Usually, when our friend Sarah came to Boston on business, we’d all meet her in town. But recently she’d been hearing so much about Salem, she’d decided to visit us instead. She’s not alone.

Salem has been rediscovered, and this time it’s not just about the witches. We decided to meet for dinner at the Grapevine, one of our favourites not as yet overwhelmed by the new wave of tourists.

Now, you need to know that Sarah prides herself on her sophistication. She buys her clothes in New York and Milan, drives the latest hybrid SUV, and reads all the hottest books before they’re even released. She is also a bit of a food snob, and had recently told me she had been on a quest to find the perfect bowl of seafood “chowdaaah”. The Grapevine’s was arguably the best in New England.

“Please tell me she didn’t say chow-daaah,” our friend Leslie said.

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“She did. I think she’s trying to develop a new accent,” I smiled.

“I love Sarah,” said Leslie, “but if she uses the word ‘wicked’ one more time, I’m out of here.” Sarah was late as usual. Driving from Boston at rush hour had been a mistake. Salem is only 14 miles to the north but it’s much easier to visit if you take the train or the ferry. We were finishing our second drink and third basket of bread when she finally arrived.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I got lost somewhere off of Essex Street, and I found myself in the middle of an Edith Wharton novel.”

She must have meant Chestnut Street. Eleanor Roosevelt once called it the prettiest street in America. It’s in the famous McIntyre district, where Federal mansions line the wavy brick sidewalks. Salem has four historic districts, and I’ve got lost in all of them. They’re just that beautiful. People might come here for the witches, but they stay for the architecture.

“I think I just stole a parking space from a witch,” Sarah said. “Should I be worried?”

Salem is nicknamed The Witch City for good reason. The infamous witch trials of 1692 set the stage for Salem’s tourist industry today, and that industry is booming. There were no witches in Salem back then, but they thrive here in great numbers now. On any given day, you can stop by one of the local witch shops and pick up packaged spells that promise to bring you money, love, health or fame. There is even one they’ve nicknamed “the herbal Viagra”, though nobody I know will admit to having tried it.

We all held our breath while Sarah sampled her “chowdaaah”.

“Fabulous,” she said. Then, looking around, she seemed surprised by the sophistication of the other diners. Though we were right across from the wharf, there were no tourists in witches’ hats here. “I want to bring my family to Salem,” she said. “What’s the best time to come?”

“Any month but October,” I said. “We never go downtown in October,” Leslie said.

“Never ever,” Linda agreed. There are five seasons in Salem: spring, summer, fall, winter, and October. When I first moved back here from Los Angeles, they were trying to limit the number of haunted houses per city block. It didn’t happen. Pirates and monsters share the streets with trick-or-treating children dressed in the goriest costumes imaginable. That first Hallowe’en, I saw a family of four who looked as if they had been attacked by an axe murderer. They were pulling a wagon full of bloody body parts behind them. That image damaged me for life.

Not that you can escape the witches in the warmer months. Several times a day, the first of the accused, Bridget Bishop, is retried at the Old Town Hall with tourists as jurors. Before Bridget is tried, she is dragged through the streets in an effort to lure visitors into this participatory drama.

A friend from New York happened to see the spectacle one particularly hot day last summer. He had strolled down Essex Street hoping to catch a glimpse of “the real Salem”. Using a discount coupon handed to him by a man dressed as a giant cup of Italian ice, my friend ordered one and took a seat at a shaded outside table. A moment later, he was alarmed to hear a woman screaming. He looked up in time to see Bridget, fully costumed in Puritan garb, being dragged through the streets toward the Old Town Hall. Since it was too hot to inspire much tourist participation, and since the locals have long since learnt to ignore such drama, my friend watched in wonder as the Italian ice got into the act, dragging Bridget down the street to her trial.

Sarah was definitely interested in the Italian ices but wasn’t yet certain she was going to participate in Bridget’s trial. She had come prepared with a list of places she wanted to see. First up was the Peabody Essex Museum. And, of course, she wanted to see Nathaniel Hawthorne’s famous House of the Seven Gables.

“It should be called the House of the Sometimes Seven Gables,” Linda said, referring to the fact that, over the years, several of the gables had disappeared only to reappear again at a later date.

“Excuse me?” Sarah said. “Never mind,” Linda said. “It’s amazing. Just go see it. And don’t forget the gardens. Or the secret room... You’re not claustrophobic are you?”

I recommended that she visit The Friendship, a reconstruction of a 171ft tall ship that sailed out of Salem in the late 1700s. The truth is that Salem’s sailing history far outshines its witch history in both duration and influence. During its heyday, Salem was not only the busiest port in America but also its wealthiest city per capita.

Local legend has it that much of this success was due to a piece of candy called the Gibraltar, a molasses confection with a shelf life longer than that of a canned ham. The Salem ships’ captains used the candy as ballast on their outbound voyages and then for bribing foreign customs officials in order to trade for the best goods. It evidently worked. Salem imported everything from spices and gunpowder to America’s first elephant, which may or may not have developed an alcohol problem having acquired an unquenchable thirst for porter while aboard the ship.

“Don’t forget to see the statue of Roger Conant, our sex-obsessed founding father,” Leslie said to Sarah.

“Oh my God, is that real?” She turned to me. “I thought you made that up.”

It is real, though the sex obsession was an artist’s mistake. The statue has been stopping traffic in Washington Square for years.

Sarah never said which month she came back to Salem with her family, but Leslie is quite certain it was October. She swears she saw our sophisticated friend down on Derby Street heading into one of the haunted houses that pop up like mushrooms every fall. I don’t know how Leslie would know such a thing. As she said, we never go downtown in October. Never ever.

Brunonia Barry’s latest book, The Lace Reader, is available from the Sunday Times BooksFirst (0845 271 2135, timesonline. co.uk/booksfirst) for the reduced price of £11.69, with free p&p in the UK

TRAVEL BRIEF

Packages: British Airways Holidays (0844 493 0758, ba.com) has four nights in Boston from £832pp, including BA flights from Heathrow to Boston and room-only accommodation at the Best Western Boston. Or try Expedia (0871 226 0808, expedia.co.uk) or Travelocity (0871 472 5116, travelocity.co.uk).

Getting to Salem: the nicest way to arrive is aboard the high-speed catamaran (salemferry.com) from Boston. It takes 45 minutes and costs £16.50 return. Alternatively, it’s 30 minutes by train or an hour by bus: see mbta.com. Further information:salem.org.

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