|The gloomy witchy atmosphere of Salem.|
|Portland, Maine for lobster rolls|
|A cold and foggy day on Lake Champlain, Burlington Vermont|
|The last homesteads of Vermont before we crossed the border into Quebec, Canada|
|A quick frolick to check out the cows.|
The final frontier before driving across the border into Canada was a night's stay in Salem, the town made famous for its connection to witchcraft, and a quick pit stop in the other Portland for a lobster roll and fried clams in one of the last fish houses open before their inevitable winter season closure. One more over night stop in the beautiful Burlington, Vermont had us recharged and ready to hit the road that would take us into the very frenchy Montreal. THE border crossing was a tiny outpost that closed at 4pm each day, that was similar to the size of a widow you would pay for a parking ticket at. The division between the two farms sitting either side of the border was a metre high wire fence, and the only way you could tell you had crossed over, was the radio swapping from english to french. We passed through some really beautiful lakeside towns and tried to not sound like complete fools when we asked the border attendant whether we had to drive on the left or the right. Whoopsy!