By bus and boat around Portland, Maine
One of the many things I hate about buses is that you never exactly know where they stop and at what time they actually do leave. They are clueless when I acquire in the tourist information in the former station of Bath where the bus stop is. One of the girls has seen waiting people at a street corner, another thinks it is in front of the city hall. However, they are sure there are several stops on Front Street.
The old town of Portland
Several thousand people work at BIW, Bath iron works, the big shipyard along the river Kennebec. There are parking lots full of big cars and pick-up trucks with at least a five liter engine. And there is no bus, no train, …..? There are stops at the street next to the factory. What stops there? Nothing, according to Google.
In front of one of the many banks on front street is a no-curbside-parking area and the sign of the trolley stop. Next to the trolley stop is a woman busy writing notes. I guess she waits for a bus but when I ask she only can tell that the local Bath trolley stops here – in summer. However, a little later a minibus arrives and the driver assures that this indeed also is the bus-stop for the bus to Brunswick. It should arrive at 4.30 pm. According to my schedule it is supposed to depart at 4.45 pm. I have almost two hours to kill. I spend most at the pleasant Cafe Crème next door.
Old Port area Portland
I am at the bus stop again much before the arrival time that the other bus driver has indicated. Two others waiting shorten the time by smoking a cigarette. It already is almost dark. There is no timetable at the bus stop and the bus to Brunswick is not indicated on the sign. I get nervous when the time on the display at the bank next door moves past 4.45 pm. The display alternates with the temperature, which meanwhile has dropped to 36 F.
The bus arrives at 4.52 pm. As a senior I have to pay 2 $ for the ride – quite a difference to the 50 that I had paid for the Uber to come here. I can pay the ride on the bus in cash – no change, it is common to just insert the money into the slit of a box next to the driver. The bus is well used by colorful African immigrants who fill the interior with a continuous babble in an incomprehensible language. Meanwhile it is pitch dark. The bus leaves the outskirts of Bath and drives in an unknown direction, then stops on a parking lot in the middle of nowhere. All the Africans get off. They say hello to the driver, whom they seem to know well, and smile at me. At the same time a big number of new colorful Africans get on, again all on friendly terms with the driver. The bus continues, and after a while on the highway, stops at another parking lot somewhere across the highway from one of those enormous American shopping malls surrounding an even more enormous parking area. More colorful Africans get on, this time with shopping bags. The driver tells me that the next stop will be mine, but meanwhile I am familiar enough with the area to recognize the station of Brunswick. The bus full of Africans continues.
West end residential area Portland
In his book “Station Amerika” the Dutch writer Emile Kossen describes his journey of 11267 km by train across the USA. He starts out with the train from Brunswick to Portland. He describes it as a highly progressive town where oak milk and the LGBTI+ elite rules. In my expectation a town which such a reputation also must have advanced public transport, pedestrian or car-free zones and high environmental awareness.
The next morning I want to continue to Portland. I could take the train, which is ready to depart when I arrive at the station, but I had already arrived here by train and want to take a different route when possible. There is an hourly bus to Portland. It is slower but since it passes through Freeport and Yarmouth on its way it would be a different ride.
While I consider my decision the lady who runs the tourist information annex ticket shop in the station offers me her help. I ask her about the bus to Portland and it turns out that there are two different bus lines – local and express. There is no express this time of the day. The attendant tells me that, as before, the fare for the local bus is paid in cash into the box next to the driver. She is 82. “I have got my mother’s genes” she replies when I tell her that she looks at least 10 years younger. She had started working here as a volunteer for the tourist information but when the train came back to Brunswick they needed attendants for the station and she got the job. It keeps her busy.
She is glad that the train returned. With her parents, she was used to ride the Boston & Maine regularly. The return ticket was 50 ct. Her grandfather worked for the railway. Then all the passenger trains disappeared. Now they seem to come back and an extension of the present service beyond Brunswick to Lewiston and Auburn is planned.
Donation of surplus winter jackets on a tree in Portland
She tells me that the African immigrants last night on the bus are housed in buildings on the former Naval air base in Brunswick. They can live there for free, which gave a lot of bad blood since more and more locals are homeless. One guy lives in the woods since 5 years, but according to her it is his own choice. Yesterday a girl slept on the bench outside the station. It was freezing. She wanted to go to South Carolina. Eventually she gave her one of the free tickets she has at her disposal and put her on a late train to Boston.
Old railway bridge in the outskirts of Portland
The bus is about to arrive and I say hello and go outside. A couple of people wait while smoking a cigarette. The bus crowd lives unhealthy, smoking seems to be a habit more typical for bus passengers. Maybe they are nervous because they never know whether and where the bus comes. One guy murmurs into himself while he munches on a piece of pizza. He has a bicycle with him and when the bus arrives he deposes it on a rack in the front. I dispose my fare of 2 $ in the box next to the driver, tell him where I want to get off and we are on our way to Portland. I am very proud of myself. In a country where the car industry has succeeded to reduce public transport to a minimum I seem to get along.
Again, this bus seems to stop at strange locations like parking lots next to shopping malls or gas stations. Later I discover tiny blue and white signs which indicate a bus stop. The number of the bus is indicated on the sign, but there is no schedule and no indication where this bus line is going to. In this case Google maps is a big help. The route planner shows very exact where the bus stops are and which bus you can take to your destination. Only the times are not correct – at least in Portland.
The center of Portland is on a peninsula surrounded by water on 3 and a half sides. The first Europeans already settled here in 1632. However, the development of Portland really set off with the construction of a railway to Montreal. Since the British and then Canadian ports were not free of ice in winter Portland became the main port for shipment to and from Canada. After 1923 Halifax became the leading Canadian Atlantic port. In addition the use of ice-breakers allowed to also ship from Canadian ports in winter. The importance of Portland declined.
In 1967 a highway was built to improve access to the town center. It involved the controversial demolition of historic homes along Franklin street. At same time the construction of shopping malls in the suburbs caused an economic decline of the downtown area.
Soon I also learn why the train, when it left Portland, first backed up and then continued in the previous direction. During the long time without passenger trains Portland Union station fell victim to a developer. The site is now occupied by a shopping plaza and an enormous parking lot. Next to it only former building of the Maine Central railway reminds of the station. It is also redeveloped. Trains are now leaving from the so called Portland Transportation center, which is outside town close to the airport.
Fish restaurants in the wharf area
The transportation center is a simple one story building surrounded by a huge parking lot. It serves both Amtrak and the Concord bus company. Inside is a waiting hall and ticket counter for both companies. Screen and voice announcements give indications when bus or train are leaving and then you can queue at a gate. For Amtrak you then have to walk down a long corridor to the platform. There is no check of ticket before you the train has departed.
Unfortunately I have selected a hotel which seemed to be close to the station. It is not. To get to the train Google tells me that I have to walk around several Interstate flyovers and to get into town it is either a long walk or a ride with the bus. During my stay I constantly have to think about how I best get to the train. It is also bitter cold during my stay in Portland. When I finally leave after 3 nights I ask the girl at the reception whether she has ever walked to the transportation center. It turns out that the hotel has a free shuttle service. It only takes 5 minutes to get to there. On the shuttle I also see that there is a comfortable path along the road between the hotel and the center which reduces the walk to just a couple of minutes.
After my arrival at the hotel, later in the afternoon, I try to walk into town. It is a gloomy day and I take the street down to the port. It is a long drag along busy roads. There are drive-in restaurants, parking lots, parking structures, car washes, car repair shops, gas stations, drive-in beauty and hair cut parlors. Leftover in between are some forlorn wooden houses. They would be nice if they were somewhere else. Eventually I walk up the escarpment above the port. Traffic gets less and houses nicer. What they call development, stops.
Fish market on the wharf in Portland
However, Portland has a problem with traffic. At every traffic light the few pedestrians wait for ages to be allowed to cross. What could be a nice promenade along the water is a busy multi-lane street. To the left the old brown-stone storehouses and industrial buildings were redeveloped into fancy hotels, shops and restaurants. To the right the former wharfs, are, again, parking lots. Only a few have retained their original function. In the beginning darkness I recognize fishing boats along piers piled with lobster traps and ramshackle storage areas. There is not a single pedestrian zone in this town which supposedly is one of the most progressive in the US.
In winter it is dark at 5 pm. It is also getting bitter cold. It doesn’t make much sense to continue walking around in the darkness. I decide on an early dinner. I walk past the windows of a restaurant. Inside I see Santa Claus with his family. The place is called Gilbert’s chowder house. I walk inside. Here Eric Clapton still has a crush on Layla and The Rolling Stones on Angie. Maybe I have discovered the last original harbor joint in Portland.
They offer various kinds of chowders in different sizes, all kinds of fish and chips, lobster dinners and, local beer. The space is decorated with everything typical for a fisherman’s place. I am glad I do not sit under the life size dolphin suspended on the wall above the tables. There are old photos, paintings and fishing gear. A lady takes the orders in a beeping voice. Everything except the beer comes in plastic cups and baskets. But it is good, plenty and affordable. My mood cheers up.
When I am finished with my dinner it is only 6 pm. Outside it feels like midnight at the north pole. I decide to take the bus back to the hotel. Google tells me to walk up for ten minutes and there should be a stop somewhere. Both line 7 and 9a should bring me to the hotel. But first appears line 8. I ask the driver whether he stops close to Park/St John. Both he and the passengers tell me that they pass close but not exact at where I want to be. I get out again. The bus pulls up again, then breaks and stops. The driver gets out and explains that I better take bus 7 or 9a. What a very kind service.
The next morning I walk into town along another route across the West End of Portland, a residential neighborhood looking down on what used to be a busy port. Streets lined with barren Trees. Most of the buildings have wooden porches and entrance stairways. Some would urgently need a new coat of paint, but I guess it costs a fortune to paint buildings like that. At every second street corner there is a red box with a telephone for direct contact with the police. Or fire alarms. On one somebody has written “police budget starves Portland”.
People walk their dogs. Plastic bags with newspapers are strewn on the ground before the house entrances. Surplus warm are hung into the trees as donation for the needy. I pass a church which offers accommodation for the homeless in this freezing time of the year.
Old port Portland
I roam those parts of the wharfs which have not been sacrificed to parking lots. Like everywhere at the New England coast they are fishing for lobster. Past piles of traps, plastic barrels full of ropes and bales of salt I end up at a device which fills plastic barrels with a mixture of salt and discarded fish. A guy empties big plastic containers of fish into a huge funnel. The other directs the device to fill plastic barrels with a mixture of fish and salt. They explain that it is used as bait for lobster. Although it is not the high season for lobster fishing in this area they need the bait in Canada where they fish year round. They need the bait. The fish are the remainders when industrially produced filets had been extracted. So all the parts of the fish are eventually used.
Portland old customs house. Unfortunately no access to the interior
There are plenty of fish restaurants specializing in lobster, oyster bars and fish markets on these wharfs. There are also plenty of pubs. What I do not find is a place where you just can sit down and warm up with a cup of coffee. Eventually I go into one of the pubs. Three oldtimers hang at the bar behind a glass of beer. Despite the cold the girl serving wears a short skirt, probably to show the tattoo on her thigh. Behind the bar on the wall a huge screen where robotic androids play some kind of game with a weird shaped ball. Since I am the only one drinking coffee I feel a bit out of place here. However, everybody is friendly. The music, psychedelic rock from the era between Pink Floyd and Cream, is hypnotizing. The guy next to me already is a bit tipsy. When he orders another beer the girl tells him to instead drink the glass of water she has put in front of him. He leaves.
Polar express train of the Maine Narrow Gauge Museum
Starting in 1879 a network of railroads that ran on rails only two feet apart was established in Maine. The narrow gauge and smaller trains were less expensive to construct and to operate. There were five of these lines, the Sandy River & Rangeley Lakes, the Bridgton & Saco River (later the Bridgton & Harrison), the Kennebec Central, the Wiscasset & Quebec and the Monson, The latter, which was only 6 miles long, was the last to close in 1943.
Engine number 7
In 1941, Ellis T Atwood, a wealthy cranberry grower in Massachusetts, had the idea to buy abandoned material of these railways to use them on his plantation. Although this never materialized, his collection was preserved and most of the ended up in Portland, which never had such a narrow gauge railway.
Affectionate cleaning of a steam engine
The reason was the Portland Company. It manufactured, as well as other engines, 630 steam locomotives. For a time the company was the city's largest employer. It initiated the foundation of the Maine Narrow Gauge railway museum, which runs trains on a 2 km long track along Casco Bay in Portland.
When I get there I find a train but no museum. In front of an improvised little shed two volunteers prepare engine number 7 for their annual fund-raising event, the Polar train, the American version of the European Santa Claus trains. They tell me what happened.
The ruins of the Portland Company
The 16 buildings of the industrial complex of the Portland Company were the only intact 19th century industrial buildings on the Portland waterfront. In 2013 the complex was bought by a developer. Initially it was agreed that 12 of the sixteen buildings would be demolished. Meanwhile they seem to have agreed to preserve 7. However, the first buildings which went down were those housing the Maine Narrow Gauge Railway museum. It is clear that even when some of the industrial buildings survive they will not retain any historic character.
The track of the narrow gauge railway seems to be protected. They will be able to continue to run their trains but most of the exhibits of the museum meanwhile have been moved elsewhere. What remains here is what is necessary for the operation of the train, at the moment steam engine number 7, three Diesel engines and a number of historic cars for which there is no shelter.
Blowing off steam
Number 7 was built in 1913 by the Baldwin Locomotive Works, Philadelphia, PA for the Bridgton & Saco River railway. Four engines like this are preserved by the museum, sister number 8 and two other steam engines originating from the Monson railway and they are now store somewhere. I am very lucky. Most of the tourist trains along the shore are operated by Diesel engines. Number 7 was only brought to Portland on the occasion of the Polar Express train.
It operates the Polar Express train together with Diesel locomotive number 1 built in 1949 by General Electric Co., Schenectady, NY. They were the largest diesels ever constructed for 2-foot gauge rails in the US.
The other Diesel engine around is number 5 built in 1950 by Whitcomb Locomotive Company, Rochelle, Illinois, and served Canadian creosote manufacturers in Edmonton, Alberta and Trenton, Ontario, until 1993.
Portland is surrounded by Casco Bay. The locals pretend that the bay has one island per year. This is not entirely correct. There are about 200 islands in the bay. Ferries operated by Casco Bay lines provide transport between the wharf in Portland and some of the islands. It is another beautiful, but very cold day and I fancy to go to one of the islands for a walk. Casco Bay lines offer excursion tickets for 17.50 $ for a tour of all the islands. A return ticket is 7.20 $, for seniors 3.60 $. At the counter I ask the guy which island would be best to visit for a walk. He suggests Peaks island, the one which I would not have selected because it is the only one which is connected to Portland by car ferry. However, he has got a little map with a description of the walk, I buy a ticket and off we go.
Warming up inside the ferry terminal
As important port on the North Atlantic Portland was heavily protected. In fact, in 1863 the confederate Army launched an attack on Portland. It was the most northern attack in the civil war. From the ferry I get a view of Fort Gorges, Fort Preble and Fort Scammel.
Fort Gorges
The most impressive is Fort Gorges which forms a D-shaped, two-story, enclosed island. It was built in 1861-1868 in reaction to the threat initially provoked by the War of 1812 and is modeled after Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, and had 56 gun emplacements.
Peaks Island has a surface of 290 ha. A ring-road allows a pleasant walk of about 7 km around the perimeter of the island. I have only just started my walk when a car stops next to me and an oldtimer offers me a ride. It is one of the few cars which pass me during the entire trip. I decline but I am grateful for the generosity which I would not have expected in a community on this island. Everybody is very friendly. They all say hello and give me a smile. A bit further on a couple tells me that they have seen a bald eagle close to the road.
In the beginning the walk is mainly residential. Close to the ferry landing are a couple of cafes, the Inn on Peaks and the Island Lobster company. All in historic buildings and all closed. The slopes to both sides of the roadway is lined with nice wooden buildings. Since there are few fences the little town gives a friendly and open impression. The barren tall trees cast long shadows in the low winter sun.
To follow the rocky coastline to my right. The tidal pools between the sheets of rock are frozen. There are benches in regular intervals to take a rest. But despite the bright sunshine it is very cold, in particular after I reach the north-eastern shore of the island with a strong, cold wind.
Bunker of the WW II fortifications
During world war II fortifications were built on the island and I can see the graffiti covered bunkers to my left. Areas of swamp covered with rushes in the low lying parts are followed by deciduous forest. There are lots of mansions for the 927 permanent residents on Peaks Island, some very fashionable and modern, others petty and run-down. I presume that also here, most of the mansions are owned by people who are never here. In summer thousands of visitors come every day.
The western shore of Peaks Island is almost entirely formed by a sandy beach. Stretches of the beach are covered in ice. There are few points where the public has access to the beach. All the stairways and ladders lead up to private property. It is low tide and easy to walk along the waters edge. I am the only one there.
It is so cold that my phone quits its services when I take it out to take a picture. I am worried. Without a phone it is almost impossible to travel nowadays. My train tickets are on the phone and most of the bank transactions have to be made with a phone confirmation.
At least in winter Peaks Island is a paradise. The serene tranquility, the sweeping views across the bay to all the other islands and the friendly islanders make me want to stay. But I am worried about the phone and I am hungry and so I take the ferry back to Portland.
I end up in a place called “Friendly toast”. It has the typical interior of an American Diner of the 50’ies. Red synthetic leather benches, formica tables and vintage decoration. This in combination with styleful music of the time. When I make a compliment and ask the attendant what is playing at the moment he immediately looks it up: I have never heard of the band called “Honeymoan”. But he is enthusiastic that I like the place and the music and when I come back the next time he immediately welcomes me warmly.
Eventually, after some charging, the phone works again. I am satisfied. I can make more plans for the day.
There is still time until the early dusk around 4.30 pm but I don’t want to do more walking in the cold. So I decide to take another “cruise”. The second ferry of the Casco Bay lines leaves at 3 pm. It stops at Little Diamond Island, Great Diamond Island, Long Island, Great Chebeague Island and Cliff Island. It will take me 45 min to go to Long Island, where I have 50 min around sunset to have a look before the next ferry can take me back.
This is a passenger only ferry. However, at every stop it also unloads the mail and provisions for the island. Today, a Sunday, only a couple of carts are unloaded at every stop. Some of the islanders boarded with little trolleys to transport boxes and bigger bags.
Ferry landing on Long Island
The settlement on Long Island is much smaller than on Peaks Island. The island has a surface of 3.68 km2 and a population of 234. It multiplies to around 700 in summer. In contrast to Peaks Island this island successfully separated from the city of Portland and forms an independent community of its own. There are 99 households, a quarter of which have children under 18. The island has its own elementary school.
The islanders get their provisions
Like on Peaks Island it is absolutely quiet here. The last light of the setting sun sheds an orange glow onto the white buildings.
Close to the ferry pier I discover railway tracks in the setting sun. There is even a point hidden under parked cars. Like Peaks Island this island was heavily fortified during WW II. Maybe weapons and supplies were landed with a rail ferry.
I arrive at the ferry pier just in time to watch the arrival of the ferry in the last orange glow of the sunset. I am reminded of paintings by Edward Hopper. Hopper spent his summers on Cape Cod and was much inspired by these surroundings.
I have another early dinner at Gilbert’s chowder house. It is reliable fare, affordable, quiet with good music and warm. Fortunately my phone works again. When I check for the bus schedule to go back to my hotel it turns out that the last bus in Portland on a Sunday runs at 5 pm. It is walk of more than 40 min to the hotel in the biting cold. I check Uber. A driver can meet me at Gilbert’s in less than 10 min. I hurry to down my beer and get out.
Abdi from Somalia drives me to the hotel. Uber charges 8.97 $ for the ride. That is about 9 times the bus fare but better than walking.
The sunset ferry arrives
