Another day at the Maine coast, and it starts the same way the last two did: Foggy, rainy, cold.
For something to do we check out of our hotel, just for a change of scenery. Then drive off in search of a "Drop-off" laundry service. We get lucky. A reason to celebrate. So we drive into the town of Bar Harbor and walk aimlessly through the drizzle, dropping into interesting shops on the main tourist streets. All of a sudden, a familiar sign leaps out of the visual sensory overload: "Guinness".
This is exactly what keeps the Irish sane in almost identical weather. As a major bonus, the place has a couple of pool tables, and I have now found the perfect place to wait out the weather.
Guinness is good food, but eventually hunger drove us out to find something more chewable. Art and Les are craving Maine lobster, steamed and whole. Although this is not at all what I'm hungry for, I go along for the ride. They find the quintessential Maine lobster place, exactly what they were looking for. As you walk through the front door, you visit the lobster coolers, seething with the crusty critters, claws safetied with thick rubber bands. You point out which beast you want to eat, the attendant passively stuffs it into a rope bag and takes it outside to one of five wood-fired steaming ovens for a certain tortured death. Art and Les choose a couple of two-plus pounders, but I can't even think about looking these things in the eye, and then sending them off to the ovens, so I have a cup of coffee and some cake.
After about 15 minutes, Art and Les are going at it with special tools of destruction. A nut-cracker to break open the shells and a pick to get the meat out of the little places. I look around and the whole place is packed with people eagerly digging into these recently living lobsters. It reminds me of a couple of movies I've seen: a cross between the bar scene in Star Wars, and the eating scene in Tom Jones. Art and Les are delighted to show me all of the different special places and parts and organs as they stuff these animals into their faces. Now I know why I am inclined to be a vegetarian. And to think that the entire coastal economy of Maine is centered on baiting, catching, killing and eating lobsters.
For desert we return for some more Guinness and pool, and then head to the movies to catch "Flirting With Disaster", an excellent comedy. And then some more Guinness and pool. After a while, it almost doesn't matter any more about the weather. Maybe there can be a life outside of flying biplanes.
When we leave later that evening there is a noticeable very large break in the clouds.