We were driving through Groton, Connecticut, Hania doing her best Mrs. Benchley impersonation (suggesting I stop and ask for directions), me insisting that my well-honed skills as a travel writer enable me to sniff out downtowns I've never before seen. We drove through a cluster of strip malls, and then followed the road as it got leafier, suggesting a picturesque Main Street at the end. But all we saw was a red brick town hall.
Back among the strip malls, I rolled down the window and inquired as to the whereabouts of downtown. "This is it," the woman in the SUV said. So much for my belief that every New England town has a quaint village green.
We got back on I-95 and drove to Mystic, which we knew was quaint by the line of cars crawling slowly toward the center. We pulled into a seafood stand - we didn't have much time before the wedding - and got a lobster roll and a lobster salad (two of the rare, non-fried items). They were delivered by a beautiful young woman with an old-fashioned look and a Russian accent. The Slavic Julia Roberts.
Finished, we drove into town, turning down a side street of lovely Victorians. Two large yellow labs stretched atop the steps of one like resting lions. We made a right and drove to the Bake Shop, where Hania got out and bought me one of the finest chocolate chip cookies I have ever eaten. Then we headed back to Groton for the wedding.
