From Antarctica, home to Maine, and then …

After two long days of overnight flights and many airport layovers, the familiar sight of the small Bangor-bound plane was a welcome one. This was the last leg in a long journey: I was homebound from Antarctica.

Returning to Maine always has held some ceremony for me. Driving home from New York during my college years was marked by the standard ritual of crossing the Piscataqua River on I-95 under the large arrow marked “All Maine Points.” I would roll down all of the car windows and cheer loudly, war-whooping my way into the state. The flight to Bangor is equally distinctive: Far removed from the usual bustling army of flight attendants on wide-bodied jumbo jets, 50 or so people walk across the tarmac and climb up a pull-out staircase into the plane.

Out of habit, I look around to see whether there is anyone I recognize on this flight home. The two women across the row from me are talking about how spring is coming to Maine when a man in front of them turns around and asks them, bashfully, whether they are locals. “I’ve never been to Maine and I need to drive from Bangor to Ellsworth – do you know how to get there?”

The women dive into their purses and commence drawing a map on scrap paper. Landmarks are sketched in, interrupted by small squabbles: That’s not a restaurant anymore, the owners have changed, and don’t forget to mark the new Lowe’s.

“How long will it take me?” the man asks.

“Well now, that depends on how fast you drive, sweetheart.”

“And the roads,” her friend adds. “We finally get out of the bad winter weather and now we’ve got summertime construction everywhere, don’t you know.”

I hide my grin in my magazine. Yep. I’m coming home.

My whole family welcomes me at the airport. Looking out the windows on the drive home, I can’t help but note what has changed in half a year, and what hasn’t. New buildings have sprung up, like the new casino by the Penobscot River, and I don’t remember the price of gas being quite so high when I was here last. Much, too, has stayed the same: Familiar street names march past the car window, and a stop sign leans at the same precarious angle it has maintained for years. There’s an odd sense of forward motion in this homecoming, even in those things that have remained the same. It’s in relation to those things that haven’t altered that you can see most clearly the ways that you yourself have changed.

After six months in Antarctica, I take a special delight in all things “normal.” From the real New England clapboard houses to the new green grass poking up in the yards, to the dog walkers in baseball caps, many things seem new and different to me just in contrast to my recent life. Maine, after Antarctica, is familiar, but also faintly exotic.

I set my bags down in our living room and announce to my parents, “I’d like to spend the next hour in the bathroom. I want to take a bath. And then a shower.” After months of infrequent, two-minute showers, I figure I deserve it.

Reuniting with old friends and family is the best part of coming home. I quickly realize that I am at a disadvantage: Many Bangor Daily News readers know what I’ve been doing every week since October, whereas I have a lot of catching up to do. Much of my first week is spent listening to stories, and getting the chance to share my experiences with people face-to-face.

“What next?” is the big question everyone asks me. Though homecomings are sweet, my travels are far from over. I will continue to share my stories with BDN readers every Friday under this new title – “Being There”- wherever “there” happens to be.

“Being There” is about places, starting off in Maine and in Colorado before dipping south of our border in the coming months. Connecting with places and the people living in them is, to me, the essence of exploration and in-the-moment living. I will be corresponding about what life is like “there” as my travels unfold. As my mom said, “For the first time in years, I’m almost guaranteed to know where you are and what you’re up to at least once a week.”

In Antarctica, I learned the importance of being flexible. I’m looking forward, perhaps with more curiosity than anyone else, to the future adventures that are in store, both those known and those only hinted at.

Meg Adams, who grew up in Holden and graduated from John Bapst Memorial High School in Bangor, shares her experiences with readers each Friday. For more about her adventures and to e-mail questions to her, go to the BDN Web site: www.bangordailynews.com.