Guest Post and Photo by Amy Perry Basseches
Six thousand French citizens on an island 2,600 miles from the coast of France? And only 12 miles from the coast of Canada? Yes, that’s right. I was recently in Saint-Pierre (often discussed with its less-populated neighbor, Miquelon), all that still belongs to France from "New France," the colonies in North America starting with Jacques Cartier in 1536. The French have retained Saint-Pierre and Miquelon, and associated fishing rights, since 1816.
When travelling to Saint-Pierre, you’ll go through customs (don’t forget your passport), you’ll use the Euro, and you’ll experience French food, wine, and, of course, the language. It was a fun stop on my Adventure Canada expedition. I opted for a hike in the morning on the Anse à Henry trail, then a short bus tour to make sure I could see as much as possible. This put my time in the charming town center right around midday, exactly the time of day when all the shops close (between 12 and 2 pm). Les Delices de Josephine cafe opened for us and the quiche was great, which I washed down with one of the only products made in Saint Pierre and Miquelon, beer from the new micro-brewery Miqu’ale (Brasserie Artisanale de l’Anse).
If I ever get there again, I’d make sure to walk around town more in the morning or late afternoon, exploring the windy roads and small shops, and then spend the time in between hiking or exploring the now uninhabited L’Île-aux-Marins, just a stone’s throw from Saint-Pierre (several unique buildings still stand even though no one lives there year-round). Au revoir!
Next week, I’ll be discussing my favorite fall foliage activities in the region. Yet, I love September just as much as October in New England. The summer crowds are gone leaving the beaches deserted. It’s been unseasonably warm all week, in the low to mid-80s. With cousins in town from Arizona and my brother in from New York, we took advantage of the warm weather on Tuesday to drive up to a family favorite, Wingaersheek Beach in Gloucester. A mere 45-minute drive from my home and I was sifting my feet in the soft white flour-like sand looking at the gorgeous lighthouse at the point. It was low tide and we walked on a long sandbar almost out to that lighthouse. There were few people on the beach and best yet, there was no charge to enter. When we had our fill of sun, sand, and ocean, we headed to nearby Woodman’s for the requisite lobster roll, steamers, and onion rings. This place always has a long line in summer, but we marched right up to the counter to make our order. The weather is supposed to be warm and sunny the rest of the month so hit the coastline and dip your feet in the ocean one last time. 
There’s a reason they call New Hampshire the Granite State. But surprisingly most of the rock you find on the trails is quartz, gneiss, and schist, not granite. Nevertheless, if you’re hiking at the higher elevations of the Whites, you’re going to encounter rocks in every shape and size and every form of obstacle. Trails like the Crawford Path, the oldest hiking trail in use in the country, circa 1819, start off as dirt, but quickly change to rock. Once you rise above treeline after summiting Mount Pierce on the famous ridge walk, you’re entering an alpine wilderness of wildflowers, gnarly krumholz, and a mind-boggling panorama of mountains and ridges in every direction. Everywhere you look is a carpet of green, rising and falling along the slopes. 
Now that Columbus Day has come and gone, along with much of the fall foliage traffic in Vermont, it’s time to hit my favorite mountain bike trails in New England. Uou know how much I cherish the