From the archives

I've been enjoying looking back at photos from a few years ago. This is one of the first that I took with my "new" camera, which will be four years old soon. I think I used the photo as an "Image of the Week" back in 2012, but otherwise you haven't seen it.

A valve on what I assume is a fire safety system in a building in Provincetown, Massachusetts, 2012.

I'm considering investing in another new camera. I'm only at the research stage at this point, but there are a couple of upgrade models I'm interested in, still in the Canon DSLR line. I want to have the flexibility to use my current lenses on a new camera and not have to replace them.

From the archives

Our current weather pattern is not really motivating me to get out to take pictures. It's dark and gray. I walk Callie either in the morning before it gets fully light or in the evening as the light is fading. The overcast makes it even darker. So, until it lightens up a bit, I'll share this photo from last May when we spent an afternoon in Plymouth, Massachusetts.

Pleasure boats anchored in Plymouth harbor, May 2012.

This is the harbor at Plymouth. The day was a Saturday and the weather was spectacular. Lots of people were out enjoying the warm sunshine, including us. We were on our way to Boston for our flight back to France after two weeks in the USA and Canada.

Between a rock and a lunch place

On Saturday morning, we packed up the car and headed out of Hyannis. The hotel guy had told us that if we got to the bridge before eleven a.m., we'd have no problems with traffic. He was right. Because we had time, we took the scenic route through Falmouth, dipping down through the southwestern part of the cape before heading back to the bridge.

Crazy Eddie's on Town Wharf, Plymouth Harbor.

Our first errand on our way back to Boston was to stop at an L.L. Bean outlet store in Wareham. We found it pretty easily in a large shopping center and spent about a half-hour shopping. Ken and I both found some nice shirts for good prices. Then we had to stuff them into our luggage. Yes, that was us you saw unpacking and repacking the parking lot.

Tails of the Sea. Get it? I think these might be whale-watching boats.

Our second errand was to find a place for lunch. We headed to Plymouth, back up on the coast on the way to Boston. I'm sure I've been there, but I only have a vague memory of it. We made our way to the waterfront very near the famous rock, then drove northward. It was lunch time and we were ready. Ken found a parking spot near a large pier that is home to a large bar and grill called Crazy Eddie's. The car was parked and we were hungry; this was the place.

The Mayflower II. It's bigger than I thought it would be, much larger than Henry Hudson's Half Moon.

We both enjoyed a huge servings of fish and chips. Delicious. The view from our table out over the water was spectacular, as was the weather. Warm, dry, sunny. The restaurant filled up as we finished, then we headed out for a walk around town before the final drive up to the airport. It was all very pleasant. We had a look at the Mayflower II, a replica of the famous ship that brought those religious fanatics out of England to the New World. Then we went to the Temple of the Rock to view, well, the Rock. It's a rock.

Yup. It's a rock. Apparently the original rock was removed and chipped apart over the years. This is all that's left.

A quick stroll through town took us back to the car and we headed to Boston and our overnight flight home to France. What an amazing two weeks we had. Thanks for sticking with me through two months of vacation photos. If nothing else, these blog entries will serve as a record of our trip and help jog our memories in our dotage.

Good-bye to Provincetown

Our few hours at the tip of Cape Cod came to an end. It was nice to see the place I've read so much about and I'd like to go back one day. But there's already too much on my "one day" list. I guess you can't do it all.

I don't know who they are, but they're in my picture.

The drive back to Hyannis was uneventful and I probably slept most of the way. Ken drove. I woke up just as we were getting close to our turn, but we missed it anyway and had to double back. We opened up the bottle of wine we bought and had a glass or two before bed. Well, not a glass; a plastic hotel cup.

The next morning we would drive up to Boston for our evening flight home, but we had a few stops to make along the way first.

When the moon hits your eye

Our dinner in Provincetown turned out to be... pizza. With all the choices, all the seafood, all the fancy, we went with something simple and comfortable. I think pizza is my favorite food group. I will always eat pizza. And when Ken says, "why don't we just get a pizza," I'm there.

This way to pizza.

Even with the decision of pizza made, we still had to choose among the three or four places we saw that served it. The winner was a place called John Dough's. They had outdoor seating on a deck one level above the main street and we liked the menu. Individual pizzas baked in a wood-fired oven. And a nice selection of wines by the glass.

The outdoor dining deck at John Dough's as we were leaving. It wasn't crowded.

As the sun set, one of the waitresses attempted to light the heat lamp near our table. She teetered on a chair and had several "whooosh!" moments with the propane before giving up and calling someone else. He lit the thing on the first try; obviously an expert. The food was good and we enjoyed the atmosphere. And then we headed back to the car.

We all scream

I'll bet this place in Provincetown on Cape Cod is getting a workout this week. We didn't stop in; I took the photo through the front door when no one was looking.

A Provincetown ice cream shop.

You're sure to fall in love...

...with old Cape Cod. All right, enough with the song lyrics. I still have a few photos of Provincetown I'd like to share. It looks nothing like this right now, I'm sure, since this is the Fourth of July week. I'll bet it's packed to the rafters with happy vacationers.

An old stone or concrete sign reassembled on the beach.

The big event going on this week in France is the Tour de France bicycle race, which started on Saturday. School vacations also just started this weekend, so many people are on the road getting to where they'll spend their holiday. Wimbledon tennis is nearing its finals weekend across the channel.

Colorful kayaks piled up (upside down), ready for the summer onslaught.

Preparations are certainly being made for France's national day, le quatorze julliet (Bastille Day on July 14). I'm sure our little town will be having its annual fireworks display down on the river. The annual Snail Festival, which is basically a big flea market with food and entertainment, will take place on the 22nd. If the weather is good, we might wander down for a quick walk-through.

The entrance to a restaurant, club, or boutique on Commercial Street.

So, the summer season is officially under way on both sides of the Atlantic. I'm hoping the weather cooperates and we have two good months of sunny days and (relatively) warm temperatures. The vegetable garden will like that.

If you like the taste of a lobster stew

Having dinner was our ultimate goal in Provincetown that Friday night. But when it came right down to it, we decided that we didn't want to have a big meal that would make us sleepy; we had an hour and a half drive to get back to our hotel afterward.

This place was very tempting, but we didn't end up eating here. Maybe next time.

Still, there are so many tempting places up and down Commercial Street. We had some recommendations from friends who had visited before, including the Lobster Pot in the photo above. As we strolled around, we looked in windows, glanced at menus, and kept getting hungrier.

Quaint little villages here and there

Here are some images of Commercial Street, the main street, in Provincetown. These aren't the greatest shots, but they are the only wider shots I took during our short walk that evening.

Provincetown's Pilgrim Monument rises high above the center of town (left).

The people we saw on the street were obviously enjoying the almost balmy weather. Remember, this was mid-May and a Friday evening. I'm sure folks were happy to be able to stroll around as if it were summer.

Most buildings along the central section of Commercial Street are shops, restaurants, or art galleries.

I don't know how I'd feel about being there in the height of summer, though. I'm sure there's a great energy, but I don't do well with large crowds, crawling traffic, lines for food, and the other trappings of a popular vacation spot. Especially one that's not far from a large city. People try to "get away from it all" but more often than not just end up bringing it all with them.

The sun goes down and the lights come on.

I suppose it's just the change of scenery that the vacationers are after, exchanging country air for city air, walking on a beach instead of a concrete wharf, leisurely enjoying an ice cream cone instead of choking down a fast-food lunch. Can't blame them for that.

If you're fond of sand dunes and salty air

We only spent a few hours in Provincetown, a fishing-village-turned-resort town on the tip of Cape Cod. It was Friday night, but it was also the week before Memorial Day, so while there were people out and about, the town was far from crowded. I know how crowded it can get; I've seen pictures.

A large pier in Cape Cod Bay at Provincetown. You can see the cape curling southward on the horizon.

We found a place to park the car about two blocks from Commercial Street and set out on foot. With our limited time we just walked up and down the street looking at all the shops and thinking about where to have dinner. At nearly every intersection there is a view toward the bay and at a couple points we went down to the beach for a closer look.

A pier that's seen better days, but still lovely.

The shops, galleries, and restaurants along Commercial Street are colorful and inviting. The weather was perfect and, as I said, there were people strolling everywhere but I never felt crowded, so taking pictures was fun and not frustrating. The sun started to set and Ken and I were getting hungry.

We felt welcome and right at home in Provincetown.

Another fine bugaboo

We left Albany on Friday morning and headed east toward Cape Cod. We had made reservations at a hotel in Hyannis and planned on driving up to Provincetown that evening for dinner. Neither of us had been to P-town before. Just outside of Boston, somewhere along I-495 near Milford, we stopped for a quick lunch. Not knowing where we were, we looked for shopping centers alongside the interstate exits where we were likely to find a collection of national chains to choose from.

The Highland Lighthouse in Truro, Massachusetts, on the Atlantic side of the Cape.

It didn't take long for us to find a restaurant that looked promising, although we'd never heard of it before. It was called the Bugaboo Creek Steak House. This one corner of a shopping plaza, right there in the heart of New England, was done up to resemble a mining lodge from the Canadian Rockies. It looked as though Walt Disney himself had directed the design. We were greeted outside by a huge carved wood statue of a moose. Inside, an imposing rock fireplace commanded the center of the dining room. The stuffed heads of such northern critters as bison, deer, and caribou hung here and there on the walls among all manner of north country memorabilia. The chandeliers were made to look like they were crafted from antlers. Snowshoes dangled from the rafters. I think I remember seeing a Royal Canadian Mounted Police (Mountie) uniform and the characteristic hat somewhere.

Ken's photo of the steak house. There's Mr. Moose on the left.

The food choices were pretty much what you'd expect in a rugged Rockies-themed steak house: Classic Steaks! Big Mountain Burgers! Summit Sides! Mountain Outfitters' Specials! I suppose even the most dyed-in-the-deck-shoes New Englander needs a change from his near constant diet of lobster and scrod now and again. Ken and I resisted the larger meals (although the Moosebreath Burger was tempting) and we both ordered something called a Lodge Chicken Salad. The salads came garnished with the grilled breast of a free-range Canadian Snowbird Chicken (I hope it's not an endangered species). It turned out to be mighty tasty, eh?

Ken's photo of the interior. Yes, that's a stuffed raccoon on the left. Appetizing. See the bison's head on the wall?

After lunch we looked forward to the short drive out to the Cape. As it was a Friday afternoon and the weather was beautiful, there were a few other people looking forward to the same thing. And all of us chose the same moment to converge on the two bridges that cross the man-made canal that separates the mainland from the cape itself. There we sat. And sat. And crawled a little. But mostly sat. For about an hour. The bridge we had chosen was down to a single lane because of construction. The other was backed up just as bad handling the overflow.

But we made it. We got checked into the hotel (the staff were very friendly and helpful) and headed up the cape to Provincetown, about ninety minutes away, for dinner.

A lunch stop

We drove south from Burlington on route 7, with a quick swing through Middlebury, and made our way to Bennington, where we planned to have lunch before heading west back to Albany. As we approached Bennington, however, we got snarled in a small traffic jam due to some road construction.

A rather picturesque general store in North Bennington, Vermont.

We finally made our way into the middle of town, but didn't find an appropriate spot for lunch. After a little detour to avoid riding through the construction site a second time, we found ourselves in North Bennington. It's not much more than an intersection, but there were several restaurants and a general store.

Kevin's Sports Pub & Restaurant, North Bennington, Vermont. I recommend it.

The place we decided on for lunch is called Kevin's Sports Pub and Restaurant. A charming little place with a bar on one side and a dining room on the other. We had a chuckle listening to the waitress deal with an elderly couple who couldn't seem to get their order together. "Just tell me what you DON'T want," was a sentence we heard her repeat a few times. Our food was very tasty and after we were on our way "home" to New York State.

Above Lake Champlain

While we visited Battery Park high above Lake Champlain in Burlington, Vermont, a sailboat glided in toward the marina. I posted a photo of it back in May (while we were still in the US), but I thought I'd post a couple more.

Northern Lake Champlain, looking west toward New York's Adirondack Mountains.

Burlington was a fun stop. We stayed less than twenty-four hours, but were happy to walk around the center of town on Sunday afternoon. Our lunch was good; we had chicken caesar salads and white wine from California while sitting at an outdoor table on Church Street.

We weren't the only ones enjoying the view.

That evening, we were in a Motel 6 just north of town. The place was pretty much brand new and it was comfortable. Across the parking lot was a Burger King where we got some fries and some burgers for an in-room snack. We also had a bottle of wine. The fries were good, but the burgers were... not. We got up and out and headed south on Monday morning, just in time for rush hour.

Another immaculate conception

This is the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception in Burlington, Vermont. Very modern and very different from the one in Albany. The original cathedral, a much more traditional churchy-looking building, was destroyed by fire in 1972.

Is it a barn? Is it a grain elevator? Is it a church?

I like the muted colors of this building as well as its geometry. It's very modern, but uses some traditional New England forms in its design. We didn't venture inside, but there are probably some photos out there on the internet.

Two-toned brick and metal (copper?) sheathing.

Wile E. Coyote shops here

All those years, sending away for mail-order items in his attempts to catch the roadrunner, that crafty coyote (eatibus anythingus) was reaching out from the Arizona desert to... Burlington, Vermont. Of course, these days, he'd use Amazon or e-Bay.

This is actually a glass store. They don't sell anvils any more.

I saw a few more interesting signs in Burlington. In case you aren't sure what this building's address is, it's spelled out very nicely. Twicely.

I think there are more than one.

And then there's this one. Guess who it's all about?

I have no idea what this means.

Ok, enough about me.

The land of maple syrup and cheddar

I know what you're thinking. Isn't Canada maple syrup country? Isn't Cheddar in England? Well... yes and yes. But the maple trees don't stop growing at international borders and, after all, Vermont is in New England. So it all makes sense. Doesn't it.

The Church Street Marketplace in Burlington, Vermont, where we had Sunday lunch outdoors.

Maple syrup is produced throughout New York and New England, and Vermont is the largest producer of syrup in the United States (Québec is the largest producer overall, making three quarters of the world's supply). You can't go into a store in Vermont without seeing syrup for sale.

The church at the end of Church Street, Burlington, VT.

American Cheddar cheese (the name Cheddar is not yet protected) is manufactured in Wisconsin (the nation's largest producer), California, Oregon, New York, and Vermont, among others. Vermont Cheddar (also referred to as "white" Cheddar) contains no added coloration as other American Cheddars can. Canada, Australia, and South Africa are among the other countries that produce Cheddar-style cheeses.

Sunday afternoon in a Burlington sidewalk café/restaurant.

When I think of Vermont, I think of maple syrup and Cheddar cheese. It's always food with me.

Burlington bound

We left Montréal at mid-morning and headed south, passing through St.-Jean-Sur-Richelieu on the way to the US border. It's a town that Ken wanted to see and maybe have lunch in. We drove around and saw the place, but nothing really grabbed us for food so we decided to wait until we got to Burlington.

View from an island in northern Lake Champlain, in Vermont. Click to champlify.

The American border guard was slightly less than polite. I know they're trying to trip up the bad guys, but why do American immigration and customs agents always make me, an American citizen, feel like a criminal suspect every time I come back into the country? The Canadian agent smiled and welcomed us. The worst I get in France is a Gallic shrug.

Island lodging, North Hero Island, Vermont.

I've never had a problem getting back into the country, it's just that the agents seem to start with the assumption that we're up to no good. This time we just got the twenty questions, including why did we pick this particular "podunk" station at which to cross the border. Ummm, because it's there? Because we've been through all the others and this is the last one before we're eligible for a prize? Because we're carrying a shipment of illegal drugs in the trunk and we thought no one would notice?

None of the above. It's always best to tell the truth: we're on our way to Burlington and we wanted to drive on the small highway over the islands in Lake Champlain. We're tourists. The agent let us go without looking in the trunk. The only reason I mention that is because he looked in the trunk of the car just ahead of us. They must have been foreigners.

Free beer in Portsmouth

We left Rockport and Bob drove us further up the coast to another lovely port town: Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Our second state in two days. The downtown section feels more urban than Rockport and it is just as charming. The building stock is well preserved and the town is lively and animated. Of course, it was Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining brightly. That helped a lot, I'm sure.

Market Street in downtown Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Bob told us that, among other things, Portsmouth was famous for its micro breweries. We headed for the Portsmouth Brewery on Market Street to taste some of the local beer. The main restaurant and bar was filled to the brim, so we ducked downstairs to the smaller bar where we found a few empty stools and ordered a few half-pints and a small plate of appetizers.

The sign outside the Portsmouth Brewery. Great beer!

The beer and the food were great, but what happened next was even better. Without thinking about it, I was wearing a baseball cap. A New York Yankees baseball cap that I've had for years. And, while it hadn't occurred to me, I was wearing it in Boston Red Sox territory. Uh-oh.

The bar manager, a young and rather burly guy, noticed and said, "You've got a lot of courage to wear that in here." I thought I was in serious trouble. He wouldn't hit an old guy in glasses, would he?

"Well," I said, "I'm from upstate New York." As if that would somehow make everything all right. "I didn't even realize I was wearing it."

"It's ok," the manager replied, "I'm a New Yorker, too, from down in the Hudson Valley." We were practically neighbors. "And just for that," he continued, "I'm going to comp your beer."

I cracked back, "And then you'll probably throw it in my face." Smiles all around. The manager laughed and disappeared into the back room. We didn't see him again.

But when the bill came, all three of our beers were free. We paid for the food and gave the waitress a very nice tip.

Lobstah

The undisputed star of the seafood platter on the New England coast is the lobster. You see them on nearly every menu and in nearly every market. Their price is variable, depending on the season and the fishing conditions, and it changes almost daily.

Lobster pots piled up on a wharf in Rockport Harbor. The red fishing shack at the end is called "Motif No. 1" and is touted as the most often painted building in America. I didn't know that when I took the picture.

Rockport is one of the many coastal towns with a history of fishing and lobster trapping. To catch lobster, baited cages (called "pots") are lowered to the sea floor, their locations marked with buoys. The lobsters wander in but can't get out. Fishermen haul the cages up to their boats and remove the lobsters. As with most fishing, there are strict rules about how many and what size lobsters can be kept.

Fishing shacks on the water's edge in Rockport.

I ate lobster only once on this trip. It was in Kittery, Maine, just over the boarder from New Hampshire. Ken had a plate of claws and I ate a lobster roll, a salad of lobster meat made with mayonnaise and served on a bun. Delicious!

Houses with wet feet

Our stay in the US began in the Boston suburbs. One of Ken's friends from graduate school and his wife came to visit us in France last September. While here, Bob and Norma kindly invited us to visit them when we traveled in the Northeast, and we took them up on the offer!  Our only disappointment was that Norma had to be out of town when we arrived. Still, she baked a cake and a loaf of banana bread that we enjoyed in her absence.

The buildings on Bearskin Neck in Rockport back right up to the water.

Bob surprised us with grilled steaks on our arrival that Friday evening. We nibbled on cheese and crackers with some wine, then devoured Bob's expertly grilled steaks with baked potatoes and green salad. And more wine. We retired to bed around midnight after a terrific evening of fine food and story telling.

The next day, Bob suggested a drive up the coast north of Boston. We drove through Gloucester, making a pit stop at a local Walgreens, before arriving in the historic fishing village of Rockport. We parked the car and had a nice lunch at the Blue Lobster Grille, after which we strolled along Bearskin Neck, a bit of real estate that juts out into Sandy Bay.