Oh Maine! A Solo Trip Through Storms, Stars & Lobster Rolls

I flew from Atlanta on a solo trip to Maine during a perfect storm.

Not a metaphor — an actual storm. The kind where lightning is streaking past the window and you’re gripping your armrest thinking, okay this is a lot. The pilot clearly had places to be — we punched straight through the clouds and on the other side? Sunshine all the way through.

That image stayed with me the entire trip. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When Maine Hits You in the Face

As I stepped out of Portland airport, Maine introduced itself the only way it knows how — with salt. Salty, oceany, a fragrance that jolted me out of the slump from the flight immediately. I grabbed the rental car and headed straight for the Airbnb — the sole reason for this entire trip. Only later would I realize it was just the cherry on top.

But first: York.

Worms, Boats, and a Lighthouse

My first stop was the Nubble Lighthouse and the water there was the bluest I have ever seen in my life. I made some friends on the boat tour, randomly chatted up an avid fisher, and somehow ended up learning how to put worms on a hook.

That was creepy. You have to jab the hook right through its face. Poor worm. Shirm the worm. (If you get the reference.)

Then came the drive to the Airbnb. This is where things got interesting.

Dirt Roads, No Signal

The scenic route turned into a dirt road. The dirt road had basically no signal. I was lost with no way to contact the host, just driving through trees hoping for the best.

At the end of one of those roads was a house — a creepy house — with a man sitting on the porch and what I can only describe as a Very Concerning Object leaning against the wall beside him.

I Scooby-Doobied my way out of there immediately.

Signal finally came back. Directions loaded. And I started climbing — literally winding up a mountain road — toward the Airbnb sitting at the very top of the tallest mountain all around. Thirteen rooms, usually booked for weddings and events with large crowds. That weekend it was just me, a Pizza Hut, and the best porch in the state of Maine.

On Top of the World, Watching It Go Dark

I grabbed my pizza and sat on the porch as the sky did that thing where it can’t decide between day and night — burning yellow bleeding into deep blue, the mountains holding the last of the light.

And then it got darker. And somehow — brighter.

A million stars above my head. And slowly, the Milky Way revealed itself — not on a screen, not in a textbook, but right there, a blueish galaxy stretching across the sky like it had been waiting for me to look up. I grabbed some goodies and a blanket, made myself a cozy nook on the porch, and laid there fiddling with the sky app looking up constellations, planets, stars. I even found a telescope in the dining room but it was old and broken — so I did the next best thing and took pictures on my itty bitty iPhone.

I have always had a thing for stars. Astronomy, physics, the vastness of it all — it does something to me. Laying there on top of a mountain, the whole galaxy above me, I felt two things at once: very small, and very lucky.

Until the pitch black darkness crept me out and I went to bed like a completely normal person.

Mountains on One End, Ocean on the Other

The next day I headed to Acadia National Park and started with the Jordan Pond trail — easy, 3.2 miles, loops around the crystal clear pond. I wasn’t expecting it to be so peaceful or so quiet. It wasn’t as crowded as I thought it would be, the bugs weren’t an issue, and I spent a couple of hours just chilling.

The Bubble Mountains perfectly frame the view. And yes, they look exactly like what you think they look like. A good handful size. Nature said what she said.

As the day passed I headed to Bar Harbor — and honestly, I wasn’t prepared for it. One of the prettiest towns I have ever been to. A cute downtown, the ocean at a walkable distance, so many boats, and yes — the smell of fish. I know. But it was worth it. What got me most was how one end of the main street dissolved into ocean views and the other into the mountains of Acadia — like the town couldn’t decide what kind of beautiful it wanted to be, so it just picked both.

I wandered into cute spots, small antique stores, a beautiful pottery store I could have spent hours in. There are some incredible oyster bars. And if you’re visiting — lobster rolls with local beers is non-negotiable. Maine Beer Co. is an absolute must.

Fun fact I learned: Cadillac Mountain is one of the first places in the US to see the sunrise. Between October and March, it’s literally the first spot in the entire country where the sun hits. I was there a month too early. The views didn’t care.

It was shaping up to be the perfect travel day — food, nature, scenic views, great beer, incredible seafood. And then it got even better. In a way I did not see coming.

The Night That Wasn’t on the Itinerary

As I walked through downtown, I bumped into a group of friends from my master’s days in New York — traveling together, completely by chance, in a small town in Maine. The odds. I invited them back to the Airbnb without a second thought.

What followed was a full night. Bonfire, big speakers, so many snacks and drinks, the kind of conversation that only happens when you haven’t seen people in a while. People started getting tired and heading inside one by one. I was in my own headspace on the porch chair with a blanket, jamming to music, and when I got up to get my tea I noticed everyone had already headed to sleep. Everybody was out by 5am.

Somehow, I made it through to sunrise.

Because if the sunset on day one was that spectacular, I knew the sunrise would bring something different entirely. And it did. The kind of quiet that only exists after a very loud night — soft pinks, then gold, the mountains catching the first light like they’d been up the whole time too.

One by one, the birds started waking up. First a few distant calls from somewhere in the trees below, then another, then dozens. The mountain slowly traded silence for song.

As the sun came up and the sky kept getting brighter, so did I. The fog rolled in first, patches of clouds filling the clear blue sky, the lush green mountains stretching from my feet to the horizon. I made myself some honey chamomile tea, stood on that porch, and just breathed. I think I was listening to SZA — maybe Lana, I don’t remember — singing to myself, taking pictures, dancing alone. Nobody watching. Nobody needing anything. Just me and the mountain.

I was out there for about three hours. My body was exhausted but I was wide awake and somehow — calm. That’s what alone time in nature does to me. I think, I contemplate, I form thoughts, practice gratitude and grow. Around 8am, when I finally felt rested in my mind, I knew it was time to let my body catch up. I headed inside.

It was everything.

The Slow Day Nobody Plans For

I always add an extra day to every solo trip I take. Not for activities — just for being.

Most people plan a trip wall to wall, and yes, that’s the point — explore, eat, see everything. But I’ve come to see travel as more than that. A trip is a sneak peek of what life could look and feel like somewhere else. How people move, what they eat, how the mornings feel. And no matter how long the trip, it’s also a reason to step away from the daily grind — so taking an extra day to slow down, reflect, and bring those fresh perspectives home feels important to me.

That day I didn’t go anywhere. Hot tub, pool, porch, music, journaling, more seafood. The mountain did all the talking.

Travel is how I collect myself. Not fridge magnets, not keychains — identity shifts. A new food I’ll seek out at home. A quality of stillness I want to carry back. A conversation that stays with me long after the trip. Those are my souvenirs. They don’t weigh anything. And of course, a million pictures and videos.

The Food Truck That Almost Wasn’t

On the last day, the weather turned. Maine had been showing off all week — sunshine, salt air, perfect temperatures. That final morning arrived grey, cold, and rainy.

I had one mission left: lobster. Traveling to Maine without trying lobster felt like a crime. I had researched a food truck at Fort Williams Park, starved myself all morning in preparation, and drove over — only to find the truck wasn’t there.

I was so disappointed. Genuinely hangry. I walked to the lighthouse viewpoint anyway, clutching my jacket against the wind, waves crashing hard on the rocks below. And even in the grey and the cold and the gloom — the view was still immaculate. Some views refuse to be diminished by weather.

I walked back to the car.

And there was the truck. Being set up. Right there.

I waited however long it took. When the lobster rolls were ready — three of them, because I had earned three — I stood in the rain and ate all three and smiled like an idiot. And for a moment, the grey sky felt like the best backdrop the trip could have asked for.

What the Storm Was Always Trying to Tell Me

The flight that started this solo trip to Maine took off in a storm and landed in sunshine. The pilot just kept going and the weather changed on its own.

That’s the thing about storms — they always pass. But only if you keep moving through them. If I had stayed focused on the turbulence, the rain, the chance of it all going wrong — I would have missed the salty airport air, the bluest water I’ve ever seen, the Milky Way with my naked eye, the sunrise after the wild night, and a lobster roll in the rain that made the whole trip.

Maybe that’s what Maine gave me. Not a checklist of places or things to do, but a reminder that beautiful moments don’t disappear when life gets stormy. They’re still there — waiting on the other side for whoever keeps going.

Planning your own solo trip to Maine? Drop your questions in the comments — I’ll answer every single one. The lobster roll spots, the Airbnb, the trails, all of it.

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Read the full Maine series: [Oh Maine! Part 1] · [Oh Maine! Part 2] · [Oh Maine! Part 3]