I finally arrived back to Connecticut after traveling around the country for 6 weeks, and before I even had time to do my laundry or check my mail, I was preparing to go back on the road again. However, this time, I was going to stay in my home area of New England, to see more of the area I grew up in, and attempt to gain a higher appreciation of my roots. The night of my first full day back in CT, a handful of my close friends and I met up in New Haven for a “welcome back home” gathering to go barhopping and people watching, two of our most favorite things to do. Before going on my trip to the west coast, I used to pride myself on being from the New Haven area, and was always excited to inform people of the true beauty, diversity, cleanliness, and nightlife of the city. However, after coming back “home”, it simply did not feel like home anymore…something was different to me…New Haven felt just like another city and not like a place I still belonged in; it’s special charm that used to light my eyes with excitement…now gone. Perhaps that bulb had burnt out because I have just recently discovered 
better, perhaps I have overstayed my welcome; perhaps this was a calling for me to pack my bags and find a new home. I have spent so much time in New Haven that I could close my eyes and name every restaurant, store, bar, and club on every street and probably even know a person or two in each place without seeing them. This is not the type of place I wish to still live in; I yearn for a bigger city where I can get lost and then try to find my way back home, while discovering new things and places along the way. So although New Haven did not feel the same to me after seeing the entire country, I was still happy to see familiar places with familiar fa
ces for the time being. Before meeting up with my friends, my cousin Steve and I walked around the Yale campus and admired the beauty of the buildings, which never fail to amaze me no matter how many times I see them. We then grabbed some hamburgers at the world famous Louis Lunch, where the hamburger was claimed to be invented. The night was perfectly finished by washing our dinner down with some half yards of Molson at Richter’s Bar near the city’s green while sharing stories of my travels amongst my comrades, and then parading over to an Irish pub called The Playwright to have some more brews for dessert.
Early the next morning I was back in the car again and off to Maine. Believe it or not, I have not been to Maine in about 11 years or so, even though it is only roughly 4 hours from my home, ergo, I was excited to finally be able to go back to “vacationland” to see it through adult eyes for the first time. Luckily, on my huge tri
p out west, I only saw rain for one night in a 6 week span, but on this mini trip around New England, Mother Nature was not so kind to me. I briefly walked around Old Orchard beach, which I can vaguely remember going to as a kid, and then arrived in Portland, where I had a show that night at the North Star Café. Before going to my show, I walked around the town in the pouring rain and had some clam chowder for dinner to warm me up, which New England, and especially Maine, is known for having the best of in the country. With soaked shoes, shirt, and all, I arrived at the venue for my show, and it actually turned out to be one of the best of my entire tour thus far; the crowd was pretty big and supportive, and I met some very interesting and kind p
eople there, including a fellow poet all the way from Nicaragua. The next day I had really amazing Lobster Rolls (or Lobsta as we say it up in the northeast) at the famous Red’s Eats in Wicasset. I actually heard about this place originally because it is one of Andrew Zimmern’s most favorite places to eat in Maine, and of course I had to go there since I’m one of his biggest fans. I’m usually not a huge fan of lobster, but I guess that’s because I’ve never had lobster in Maine until now….wow was it amazing! The highlight of my time in Maine was stil
l to come though, with the arrival to Bar Harbor to visit Acadia National Park. I have been to about a half dozen national parks this summer around the country, including Grand Canyon, the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Carlsbad Caverns, and Petrified Forrest, and although Acadia may not have matched up to some of those other parks in the “awe and admiration” factor, it did possess some other attributes and characteristics that the other parks may have lacked a bit; a scenic drive along a beautiful ocean for one, beaches, and an breathtaking view on top of one of the highest points on the entire east coast. It is actually said that if you are on top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park during the sunrise, you will be one of the first people in the entire country to see the sun’s first rays in the morning…now isn’t that something neat? Unfortunately, I couldn’t be one of those lucky people since it was raining out again the next morning, but I was able to enjoy some sunlight both the evening before while on top of Cadillac Mountain, and later on the next day while driving along the coastline, going to the beach, and hiking on some of the trails in the park. After being in Maine for only 3 days, I cannot understand why it took me over a decade to come back here after my initial visit, but I can assure one thing…It will definitely be much sooner than that until I come back here again.
Subsequently, I made my way over to New Hampshire, where I had lunch in the scenic seaport town of Portsmouth, and then drove up to Mount Washington. I was really looking forward to being able to see the spectacular views from ato
p the summit, but once again, Mother Nature decided to punish me. I still decided to make the drive up since I came all the way there, and I’m glad I chose to do so. Even though I could not see more than 50 feet in front of me at any given time, the 8 mile drive up the mountain was still something very exciting to do. When I finally reached the summit over 6,000 feet from the Earth’s surface, I truly felt one with the clouds and gained a greater appreciation for the natural elements surrounding me. The cold rain beating down on my face and the angry wind pushing me back in my tracks was refreshing to me after almost melting alive in the deserts of southern Arizona just a couple weeks earlier. As I stood next to the “Mount Washington summit” sign and a red fox crossed my path only several feet away from me, I realized why New England is home sweet home to me, and how I love the fact that I can still be able to wear a jacket and freeze my balls off in July. Even though my reasons may sound crazy to some, I guess it’s one of those things that only Natives of the area would appreciate and enjoy. So although I was not able to see the views from atop the pinnacle, I was able to enjoy and appreciate the mountain in other aspects, and will definitely return to it again sometime during Autumn to see the views I missed this time.
Lastly, I drove down to Cape Cod, which, believe it or not, was one place I have never been to. On the way there, I quickly passed through Boston, which brought a smile to my face, because I plan on moving there in September for roughly 8 months or so, and it was the first time I have seen my future home since March. On the way down the cape, it was pouring again, but I guess my prayers to the rain Gods were finally answered, because the sun finally started to peek out from behind the stratus clouds once I arrived in Provincetown. I was very excited to finally be able to visit P-Town, because as I stated earlier, I love people watching, and what better place to do it than one of the largest homosexual communities in the country? I j
ust got back from San Francisco, so I figured this would be a similar scene except in a smaller scale, but I must say, to my surprise, the people of Provincetown are a lot more open even than the people of San Fran. Both cities have the gay pride flags swinging off of every lamppost and street sign in the city, but I saw things in abundance in Cape Cod that was almost unapparent in the Bay Area, such as drag queens walking the streets and advertising shows they were putting on later that night, over flamboyant individuals eager to spark spontaneous conversations with unexpected (and possibly homophobic) tourists, and hundreds of couples holding hands and making out with no regards for PDA. Coming to places like this always makes me happy and gives me some faith in the world, because it’s great to see that cities such as Provincetown exist where people of any orientation or background can come and be accepted with no discrimination. It’s a shame more places like this couldn’t exist…but hey…when extreme right wing conservative jerks run and reside in the majority of the country, what else do you expect? So after my observations, Cape Cod was more enjoyable for people watching than San Francisco, because of the fact that P-Town is more condensed and "in your face" since it's a much smaller area, even though San Fran by far is my top choice for favorite city, because the beaches and scenery and personalities and lifestyles of the people of the west coast are on a completely different plateau than on the east coast…sorry New England, the truth hurts sometimes : )
When deciding to take a trip around New England after just being around the rest of the country, I honestly had no idea what to expect, and now after arriving back to Connecticut, I’m still not quite sure how to process what I just saw. Did I just drive around my home area, or was it just another place on the map? Sure…New England allows me to relive the years of my youth and appreciate the area I grew up in…but at 22, do I really want to be rekindling the old flames of my past…or starting the new fires of my future? At this point in my life, I obviously have more questions than answers, and I think that many of these will never find a true answer until my final moments on this planet, but in a way, that’s the beauty of life, and these very questions are what keep me on the open road, searching for new places, for new homes, and for new pieces of myself. In just a couple weeks, I will be off to the Midwest to explore Chicago for the first time, as well as go back to Ohio, Indiana, and Kentucky, but until then (even though I’m not quite sure in the validity of my next statement), I will attempt my best impression of Dorothy from the “Wizard of Oz” and whisper to myself that “there is no place like home”. 
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