Acadia National Park

By Munish Gupta

September 14^th, 2016

providence, RI

Landed in Boston on a Friday, grabbed the rental car, and hit the road straight toward Providence, Rhode Island. I was reminded of an article I once read about the city—buried in the pages of a Southwest in-flight magazine during a 2014 flight. (I eventually tracked it down—Spirit Magazine, May 2014, page 92.)

The drive out of Boston was a bit winding and occasionally confusing, but once I left the city behind, the road opened up—and the scenery turned lush and green. A quiet kind of beautiful.”

dinner time

Went to Garden Grille Cafe for dinner. The restaurant had interesting decor. The staff was friendly and food good.

walking in the art district

The next morning, I checked out of the hotel and headed downtown. I parked the car and simply followed my curiosity, wandering toward whatever looked interesting—without the slightest clue where I was going. As it turns out, I had stumbled right into the art district.

Seen/Unseen: Providence

As I wandered through the art district, the first thing that caught my eye were the massive portraits displayed on buildings all around me—bold, striking, impossible to miss. Later, I looked them up and discovered they were part of an art project titled “Seen/Unseen: Providence” by Mary Beth Meehan—an evocative exploration of the city through photographic portraits of its residents.

another mural

Stumbled upon this mural as I was walking around. It reads - “We, the artists & intellectuals, famous & unknown. We, mud people, snake people, tar people. We, bohemians walking on millennial thin ice; our bodies pierced, tattooed, martyred, scarred; our skin covered with hieroglyphs & flaming questions. We, the witches who transform trash into wearable art. We, Living Museum of Modern Oddities & Sacred Monsters. We, vatos cromados y chucas neo-‐barrocas. We, bad boys & bad girls over 50. We, the Hollywood refuseniks, the greaser bandits & holy outlaws of advanced Capitalism. We, without guns, without Bibles. We, who never pray to the police or to the army. We, who never kissed the hand of a bishop or a curator. We, who barter and exchange favors & talismans. We, who still believe in community, a much stranger and wider community. We, the artists & intellectuals who still don’t wish to comply. We, who talk back in rarefied symbols & metaphors against the corruption of formalized religion & art. We, critical brain mass; spoken word profética. We, the urban monks who pray in tongues & rap in Esperanto. We, who put on hats, masks & outrageous wigs to shout: ‘You just can’t take my art away.’ We, who dance on the edge of a crater against the rhythms of the times. We, going crazy to remain sane; literally dying for new ideas; performing against all odds. We, who suddenly freeze! [pause] Standing naked, right in the center of the stage or the street, with the words carved on our chests: ‘Performance artist: will bleed for food’ ‘Obsessive artist: will die for one idea,’ We continue to talk back, talk back, speak up & make art. “ - Guillermo Gómez Peña

lunch at AS220

Another interesting cafe/bar/art gallery.

More walking around

I was thrilled to stumble upon a bookstore—especially one that carried both new and used titles. I spent a quiet stretch of time browsing the shelves, tempted by more than a few finds. I almost walked out with a stack, but at the last moment, I reminded myself of my luggage weight… and reluctantly put them back.

last couple of hours

Crossed the bridge and explored the Waterfront Park. Something about walking along the water stirred memories of Mumbai—it was a quiet, unexpected connection.

I would’ve loved to linger a bit longer, but it was time to move on.

Cape Elizabeth

I left Providence around 4 PM, heading north toward Acadia. The night before, I’d booked a stay in a small town called Augusta, Maine—about four hours away. I planned one stop along the way: Cape Elizabeth.

What made that stop especially memorable wasn’t just the destination itself, but the drive getting there. Turning off the highway took me through a string of charming little towns, each one dotted with picturesque homes and peaceful landscapes. It was one of those quiet detours that end up being the highlight.

acadia national park

I checked out of the hotel in Augusta, Maine early that morning, stocked up on supplies, and hit the road toward Acadia. I had a reservation at Blackwoods Campground for the night, so I drove straight there, checked in, and set up my tent. The campsites were fairly close together, so after a quick break to refuel, I was back on the move.

I jumped right onto the Park Loop Road. First stop: Jordan Pond. But with no parking and a long line of cars waiting, I decided to skip the wait. Instead, I headed to Cadillac Mountain, hiked around a bit, found a few quiet spots, and just let the views sink in.

jordon pond & tea house

I continued along the Park Loop Road, making leisurely stops along the way. Eventually, I found myself back at Jordan Pond—this time in the soft light of early evening. The Jordan Pond House had just closed for the day, though the takeout window was still open. I took a quiet walk along the edge of the pond, letting the calm settle in.

sunset

Then watched the sunset. And went back to camp ground. Strange enough, I fell asleep around 9:30. and slept quite well!

sunrise from cadillac mountain

The next morning, I woke around 4:30—something about rising with the light felt grounding, like I was finally in sync with nature. Thinking it would be quiet at that hour, I decided to head back to Cadillac Mountain to catch the sunrise, which was forecasted for around 6 AM.

I couldn’t have been more wrong—it was even more crowded than the evening before. I ended up parking far down the roadside and walking the rest of the way to the top.

And you know what? It was absolutely worth it.

park drive in the morning & echo lake

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Northeast Harbor

Stopped by Northeast Harbor on the way to Seawall. Walked around a bit & grabbed breakfast.

bass harbor head light house

Mentally refused to go any further on the stones to photograph the lighthouse.

seawall campground

The park ranger kindly recommended a different campsite than the one I had originally reserved. It turned out to be a perfect spot—tucked away among the trees, quiet and secluded, with no other sites in sight. A little pocket of solitude.

sunset at the Seawall

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Seawall in the morning

I took a walk out to the Seawall under a blanket of clouds, with a light drizzle already starting to fall. Sensing the weather closing in, I hurried back to the campsite. By the time I arrived, the rain had picked up. I packed up my gear, cleaned the site, and hit the road once more.

Schoodic Point

Following the park ranger’s recommendation, I made the drive out to Schoodic Point—and it was absolutely worth it. Standing there, you could feel the raw power of the ocean as waves crashed relentlessly against the rocky shore. It was nature at its most untamed and awe-inspiring.

Schoodic Point

In the end, a paragraph from the book “Letters from a Stoic“ by Seneca:

“Fear keeps pace with hope. Nor does their so moving together surprise me; both belong to a mind in suspense, to a mind in a state of anxiety through looking into the future. Both are mainly due to projecting our thoughts far ahead of us instead of adapting ourselves to the present. Thus it is that foresight, the greatest blessing humanity has been given, is transformed into a curse. Wild animals run from the dangers they actually see, and once they have escaped them worry no more. We however are tormented alike by what is past and what is to come. A number of our blessings do us harm, for memory brings back the agony of fear while foresight brings it on prematurely. No one confines his unhappiness to the present.”