Travels in my Head: New Hampshire

The original idea of this series was to give my thoughts on each US State I have visited. And then I got sidetracked to Vegas then Italy, but here we are, back on track and onto New Hampshire.

Nickname: The Granite State.

Motto: Live Free or Die.

New Hampshire is north of Boston, and in general, if Boston gets a dusting of snow, New Hampshire will have had feet of the white stuff. And I have visited the state several times. I have, or rather had a friend who lived there, and for a short time we might have been an item and I moved there.

But it wasn't to be.

Even after it wasn't to be, I still went over, last time in 2005 when I left the RAF, and I spent two weeks in New Hampshire, in summer, before flying out west.

There are three seasons in NH: winter, summer and mud. I saw mostly winter, but in 2005 I saw summer. Summer was brutal, damn hot. Winter was damn cold. And full of snow.

In the two weeks I was there, three stroms put down four feet each, the last of which happened the day before I was due to fly back home, and despite leaving for the airport 15 hours early, by the time we got to the end of the Spaulding Turnpike, I95 was closed southbound. We tried to turn round to go back to Rochester, but we couldn't. In the end we stayed at my friend's Mother's place in Dover.

We had to dig ourselves out the next morning.

I would ened up living in Dover, just not that one.

So, you leave I95 on the Turnpike and head north, into the White Mountains. It is tough and rugged, and in Mt Washington has the windiest place on earth. A mountain you can drive up, or travel on a rack railway. We drove. And I locked the car keys in the car at the top.

Oh, how we laughed.

New Hampshire also has coastline. Not much. And from what I saw, most of it is private land, so restricted. The one lace we did get to the shore, it was covered in seaweed.

New Hampshire my first traste of America outside of Vegas, and seemed to be gas stations, oversweet coffee, mountains and nice people. Though, as I pointed out to someone last week, I was armed with something no American has: an English accent. Everyone wanted to talk to me, including the staff at Walmart which meant most times I got a personal shopper. I thought everyone had that.

But apparently not.

There are three ways out of New Hampshire: south to Massachusetts, north to Maine and west to Vermont.

Looking back, when I think of New Hampshire, I think of the endless miles of trees, mountains and Lake Winnipesaukee.

I liked it, but then I liked almost everywhere in America, as it was like being in a movie.