By the way, I remembered why I wanted to go to Maine so much. The reason was this book, "Discover America." It had tons of interesting information about every state and described several major cities, creating a feeling that there just wasn't enough space, even though there was so much more to tell. Maine, however, only got a page and a half. The facts were few and far between. Something about apple picking and vast uninhabited territories stretching along the coast. That was all that stayed in my head from those pages, but that was exactly when I became truly interested. You see, I didn't believe it. Land near the Atlantic Ocean next to Canada couldn't be so boring that the only thing to write about was apple picking. Apparently, no one had really made it there. The wonderful Kirill from Saint Petersburg didn't make it, Ilf and Petrov didn't make it back in 1935, and even Genis and Vail in their exhaustive "Americana" settled for general words about New England. Well, that's a pity. Because others who did make it stayed here. They preferred Maine to the most famous and popular states, to the mild climate, the hot sun all year round, and even to good old Europe. And yours truly has become attached to Maine with all her heart and soul; to be honest, I've just fallen terribly in love and don't know what to do. It would be interesting to know why it turns out this way, wouldn't it? Strictly speaking, my love is doomed from the very beginning. Because you cannot become a Mainer. You can only be born one. You can have children here (and they will be Mainers, but you won't), live for many years and decades, and even become a member of some city council. They will accept you. But then you take the floor: you clear your throat and introduce yourself: I am so-and-so, from... Next, you have to name your birthplace, which in our case is "from away." You must! Otherwise, they will think you are claiming the title of a Mainer, and that is even more dangerous. So, you say "From away" - and that's basically it. The end. No, keep talking, but no one is listening to you anymore... Any newcomer - whether from another country or even another state - is perceived as an invader. And the main source of "evil" is Boston. The metropolis can indeed be destructive to small provincial towns, which is what the state essentially boils down to. Its entire population is 1.3 million people, like my native Samara. The number has hardly changed since the 19th century, as if to confirm how stubbornly and successfully this million-plus population defends itself against any invasions. Maine is a very conservative state. They don't like changes in any sphere of life, just as they don't like them in the outside world. The state hardly changes externally. If you look at photos of the pulp mill in my Yarmouth, its former outlines, as well as the outlines of the adjacent streets, are easy to recognize in the modern look of the city. However, it is difficult to draw conclusions here because there is nothing to compare it with. Europe and our country were heavily reshaped by wars and revolutions, and one cannot speak of good will: if there had been any, maybe we would have preserved things too, right? But it must be admitted that Mainers have something to protect. Take, for example, the New England architectural style. Imagine me walking through an unfamiliar city in search of what, you might ask? A McDonald's. Yes, that's how a moth is drawn to a flame and midnight to dawn. In any strange place - a city, an airport - I instinctively reach for a small, familiar island where I never eat, but always know what to expect. So, my path follows all the maps and directions from passersby, but the golden arches are nowhere to be seen. I stand at the designated intersection across from an elegant mansion until I realize that the mansion is the McDonald's. Local law restricts outdoor advertising in such a way that it has no right to be "outdoor." That is, a sign inside the restaur
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