This is what happened in Maine, Part I:
1) RR and I rented a white Chevy Malibu with Florida plates. We christened the Malibu, Barbie. Barbie was a good car.
2) Since I’m an expert reader of maps and a virtuoso turner of radio dials, I designated myself “navigator.” This left RR, an exceptional operator of automobiles-- especially on highways and freeways--in the role of “driver.”
3) I had a brief stint as “driver.” While behind the wheel, I nearly ran over a chipmunk, a close call that severely compromised my confidence in the role of "driver". My cautious driving also seemed to irritate drivers from several different states—NY, MA, NH, to name a few—and Canada (“I’m from FLORIDA, you jerks!” I often cried out to the procession of cars tailing me. "Cut me some slack!"). The cars overtaking me, one by one, gave me enough of a complex to abstain from driving again for the remainder of our holiday.
4) Number of times we parallel parked: 0 (phew—a minor miracle if you ask me, an active decision on our part if you ask RR)
5) RR and I discovered that a) the lighthouses in Rockland are optical illusions—you can walk for hours in their general direction only to discover that they’re just as far as they were two hours ago or, perhaps, b) the older gent at the lighthouse museum who told us that the bloody lighthouse was 1 mile away was a bloody liar and that c) pajamas in Rockland cost $50. RR and I hated Rockland.
6) Rockport confused us. We missed it entirely on our way up Route 1 and, although we found it on our way down, we couldn’t quite understand why a couple of folks as well as our Maine tourism guide called it one of the nicest, most quaint towns along the state’s craggy shores. Like, what? We drove in and drove right out.
7) We fell asleep before 9:45 each night and woke up no later than 6 each morning. It must’ve been the Florida plates rubbing off on us.
8) Number of times we got lost: 3 (twice in car, once on foot)
9) I wore a skirt or a dress and flipflops every single day. Hiking the trail around Jordan Pond, we came upon a family of three little girls. While the oldest and youngest were dressed hike-appropriate, the middle daughter, who was five or six years old, was wearing a denim skirt, a sparkly t-shirt, and flipflops. "I got WATER on my shoes! I DON'T want water on my shoes!" she cried out, trailing behind her family.
I loved that little girl.
10) RR and I spoke in old world Bah Habah accents for a good part of our vacation.