Back to Bar Harbor

I arouse myself from my blogomatic slumbers, like a great, sleepy bear coming out of hibernation, and I shake my head.  This hasn't been a good week -- a good month -- not just for my blog, but for the world in general.  Several sources agree:  Putin has become the "New Stalin," dragging his nation back into the  isolated, backward morass of the USSR in the 1950s.  

Of course, Stalin was cautious and conservative in his foreign policy, as, generally, were all leaders of the Soviet Union.  In his attack on Ukraine, Putin is more like Mussolini or Hitler, fanatical, aggressive, and emotional.  But domestically, yes.  Putin, like Stalin, has gradually worked himself into the position of an absolute dictator.  A Tsarist ruler.  And like Stalin, he has -- in the past week or so -- completed the elimination of every source of information for his people, other than information that he chooses to release through his own propaganda outlets.  No more internet, no more Facebook or Twitter, no more non-Putin newspapers or television stations.  

To an extent to which our very own Mr. Trump could only dream, Putin has established that -- for Russians -- the truth shall be whatever he finds useful for them to believe.  

And, as this week's Economist notes, in a leader entitled "The Stalinisation of Russia":

And, as Stalin did, Mr. Putin is destroying the bourgeoisie, the great motor of Russia's modernization.  Instead of being sent to the gulag, they are fleeing to cities like Istanbul, in Turkey, and Yerevan, in Armenia.  Those who choose to stay are being muzzled by restrictions on free speech and free association.

Congratulations on your Great Leap Forward into the past, Russia.

But, no, I didn't intend this to be another foreign policy diatribe.

Nope.  As I said at the beginning, I'm like a bear coming out of hibernation.  I see all about me signs of spring.  Ukraine is far away; much closer are the flowers that bloom in the spring (tra la).  And like that awakening bear, I have a great hunger.  Not for food.  Not for honey.  But for travel.

And so, while the people of Ukraine have been suffering incredible losses of property, lives, and families, I have been indulgently planning myself a little trip.   Making bookings.  Flashing my Visa card.

You may recall that I broke my pandemic travel fast last May by traveling to Maine, to Bar Harbor?  I'm doing it again this year, May 16-20.  Like last year, I'll fly into Portland, Maine, spend the night in that pleasant city, and then drive to Bar Harbor.  I'll be away a day longer this year than last.  And -- since I once more will depend on United Airlines for my connecting flight from Newark to Portland -- I will this time hold my baggage close to my chest.  Not checked.  After last year, I have lost all confidence in that airline's ability to forward my checked possessions to the correct city.

Bar Harbor is beautiful in the spring.  I loved it last year.  I love Acadia National Park, which it adjoins.  And I love the Maine coast, which I hope to examine more extensively this year.

I'll have more to say about it in weeks to come.  Meanwhile, I look about, see what the world's become, shake my great furry head, and decide I'd best avoid further hibernation.