, Maine. At the Dress Barn outlet there, I bought three gorgeous garments. First, a silky thing of abstract patterns in various shades of green, with sparkling rhinestones glued on about it (I just know they'll fall off and I'll had to sew some sequins on to make up for it...). Secondly, a red sweater with a furry black collar and black beads and sequins sewn across the front (this stylish winter thing was the most expensive of the lot). Third, a beautiful shirt with a low-cut v-neck, fluttery loose long sleeves, a bright maroon rose at the base of the neck, and a ruffling of material underneath the rose. And last, a 'Goth shirt'; black up to right over the breasts, and the sleeves and rest mesh (which looks actually a bit less Goth than it sounds). I'm very fond of these...
The rest of the trip is uneventful, consisting of driving home, whining, and too many grocery stores. But we made it home safe and sound, a day early (thanks to an incessant rain that made doing anything else other than driving less than enjoyable). I'm ever so grateful to be home.
I've been to America many, many times. Each time is always a little different. My perception changes each trip. I also start enjoying road-trips with my parents less and less as I get older. Things change, too; malls are under construction when they hadn't been before and some are shut down. Campgrounds have new rules, or are some different from the way I remember them - if I even remember them. The people are kinder or crueler. I notice different things that I never noticed when I was younger, like the predominance of Christian books all over grocery stores while there is nothing on Judaism or Taoism or Buddhism or anything else. America is a real melting-pot, and no mosaic as I am used to them.
We left the 7th of Sunday. We left Ottawa, went to Montreal. We got caught in Montreal traffic. And I discovered the use of seatbelts. While checking to see that the car we were towing (we'd never pulled a car before, though we bought the car = several years ago - for just this purpose) on the back bed, Dad was forced to break hard. I was moving forward now... and I slid off the bed and slid two metres and slammed into the corner of the counter. I still have the bruise.
We drove through Quebec to Vermont, which was as lovely as I remembered. It really is pretty; all those lush mountains. We camped at Moose River Campground, which was catered mostly to adults. Which as well and good. It was a pretty location, and there were fluffy cats to pet. But unfortunately, the speed-bumps were so high, our jacks scraped them as we drove over them. And the woman of the couple who owned the place was a rude bitch. Still, we weren't too fazed - we were in travel-dazzle.
Now, our motorhome: it's a 34-foot thing with a slide-out at the front. It has a lovely washroom area, more storage space than we could've asked for, and two TVs (which we didn't use). And a cd player. The last RV we had didn't have a cd player. It is white on the outside with colourful - green and blue and deep purple - wavy stripes on the side that make an illusion of mountains. There are little Canadian flags on the down corners to the rear. That first night at Moose River I discovered something unpleasant: the matress to the fold-out bed beneath the couch was terrible. I could feel springs in my side. So that night and each following, I took down the cushions from the couch and put them down in order at the foot of the couch, threw a thick comforter down as an added matress, put a sheet over that, and that was my bed. The lumpy affair was one of the most comfortable beds I'd slept on.
From Moose River we traveled to Mount Washington, where Dad wanted to take the cog railway up (he adores trains), but they were so messed up (I'm not sure why everything was disorganized), that we had to return, with a reservation, on Wednesday. Their washrooms were very prettily painted, however. So from Mt. Washington we went onward to North Conway, New Hampshire.
We went to North Conway for a very specific reason. And if you know the attractions of North Conway, you will know exactly why we went. We went to shop. For North Conway is home to the Settler's Green factory outlet village (among others), where you get great goods for greater prices. Man, do I sound like an advertisement! But yes, to shop.
We camped at Saco River, where we had many, many times in the past. I remembered it pretty clearly, too. The people who worked there were rude, so it's unlikely we'll ever camp there again. And, besides, it's a family campground, overrun with annoying brats-- I mean, little children. High annoyance factor.
We spent three days at North Conway, shopping till our feet ached and refused to carry us. I bought shorts, this really bizarre funky jacket that comes to my knees that is so completely weird that if (when) I wear it to school I shall attract numerous stares, and some chocolate. Lindt Factory outlet. Mmmm. I'm not fond of chocolate; you should hear my Hershey rant (this comes of having a brother who owns a chocolate factory: you finally get sick of chocolate), but Lindt chocolate is of fine quality and has a special place in my heart. I also bought a gorgeous pair of black, clunky-heeled boots at Dress Barn for some cheap price.
At the Wal-Mart I bought a needlepoint design to work on. Now, you must understand this: America, or North America, is very fond of cross-stitch. I don't cross-stitch. I do needlepoint. I embroider. Which means all the prettiest designs; the running horses, the other pretty ones - they were all cross-stitch! The pathetic selection of needlepoint was rather discouraging. So I bought a little thing that has some random asiatic character (I assume Chinese) and the words happiness below. I can spend quite a lot of time whiling away minutes with a needle and thread. Ok, so I'm your original badgirl; I've fenced, I want to do martial arts (money being a problem right now...), I'm a feisty, rude, bold, blunt sort of person. And I love needlework. I love sewing. I love embroidery. It all works. Trust me.
On Wednesday we spent the morning at Mt. Washington. Now, here's a very good piece of advice I want all to take to heart: Never put a PMS-ing teenager on a train. Especially when she's not overly thrilled to be on vacation and hates trains with the burning passionate hatred of a thousand hells. I cramped badly up, cramped down, started bleeding a few hours later. No wonder I was such a grump for the entirety of the trip... and I was, never fear. That's Amber; wrecking vacations a day at a time. There were good moments. I like shopping (just not too much). But yes, train and mountain, not fun. Nevermind the fact that we were going up near vertical at five mph. I was scared out of my wits besides the infernal cramping!
And after that, more shopping. Yes, we shopped a lot. The nxt day we started out to Maine; specifically, Old Orchard Beach (where we actually didn't end up going) and Portland. We ended up spending some time at a Wal-Mart in some place in Maine called Windham, since we attempted to buy contact lenses.... the affair is a bit convoluted and I don't feel like explaining why we spent so much time there.
We spent a night in some campground in Maine. I don't know where we were, except by the ocean, which covers way too much area. There was something very peculiar about this night. First of all, in this quare of campsites, there were two Quebecois, and two Ottawa peoples (Us and a family from the Valley - the accent was audible). Now, it just so happened that something (I'm still not sure what, it's all jargon and Greek to me) went wrong, electrically speaking, with our motorhome. And the other Ottawanian man, one Darryl, just happened to be a retired electrician. The coincidence still has me reeling. It's like something out of a bad novel. Yes, whatever was wrong was ... if not swiftly... at least fixed.
The campground didn't really have much room, so the next day we were given the boot. We shrugged and, car in tow, traveled over Maine searching for a campground. Mom found one on the map, and through some twisting, twiny streets we arrived at a small campground with a large sign: NO RVs. I sighed and settled into the co-driver seat (I called shotgun for most of the trip, to my parents' general displeasure, Mom more than Dad) and said, cheerfully, "Well, it's an adventure!" Those words heralded an event that was certainly adventurous.
For you see, in Maine, or at least that area, there are a very many picturesque cottage-like homes. It's all very pretty. And one house (for sale, but we didn't know it then) had a very lovely stone wall. One problem: it was crumbling. Now, this house is a corner house located by an insection. We stopped at this intersection for half a second, and then hastily turned left upon consultation of map and sign. It was fine for three seconds, and then there was a sickening crunch. We stopped, alarmed. A (Quebec) motorcycle passed us by, and stopped, swerving, shouting at us to stop. For something was dreadfully wrong with our car!
In panic we raced out of the RV to see our car's left tire had rammed into a giant boulder that had fallen from the crumbling wall. (Other boulders were scattered about.) Our RV has escaped the boulders, but the poor little golden Saturn could not. We attempted to unhitch the car, but the angle made the pins hideously difficult to pull out. The kind Quebecois motorcyclist, his wife and we watching on, used a mallet to get the pins out, and finally we could unhitch.
Around then a fire-rescue chap and the police arrived. They had thought there was a motorcycle-motorhome collision, and were relieved to find that no one, save our poor car, was injured (and parts of the motorhome, but nothing too serious). Dad backed up the car. The police informed us that 400 yards (or something... I don't know yards...like, wtf is a yard?) the road widened and we could hitch there. So Dad and I drove the motorhome to this widening of the road (a chalked off area with a sign "Parking by Permit Only"), and awaited Mother and the car. Shortly, one of the police came over and informed us something was wrong with the car (something wrong with the tire... and not the one which had collided with the boulder!), and he would drive us back to the intersection.
As I investigated the police car (never rode shotgun in a police car before...), the policeman, a rather young, polite chap, received a message: the car was coming down slowly. And eventually the parade came: Mom and the Saturn crawling at 5 mph, followed by two police cars and a police van! I wonder what the locals thought.
They called for a tow-truck, and as we waited (for a longer time than we'd hoped), we talked to the first policeman. (The rest left). Eventually, Policeman1 was joined by a puffing, panting 21-year old Policeman2. We discussed sports and politics (sortof...) and tourism and the weather and other topics. Two bicyclers went by, one calling to the other, "I've never seen anyone parked there before!" And eventually the tow-truck came.
We in the motorhome followed the tow-truck out of Maine into Portsmouth, New Hampshire (a few miles away), to a Saturn dealer. I spent the entire rest of the day reading Dragons of Winter Night and eating rainbow sherbet while we waited for our car to be fixed, and then, while we drove to the campground we'd put a two night reservation for. It was a quaint little place with an impossible road and some very amiable, affable, and thoroughly friendly owners who were very polite. I saw a lobster on the road... it was small and black and I kicked dirt at it to see if it were alive.
We spent our nights in Portsmouth, NH, and our days shopping in Kittery, Maine. At the Dress Barn outlet there, I bought three gorgeous garments. First, a silky thing of abstract patterns in various shades of green, with sparkling rhinestones glued on about it (I just know they'll fall off and I'll had to sew some sequins on to make up for it...). Secondly, a red sweater with a furry black collar and black beads and sequins sewn across the front (this stylish winter thing was the most expensive of the lot). Third, a beautiful shirt with a low-cut v-neck, fluttery loose long sleeves, a bright maroon rose at the base of the neck, and a ruffling of material underneath the rose. And last, a 'Goth shirt'; black up to right over the breasts, and the sleeves and rest mesh (which looks actually a bit less Goth than it sounds). I'm very fond of these...
The rest of the trip is uneventful, consisting of driving home, whining, and too many grocery stores. But we made it home safe and sound, a day early (thanks to an incessant rain that made doing anything else other than driving less than enjoyable). I'm ever so grateful to be home.