Gloucester MA

This weekend George, Jessica and I took a field trip to Gloucester. This town in Massachusetts is the oldest fishing port in America. It is also where they filmed the movie the perfect storm. I was told before leaving that it has the best beaches in New England. Go ahead and giggle about "beaches juxtaposed with New England". I cannot say much for the beach atmosphere, partly due to the overcast weather we had that day, but it is very beautiful. There is a very pleasant fishing motif heavy present as well. It seems every house had lobster traps in the front yard. The houses are the typical grand New England style you would expect. We did not have an agenda, and since Jessica had left her Tourist for Dummies guide book at home I found myself once again aimlessly walking through an unknown town talking to strangers. The people are refreshingly friendly and helpful. Without much prompting they will not only offer great advice, but also share their life story. We met Kristen upon arrival who had moved from California to take care of her ailing grandmother. Jay had a very impressive job as a resort appraiser, and boasted that he grew up in the most picturesque house in Gloucester. By far the most memorable people were met would be the local mafia. Oh, now I have your attention I am sure. It was around 11pm when we realized we had never gotten around to the delectable seafood dinner we had planned. Our search for food was proving extremely difficult, each place we entered had stopped surviving anything but a liquid diet. We resorted to walking the streets asking people in hopes of finding the local seafood midnight jackpot. I approached a group of gentleman smoking cigars on the sidewalk. I introduced myself and asked if they knew of anyplace to get dinner at this hour. The quickly replied that we should step inside the establishment they stood in front of explaining there was a italian buffet inside. George and jessica being famished quickly entered. I lingered speaking more to these kind older guys, and entered with them. I immediately noticed two things. One, this was not a restaurant. Two, every person in the place was Italian and seemed to be starring at me. I found my way to the back to find George and Jessica merrily enjoying plates of italian appetizers. Still feeling the skeptical examining gazes I explained that we "probably should not be here, and that I think we might get our own pairs of cement loafers is we stayed." My friends seemed only mildly bothered. Soon a few rough looking men approached me and started what became a short interrogation. After answering a few questions with responses like, "I don't know anyone here" and "please don't make me take a dirt nap" I was saved by the guy that invited me in. He seemed to be affluent and once he said "they are with me" no one really bothered us again. I chatted with him for a while trying to make a good impression. He actually asked for proof of my Italian heritage, which I made by showing him my passport.
A DJ started playing dance music, with almost no one dancing and this is where we go from being outsiders to relished guests. The three of us, no doubt elated at not being "offed" danced up a storm. In fact George and I started pulling heavily made up women onto the dance floor. Many were thrilled. Let's be honest, they were all thrilled. However the respective husband was not always thrilled, and more than once our dance partner was pulled away from us, or we were persuaded to find a new one by a subtle but threatening look of disapproval. We made friends, ate their food, drank their booze and danced with their women. Best of all I am alive and well and writing you the story of how it happened. I will end by saying at the end of the night we thought it better to leave the town and make our way safely back to Boston.