Portland - a Local Town for Local People.

Portland is another harbour on the coast of Maine. Although it has the largest population in the State it's not the capital. That distinction goes to Augusta, an hour's drive further North. It's another place that owes its existence to geography; there's a natural harbour well protected from the anger of the Atlantic by numerous outlying islands.

Portland Observatory.

 

Of course, we went to a museum here, but one with a difference. It was an observatory, in the sense of a watch tower, built on a hill to see out to sea over the islands. 

How it looked when it was new in the early days of Portland.

It was built by subscription, as the shipping trade was the life blood of the community.

Still here since 1807.

All that was interesting enough, but we felt that to understand Portland better we needed to get under its skin, so to speak. So we paid a visit to the International Cryptozoology Museum downtown. Yes, International!

We didn't know what cryptozoology was before we went in, and we're not sure what it is now we've come out.

Bigfoot feet casts.

We think it's the study of hominid species that may or may not exist, like Bigfoot in North America or the Yeti in the Himalayas.

It was a bizarre experience, looking at plaster casts that may, or may not, prove that a hitherto unknown creature was clumping around the forests of the world.

It wasn't exactly a deep scientific experience mulling over the weird exhibits.

How to keep warm in cold water.

Not too attractive to a seaman.

We couldn't imagine the rest of it.

This is a modified Ray, manipulated to resemble a weird beast.

Another singularly unattractive mermaid.

Is this a fake?

But then we realised that here was a metaphor for Downtown Portland. Walking around we'd all noticed and commented on the fact that there were more strange characters around than normal. People whistling in the street is ok, but - long repetitive blasts is not normal; a staggering guy with a red scar from his cheek to his hairline; a woman in a wheelchair, pushing the wheels with her hands but also walking with her feet; a woman in a track suit engaged in a conversation with someone as she sat in the middle of the pavement; a bearded hippy pushing an empty supermarket trolley.

This is not Photoshopped.

It was the number of such people that surprised us, and it slowly dawned on us that Stephen King the horror writer came from here. We then caught the bus out to our RV and made a quick exit from Portland.