Bah Hahba

One of the picturesque streets in Bar Harbor. All the buildings
house shops or restaurants, or shops with restaurants in them.

Weather will dictate how we spend the next three days. Monday is supposed to be a bit on the cool side, "breezy," which we will learn is the term they use in Maine for pretty much a normal West Texas day, and partly cloudy.

Tuesday is supposed to be warmer and less windy. We also learn there's a storm surge warning because of Hurricane Leslie that will lessen throughout the day. Wednesday will be the warmest day, with seas of only 1-2 feet.

All that adds up to shopping on Monday, the national park on Tuesday, and whale watching Wednesday 

Once you arrive on Mount Desert Island, you can go almost anywhere using "free" buses. I say "free" because when you board the bus, it has a money collection box with a sign asking for donations to help keep the buses free. They're propane powered so you'll feel doubly good about protecting the environment -- using mass transit that uses cleaner burning fuel. The denizen of Bar Harbor seem to be very keen about being green.

For me, it's a case of not having to worry about figuring out how to get where we want to go. With my penchant for getting lost, this is a good thing. 

One bus route starts at our hotel, though we never quite figure out the schedule, which doesn't seem to match the published one. The bus delivered us to the village green, and we begin working our way down the narrow streets, popping into numerous shops. 

Bar Harbor is a tourist town, one that abuts a national park and that draws a different cruise liner almost every day of the week. Because it's September, we don't see many children. Couples are either our children's age and younger or our age and older. I send a co-worker an e-mail about our good fortune  with the car and note that I haven't seen that many old people outside a retirement community. 

We are bombarded with puns and humorous references to the Maine accent in the shop names and on the merchandise. We actually don't hear the Maine accent much, but it's charming when we do. Part of the picture in my mind.

At the risk of sounding like a teenage girl, I found the cutest little stuffed moose in one of the shops. We're not going to see a real moose on this trip, but moose toys, sculptures and pictures are everywhere, though. The cute stuffed moose is "mounted" on our bookcase now. 

This doesn't come close to doing justice to the view from
the town pier.

We're going to need a warm coat for our whale watching tour, but we were unable to find anything suitable at home. The shops have loads of the perfect coat at a reasonable price. They all have patches with either "Bar Harbor" or "Acadia" on them, but I'm willing to sacrifice. Of course, the first time we go to WalMart after our return, we find lots of similar coats suddenly available. Oh well.

We put off buying the coats until Wednesday so we don't have to haul them around or deal with them and shop our way down to the harbor. A nice, though. little park fronts the harbor, and I'm stunned by the view when we arrive. The picture in my mind lies before me, and its beauty is overwhelming. If I don't do another thing while here, my trip has been made. 

We putter about, taking dozens of pictures, then decide we're hungry. We wind up at the West Street Cafe, one of the many charming, little restaurants in the town. Maine is famous for lobster, of course, and you can't go into a restaurant without finding lobster on the menu. Hamburger joint? Lobster rolls. Breakfast cafe? You can have lobster in your omelet or as part of a breakfast burrito. In fact, the only place I don't see lobster listed is at Subway. Yes, we did. 

We have fried haddock, with a light breading. Very unlike the fried seafood you buy in Texas, even along the coast. The fish doesn't taste fried and has a firm, pleasing texture. I could eat this any time. 

Balance Rock

After lunch we decide to walk the Shore Path, a one-mile improved path that starts at the scenic, and huge, Bar Harbor Inn and winds between Frenchman's Bay and a bunch of mansions, some of which hark back to early last century when rich folks with names like Pulitzer, Rockefeller and Campbell (you know, the soup guy) built summer homes in the town. One of the smaller ones is for sale, but we don't bother to do any research to try to find out how much it might cost. If you have to ask ...

The sign marking the beginning of the path features an interesting rock formation that comes  into view a short way along the path after you pass the Inn. Apparently it's called Balance Rock and dates back to some distant ice age. The tide is out, and on our way back Sharon climbs down to the Shore and stands by the rock to provide a size perspective shot.

One of the Porcupine Islands. See the resemblance?

The Porcupine Islands dominate the view, and you discover quickly why they're called that. A birch tree that no longer produces leaves stands like a ghost with long arms stretched to the sky. And flowering bushes with red, berry-like fruit line the path and shore.

Another couple on the path stop, and the woman pulls off one of the fruit and begins eating it. I ask if they can tell us about the plant. It's a rose, the man tells us, and the red fruit are rose hips, tart and high in Vitamin C. They're an Asian import, from Japan, he thinks. According to the Internet, the popular name for them is Beach Rose and the hips are sometimes referred to as Beach Tomatoes. Neither of us is tempted to try the rose hips for ourselves.

A Beach Rose with rose hips.

We walk to the point where the path turns up into town, then go back to enjoy the sights from the opposite perspective. Back in town, we find plenty more shops to visit, as well as the post office so we can send post cards to the kids and a convenience store for a soda.

We decide we'll be cheap for dinner and stop by the Subway to pick up a sandwich -- told you we did -- and head back to the village green to grab the bus back to the hotel. After a nap and supper, we try to figure out where the town's grocery is. The phone book lists one but does not provide an address, just a phone number. I find the location on the Internet. So much for phone books.

We take the Mustang and head back to town to the grocery and buy some fruit for snacks. We'd already stopped by a bakery across from the post office and picked up pastries for breakfast. After having walked for some six hours, sleep probably won't be a problem.

Tomorrow, we'll head for Acadia National Park.